by Jewel E. Ann
She had to feel a pang of guilt as if she, too, was responsible for missing something, assuming it was the PTSD.
“It could be, especially now, but even one of his doctors said he probably has PTSD, but sifting through his symptoms to determine which category they belong in is useless at this point. No one is to blame and we can’t change what already is.”
Jillian said it for Brooke’s benefit, but she wanted there to be someone to blame. Having someone to blame made dealing with the pain so much easier.
“You do know that his parents asked him to move back to Portland for treatment so they or we can help take care of him while he goes through radiation?”
Jillian did not know that. “I … what did he tell them?”
“He said he’d think about it.”
“When did he say that?” She tried to hide her disappointment, or anger, or whatever feeling triggered some sort of meltdown inside her.
“Yesterday when they talked on the phone.”
Jillian had practically been living at his house the previous week to help him out and go with him to his appointments, but somehow that bit of information had not been shared with her.
*
It did rain and they still grilled out. Dodge and Lilith came for dinner too, but Cage couldn’t make it because he had a late practice to prepare for his first preseason game. The girls played hide-and-seek, then Stan took them out on his paddle boat with their dad.
At one point Brooke and AJ disappeared inside, and when they both returned Jillian could tell Brooke had been crying and maybe AJ too. He wore a baseball hat pulled low on his head, which made it hard to get a good look at his eyes.
Jillian found herself not fitting into Dodge and Lilith’s conversation with AJ’s parents, and AJ himself seemed to be avoiding her, so after dinner she sneaked out the door and went home. In that moment she regretted shoving Jackson out of the house because she needed a good kick in the ass to push her past the rut she’d fallen into since Brooke’s revelation about the possibility of AJ moving back to Portland.
“Hey, I wondered where you went,” AJ said, standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Jillian stilled the punching bag and tugged off her gloves. “I wanted to give you some time with your family.”
“That’s nice of you, but you didn’t have to leave.”
She shrugged, wiping the sweat off her brow with her arm. “I needed to work out anyway, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to be down here later when Brooke and everyone came back so …”
“Oh … well, after you shower come back over for a little bit. Okay?”
She nodded.
AJ started back up the stairs.
“I’m mad,” she said. That admission, those two words, ripped through her gut. Jillian didn’t want to be mad, and she sure didn’t want the insecurity that came with confessing her vulnerability.
He stopped and turned, an uneasy squint tugging at his brow.
The giving-a-shit, channeling her humanity thing, took its toll on her that day.
“I’m mad. Okay? I was mad that time when I took Cage out on a date because you had the balls to go out with Carin after our moment in the shower that morning. So, I’m sorry. I should have just told you upfront that I was mad. I didn’t, but I am now.”
“You’re mad at me now?” AJ looked lost. Typical male.
“Yes, and I’m not even going to play the whole mind-fuck guessing game with you.” Her voice grew louder with each word. “I’m just going to tell you and then you’re going to apologize for even considering leaving me to move back to Portland!”
AJ closed his eyes. “I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what? That they asked you or that you’re considering it?”
He looked at her but didn’t answer.
“You’re leaving.” She shook her head.
“I didn’t say that.” He walked back down the stairs.
She retreated. “Well, you didn’t say you’re staying.”
“I didn’t say anything!” An eerie silence followed his echo.
“I can’t move to Portland with you,” she said, her voice soft—regretful. “But maybe you weren’t going to ask me to anyway.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.” His shoulders slumped. “I haven’t even told my son that I’m dying.”
“You’re not—”
“Don’t!” He sighed. “I’ll let everyone but you think that a miracle is going to happen. My parents believe it, Brooke believes it—hell, even I want to believe it—but you are my real … my truth. You are the only clarity in this whole fucked-up mess. You don’t have to watch me die to accept that it’s going to happen. But what if they do?”
She couldn’t look at him. He’d put her up on a pedestal as if she were invincible, a rock that could not be broken. He was so very wrong.
AJ kissed the top of her head. “I have to go back over there.” He turned and walked up the stairs.
“AJ?”
“Yeah?” he answered with his back to her.
“There’s no acceptance in watching someone die. There’s only a lifetime of regret from knowing you couldn’t stop it from happening.”
Chapter Nine
It took Ryn several days to recover from a near-kiss, or a half-kiss, or whatever involved Jackson’s tongue grazing the top of her lip. Her hormones giving her whiplash didn’t help either. Unpredictable periods toyed with her, making it impossible to prepare for them. In the middle of the night she had a hot flash. A. Hot. Flash! What was she, sixty? Then the next minute she thought about sex—nonstop. She imagined having sex with every guy she saw, and it had nothing to do with their looks because she also imagined every couple she saw having sex too.
Sex. Sweat. Sex.
Her body couldn’t decide if it wanted to act sixteen or sixty.
Gunner barked while she made a late dinner: an egg salad sandwich. She knew someone had to be at her house because it’s the only time he barked when she was home.
“Who’s here, baby?” She looked out the front window and jumped, pressing her back against the wall next to the window, trying to hide.
