Jackson's Trust

by Violet Duke

  The scar on her chest? No. The one inside her chest was a different story. “I’m fine. Wounds heal.” She closed her hands over his, over her heart. “This will heal in time.”

  She sounded almost convincing, even to her own ears.

  They stood there like that for a few long minutes before Leila finally broke the silence. “We should say our goodbyes this time.” Making sure to keep her voice steady as she gathered up all the broken pieces of her heart, she added lightly, “And no goading me into mentioning a snowman’s butt—I don’t want you remembering me that way.”

  “Don’t tell me goodbye.” Jackson’s voice roughened with emotion. “Because I won’t be able to leave if you do.”

  Leila didn’t trust her voice to respond, so instead, she just held her hand out to him and wordlessly led him to the bedroom. And just like they had on so many nights prior, they fit themselves together like two puzzle pieces and laid in each other’s arms until nearly dawn.

  Only, unlike every other night they’d done this, for once, she wasn’t asleep.

  But still, she kept her eyes closed when Jackson slipped out of her bed.

  And she kept her tears at bay when he kissed her cheek after tucking the blanket around her.

  Then she waited until she heard the front door close behind him before she allowed herself to tell him goodbye.

  Chapter 36

  When Jackson walked into his kitchen three weeks later and saw Bennett and Donovan there already, eating his food and drinking his coffee, he wondered again to himself why he still hadn’t gotten around to changing the locks.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” called out Bennett.

  The asshole might as well have sucker-punched him.

  At least that would’ve hurt less.

  Every reminder of Leila, no matter how small, was an arrow straight into the void that now existed in his chest, where pain was a living, breathing thing.

  He missed her so damned much—every day, in a thousand different ways.

  He probably always would.

  Not that he’d change any part of their relationship, beginning to end. Especially not the end. Because letting her go was for the best. Regardless if it left him with a soul-sucking sensation in his heart whenever he thought about her.

  He just…wanted her to be happy. Every day, in a thousand different ways.

  Even if it wasn’t with him.

  “Jesus, you have it bad.” Donovan stood up and dropped a thick folder onto the granite counter. “Here, open this.”

  Jackson eyed it warily. “Why, what is it?”

  Donovan grinned. And Jackson proceeded to stare at him as if he’d just witnessed his friend’s head spin around on a broomstick a few times. Hell, Donovan exhibiting any emotion at all was a rarity enough.

  A smile meant something big.

  “It’s an investment opportunity. A hell of a good one.”

  Jackson dutifully opened up the folder.

  And then slammed it shut ten seconds later in disbelief.

  Donovan glared at him. “If you’re dumb enough not to do this deal, I’m calling Owen in Hong Kong next. And you’re going to damn well regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “You want me to buy the Arizona Hawks?”

  “Yes. For $1.4 billion.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “It’s a good bid. It’s comparable to Forbes fair market value for the team, and I have it on good authority that you’ll be the high bidder. But you need to get on this now. The Thompson family is formally accepting bids at the end of next week.”

  Jackson knew the Thompson family well. Marc Thompson’s death had been sudden and swift. As the original founder of the Hawks, Marc had been committed to the team his entire life. As had his family. However, it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone when his widow officially put the team up for sale a few months ago, not long after her husband’s remains were laid to rest.

  Jackson had still been just “Jackson Gray” back then, and she’d confided in him as a longtime football friend: “I can’t even bring myself to go into the owner’s box anymore, Jackson. There are heartbreaking reminders of him in every inch of that stadium. It’s just too painful, and I don’t think I’m doing right by the team if I don’t bring the same joy that Marc did to every game day. It’s time for someone else to love the team the way Marc did.”

  It had never been even a remote, outer galactic thought in Jackson’s mind to buy the team.

  Now, in the aftermath of the mess Nate had left in his wake, the idea was…

  Brilliant. Exciting. And impossible.

  “I’ll never get the three-quarter vote of the other owners,” he said simply, before returning the folder to Donovan. “You know as well as I do that they conduct a full background check into every potential billionaire owner’s company. That alone will probably be enough for them to turn me down regardless of how high I bid. With all the illegal crap Nate pulled, there’s no way they’ll vote me in.”

  “Exactly. Operative word, Nate. He may have made the mess, but you’re the one cleaning it up. Your hands have always been clean. But more than that, you’ve always made sure your money went to help where it was needed. You genuinely care about people. You have unwavering integrity. And you have a passion for football that is absolutely unparalleled.” Donovan pushed the folder back across the counter while Bennett—wearing the most serious expression he’d ever seen on him to date—all but shoved him into one of the bar chairs.

  “Donovan, look, it’s a fun idea.” Jackson sighed. “But there’s a reason it’s called ‘fantasy’ football. Buying an NFL team isn’t going to exactly thrill my board of directors.”

  “For the love of Mike, will you just shut up and read the effing proposal?” barked Bennett.