“Oh God.” Ryn closed her eyes. Her khaki shorts had permanent oil stains from lemon wood polish and her large T-shirt looked even more grotesque and two sizes too big, resembling a night shirt. She couldn’t bear to think about her bra: a compression sports bra that made her chest one small speed bump. Maybe the large shirt was a blessing.
The door bell rang. “Just a minute.” She grimaced. He could probably tell from the nearness of her voice that she was two feet from the door. There was never an extra dose of confidence around when she needed it.
“Hi … what are you doing here?” She tried to keep most of her body hidden behind the door.
“I’ve been displaced from my house by twins.”
“Twins?”
“Five-year-old girls.”
“Oh … cute.”
“Not cute.”
“You don’t like kids?”
“Just my own.”
“Oh, wow … you have kids?”
Ryn didn’t realize she was just one of many victims that fell for that line.
“Not yet, but mine will be awesome.”
She nodded slowly. “I see … sort of. Well, I’d invite you in but—”
“Great. I’d love to.” He squeezed through the small opening. “Nice place.”
There was nowhere to hide.
“Thanks. I’m kind of in need of a shower and clean clothes, and I was just getting ready to eat—”
“Great. I’m starving.” He slid his hands in his back pockets and grinned.
Jackson looked much more edible than anything she had in her kitchen.
“O-kay, we’re having dinner together now?”
“Of course. I need to know if my future wife can cook?”
Ryn laughed. It was a nervous laugh, a so-we’re-still-playing-this-game laugh. “It’s egg salad.”
“
Minus the egg shells?”
She gave him a crazy look. “Yes.”
“Great.”
“Great,” she replied, amused at how many times he had said ‘great.’ Jackson Knight was easy to please. She hoped that would work in her favor.
The exotic, inked human specimen looked out of place sitting at her kitchen table. It had two chairs on one side and a bench seat on the other. Jackson took the bench, propping his legs on it, crossed at the ankles.
“So I don’t have a lot of money…” she handed him a plate with the sandwich and small wedge of watermelon “…and my first wedding was in my parents’ backyard where I wore a hundred dollar dress from JC Penny. I want the fairytale wedding with a one-of-a-kind Vera Wang dress, six bridesmaids, and Ed Sheeran singing at my reception. Is my future husband willing to give me that?” Ryn sat across from Jackson, taking a bite of her sandwich to mask her grin.
“That depends. At what frequency do you see you and your future husband having sex?”
She covered her mouth with a napkin to keep from spitting her partially-chewed bite across the table. “Um …” she cleared her throat. “Three? Four times? I think that’s pretty average.”
“Clearly my future wife doesn’t understand we will be anything but average, but I will agree with her for now to four times a day as long as it’s open to negotiation for more in the future.”
“Day?” She choked.
“Yes, day,” he confirmed, biting into the wedge of watermelon. “Surely with the one-of-a-kind dress and Ed Sheeran, you weren’t implying per week … were you?”
She gulped down some water, shaking her head. “No … no of course not.”
Jackson took a mammoth bite of his sandwich and smirked. “I didn’t think so,” he mumbled.
The conversation crossed the line from fun to really uncomfortable.
“Who’s twins are at your house?”
“AJ’s ex-wife’s.”
“Oh, isn’t it a little odd that his ex-wife and her family are staying at your house?”
“So you get it too? Good, it’s not just me.” Jackson nodded. “His son has his first game tomorrow so the whole damn family flew to Omaha and my sister, who lives off instinct and usually bad instinct at that, said they could stay with us since AJ doesn’t have room for everyone at his house.”
“Well she’s a better woman than I am. That would be too weird and uncomfortable for me.”
“Jillian makes her own rules as she goes and nobody understands them but her.”
They finished eating, with Ryn giving him a look of incredulity as Jackson returned his usual cocky smirk. She put their plates in the dishwasher, feeling rather awkward about their odd dinner. “Well, I uh … need a shower.”
Jackson stood. “I like showers.”
She coughed out a laugh. The problem was, he wasn’t laughing. Her heart raced, making it impossible to calm her breathing and hide her nerves. “Yeah, sure. We’ve known each other for what? Not even three weeks?”
“Three and a half and so what?”
He possessed an over-the-top confidence. That wasn’t good because her you’re-ten-years-younger-than-me insecurities seemed to match his level of confidence.
“So we’re not taking a shower together.”
“Why?” He took one step toward her.
Her heart felt like a humming bird in her chest. “Because that would mean you’d see me naked.”
“So?”
“So that’s just not going to happen.”
“How are we going to have sex four times a day if I can’t see you naked?”
“In the dark. We would only have it in the dark.” The absurdity of their roleplaying both baffled and thrilled Ryn.
“Why the modesty? You’re ten times sexier than you think you are, and once you realize that, it’s going to double.”
“Agreed. You want to see me feel sexy? Then you have to let me look sexy first. And that will require some preparation.”
“Preparation?”
His interest in her should have been flattering, but it wasn’t because he was ten years younger and he was a guy. He could never understand the emotional barricades she had to overcome with her own insecurities … insecurities brought to the surface because he was ten years younger and looked like sex personified. Even if she were his age, his interest in her would be hard to believe and still unnerving.