  Shocked as hell that Bennett of all people was getting this worked up about…well, anything, was reason enough for Jackson to open the folder and analyze the deal closer.

  Five minutes later, Jackson was floored.

  “You guys are right. This is an amazing opportunity. Are these profit margins accurate? I mean I knew nearly every NFL team made a profit because of the league’s unique profit sharing structure, but I had no idea it was this lucrative.”

  Flipping to the ownership breakdown, he studied the investment groups Donovan had listed as possible choices to join the ownership group with him.

  Donovan tapped on the first of the two charts on the page. “I’ve outlined two investment options. The NFL says you, as a private investor, need the largest percentage of ownership, but only a thirty percent controlling interest. The remaining shares can be by different investment groups, private or corporate.” Donovan flipped the page over to a short list of about two dozen names. “These are the strongest contenders I think would be the best fit with you and the team.”

  He pointed out the bottom line on the second chart. “The other option is that you have a majority fifty-one percent interest instead of thirty. Based on the financial reports from recent years, I’d say this is a more lucrative option for you. Either way, though, this is a good deal. And as your financial advisor, I think you should take it.”

  Jackson couldn’t agree more.

  Which made this yet another damning reason to hate his bastard of a brother.

  “Donovan, it’s not that I don’t want to do it. I agree with you, this is a great investment. Nearly every one of the team owners has reported a profit from their buying the teams. What I’m telling you is that I won’t be able to get three-quarters of the vote among the other thirty-one NFL team owners. It just won’t happen. Nate has managed to drag the Grayhurst name through mud and shit these past few months. Trust me, this is one elite billionaire’s club that I won’t get invited to, no matter how much my net worth is.”

  Surprisingly, Donovan nodded. “I agree a hundred percent. Left to your own devices, you probably wouldn’t be able to get enough of the owners to agree.”

  Bennett grinned. “Which is prob
ably why it’s a good thing that Leila already went in and secured the votes for you.”

  Like a junkie falling off the wagon, he lasered in on Bennett. Because he’d said the “L” word. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Say it again anyway.” He wanted it more than his next breath.

  “This was all Leila’s idea. She began contacting all thirty-two team owners back when she was recovering in the hospital.”

  Jackson’s barstool clattered to the floor as he shot to his feet and reached for his car keys.

  “Going somewhere?” Bennett raised an amused, unsurprised brow.

  Calmer and clearer than he’d been in weeks, hell, months, Jackson tossed the investment folder back to Donovan. “I’ll take fifty-one percent. Make the deal.”

  “Done.”

  Bennett slapped a small folded piece of paper against his chest. “Now that that’s done, here’s some reading material for you on your way to your car. Enjoy.”

  Jackson halted in his tracks and carefully opened the twice-folded rectangle, nearly identical to the one he’d left for Leila in the hospital.

  Only, her letter was way better than his had been.

  Weatherman,

  I predict this will help you build that big, amazing life you so richly deserve. Screw your family legacy. Make your own. Greatness you’ll achieve—I have no doubt of that. Happiness is trickier. You need to believe it has a place in your life, and trust that you deserve it. Because it does, and you do. No more running. Just…be happy.

  Never anyone else’s,

  Leila

  Never anyone else’s.

  Those final three words hammered like a drumbeat in his chest as he stalked over to the front door. He wanted, freaking needed, to hear her say those three words aloud.

  Hell, he’d take any number of three-word combinations from her lips right now.

  “I love you,” was at the top of his list, of course.

  But he’d probably still smile like a lovesick fool even over a heartfelt, “You’re an idiot.”

  And one day in the hopefully not-so-distant future, if she gifted him with the words, “I’ll marry you,” he was fairly certain he was going to require a notary public to witness it in writing…sometime during the forty-eight-hour period he intended to keep her in the bedroom repeating the words to him every hour, on the hour.

  Just as Jackson was getting into the elevator, a faint crackling hum buzzed over the hallway intercom, interrupting the spectacular mental derailment that followed the first-hour-in-the-bedroom visual.

  Dammit.

  That telltale sound could only mean the royal pain in his ass—aka Bennett—somehow reactivated his hands-free distress code.

  “You think we should’ve told him that Leila’s moving?” called out the Oz-like voice.

  Jackson snarled and shoved his hand in the elevator door to stop it from closing so he could hear the rest.

  Impossibly, Donovan’s lazy reply managed to unhinge him even more. “Nah. I’m sure he’ll figure it out as soon as he sees Nick’s truck outside of her apartment.”

  —

  Superprofessional mover that she was, Leila employed the good ol’ keep-the-elevator-doors-open-with-her-forehead-and-ass trick, while using the equally expert shove-it-with-her-foot approach of transferring her stack of moving boxes from the hallway into the elevator. She beat the angry buzzer this time and took inventory of how many more trips she’d have to make to get all her boxes down to the main entrance.

  Nick would be out there with the pickup truck any minute now and she wanted to be ready.

  But the truth, she discovered, was that she wasn’t ready.