“Yes, my body requires more maintenance than yours for it to look and run right.” Her breasts had been held hostage in a compression sports bra all day and they were going to look like roadkill when she removed it. Every woman who has worn one knows about this horrific side effect. They would require a very cold shower to perk up a little and convince her nipples it was safe to come out. Then there was the small issue of grooming. She had pubic hair—not too common anymore. There stood a good chance that Jackson had never actually seen pubic hair on a woman. It was bushy … very bushy.
“I’ll wait.”
“Wait, what do you mean wait?”
He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go prepare, come back downstairs, then we’ll go back upstairs and shower together.”
“That makes no sense. I’ll have already showered.”
“Well then when do men shower with you? Apparently not when you need a shower nor when you’ve just had a shower.”
Most. Bizarre. Conversation. Ever … times one hundred.
“Men don’t shower with me.”
“Ever? You’ve never showered with a man?”
Was that so strange?
“No. Why are we having this conversation?”
“You started it.”
“Wh—I did not!”
“Fine.” He took two long strides. Palming the back of her head, he kissed her.
It wasn’t a peck or a partial kiss like before, it was the full kiss—the kind meant for tasting, not just feeling. The kind where his tongue couldn’t get enough of her. She could have faded into the moment had she not thought about the egg salad she just ate, her breasts trapped beneath a heavy layer of cotton and spandex, and the bush overgrowth—a visual chastity belt.
“No!” She wriggled from his embrace as his hand went for her breast—her squashed, speed bump uniboob.
“Sorry.” He held his hands up while pulling his brows together as if he’d stepped on her toe. “Too fast. I-I’m sorry.”
“No, not too fast …” She put her hands over her face, shaking her head. “God, does that make me sound easy or what? Sorry, I’m really not good at this.” On a deep sigh, her hands fell from her face. “If you let me shower, alone, I promise to return as the much more put-together version of myself. Deal?”
The smile on his face held so much promise, but his eyes filled with expectation. Expectation that on her best day after hours of cosmetic surgery, and a lobotomy to erase the memories of her past, she could never live up to.
*
Gunner wasted no time earning Jackson’s respect. While Ryn threw together the best version of herself, which he deemed ridiculous because it was impossible to improve on stunning, Gunner stood guard at the bottom of the stairs looking at Jackson with an I’ll-tear-you-apart look on his face.
The second Jackson started to move, either toward the window or the kitchen, Gunner gave him a warning growl. There would be no snooping through Ryn’s things on Gunner’s watch.
“Better?” Ryn smiled as she came down the stairs wearing a long black and gray striped skirt with a red sleeveless top.
“Clearly you don’t understand what draws me to you, but I can see you feel more confident in that.”
She frowned.
The guy who never slept with the same person twice wasn’t good at the emotional side of relationships. For years it had been his opinion that women’s clothes were nothing more than expensive wrapping paper.
New guy.
New opinions. What opinions? He wasn’t sure yet, but something told him women like Ryn didn’t have sex in alleys, a
nd they needed constant reinforcement in the form of compliments—compliments beyond “I want to stick my dick in you.” So he reached into his magic hat and pulled out something that had nothing to do with sex.
“I’ll start with your lips. Even now when you tried to frown, one side stayed curled into a smile. It’s like your body rejects sadness.”
She stopped at the bottom step, paralyzed by his words.
“Then there are your freckles that give your face this rare innocence. And I would stare at them all day if your eyes weren’t so greedy. They demand my attention all the time.”
Ryn rubbed her lips together. “My eyes are greedy?”
“Yes, you should really be ashamed of them. Total attention hogs. But my point is really that I don’t care what you’re wearing. It doesn’t change what I’m looking at.”
“Oh …” she released a long breath “…wow, that’s … we should go for drinks. I think I need some liquid courage to respond to your comments that really leave me … speechless.”
“So speechless is good?”
Taking the last step with a bit of blush pinking her skin, chin down, she grinned. “Yeah, speechless is good.”
“You have a favorite bar?”
“I do.” Ryn grabbed her purse.
“After you.” He held the door open.
Chapter Ten
The almost forty-year-old who had to pinch herself at least a dozen times in the car, received the ten minute summary of the sexiest and quirkiest guy alive. New York, parents died, and a string of temporary jobs was not what she imagined, but her history didn’t fit her either. At least she hoped it didn’t.
“What are you drinking tonight?” Jackson asked as she slid into a small dimly lit booth in the corner.
“Bloody Mary. That’s why I come here.” She pulled out her wallet.
“Don’t even.” He shook his head, walking to the bar.
After a few minutes of staring at his backside, she smiled to herself. He was right, her eyes were greedy. They wanted to be on him all the time. She looked away from him long enough to notice how many other sets of greedy eyes clung to his body. Then, as if her observation brought it on, several younger women moved in as though they were trapping him in their circle. One of them teased her finger over the cross tattooed on his arm. The twenty-something looked about Maddie’s age.