  Nope. Zero readiness in sight.

  Not in the face of the quietly intense man stalking up the walkway, eyes shifting back and forth from the big box of clothing she was carrying, to her eyes, and her mouth, and then back to her eyes again.

  That was all it took for the cram-packed box to slip from her hands and land like a small boulder on her foot.

  Holy crap, that hurt.

  Maybe vacuum-sealing her winter coats to save packing space hadn’t been the best idea. It was possible she’d just fractured a bone or two.

  Swooping in like Clark freaking Kent, Jackson flung the big box to the side with one hand before gently lifting her up onto one of the two stacks so he could examine her foot.

  He cursed when he saw her foot already starting to swell. “Why are you only wearing flip-flops, sunshine?”

  “It was taking too much time to keep pulling my shoes on and off while I was loading up the boxes.”

  He gave her a dark look. “We’ll deal with this whole moving insanity later. Do you want to go to the ER for some X-rays?”

  She sighed. So much for her grand plans of never stepping foot into an ER again.

  As if reading her mind, he cupped a sympathetic hand on her cheek and suggested, “Why don’t we try icing it first, and we’ll only go if we have to. Deal?”

  Staring at him like he was speaking a different language, she sat there without replying. This was too hard. All the “we” usage and the whole his-skin-touching-hers thing was making her head spin. Her heart, too. It was all she could do to not jump into his arms. Torn between tackle-hugging him and just plain tackling him, she jumped off the boxes and hopped backward on one foot, she put a good half a yard or so between them before her brain de-fuzzed. “Jackson, what are you doing here?”

  “A couple of things. The most pressing at the moment is getting all these boxes back in your apartment.”

  “What? No. You can’t do that. Nick’s coming with the truck.”

  He growled and snapped his eyes over to the street, like an alpha wolf ready to defend his territory. And his woman.

  No. No, she was much too evolved to find this ridiculously sexy.

  Jackson’s gaze swung back to her when she wobbled a bit on her one foot.

  Wobbled, not swooned. Big difference.

  “Leila, sit down.” He carried her over to a small patch of grass next to the entry and gingerly placed her injured foot on one of the smaller boxes to keep it elevated. “Stay here, I’ll take care of the rest of your boxes.”

  He began restacking them inside the building at a superhuman pace easily twenty times faster than what it took for her to get them out here. Men. “Jackson, did you come here just to make my day difficult? Because you’re doing a fantastic job so far.”

  She braced her hands down to push herself up.

  Only to find herself ramming into a solid wall of muscle.

  Good lord, she’d forgotten what a sexy chest the man had.

  Both hands flat on the ground next to hers, he effectively had her caged in.

  And she made a valiant effort not to breathe him in.

  Mission Status: Failed.

  “Jackson, why are you doing this?”

  “Because I’m not letting you move to Reno. At least…not until you hear me out. If you want to leave after that, I won’t stop you. Well, I’ll try not to stop you. No guarantees the way I’m feeling right now.”

  Leila was back to feeling like she was communicating with a Klingon speaking in some alien form of Pig Latin.

  She blinked at him and asked in bewilderment, “Who in the world told you I was moving to Reno? I’m just doing a house swap with a photographer from Florida for a month.”

  Chapter 37

  “Those pricks.”

  Jackson was going to beat the hell out of his two friends…and then take the assholes out for drinks to thank them for being such exceptionally good dickheads. As he replayed their two-man intercom skit, he realized they hadn’t actually said the words. But they’d phrased the whole thing just so.

  Creative sons of bitches.

  “They made me think you were moving out to Reno today. With Nick.”

  Naturally, what did his beautiful damsel in distress do with that fun fact?

  She burst out laughing. />
  God, he’d missed hearing her laughter these past few months.

  His mouth twitched in humor despite the laughter being wholly at his expense. “To add insult to injury,” he groused good-naturedly, “the little shits did it via my intercom, which Bennett has somehow regained control of, by the way.”

  Eyes dancing in mirth, Leila gave him a sighing headshake. “Those guys are going to give you an ulcer one day; Nick just happened to be in town visiting his folks this weekend so I asked if I could borrow his dad’s truck for a few hours.”

  Her expression sobered. “So is that the only reason you’re here?” She crossed her arms and pinned him in place with a quiet look. “You came racing all the way over here just to keep me from running off with Nick into the sunset?”

  Damn, there was that feeling in the pit of his stomach again—the intense desire to rearrange Nick’s face a little bit. “No, that’s not the only reason, and I’m pretty sure you know me well enough to know that.”

  A brief single nod was her only reply.

  “I was actually already heading here…after reading your note,” he continued. “Guess the guys just wanted to make sure I suffered—and ignored every speed limit sign—on my drive over.”

  She was almost smiling now, but still she remained stubbornly silent, not showing her cards one bit.

  Christ, he loved the woman.

  Okay, clearly this wasn’t going to be one of those simple her-jumping-into-his-arms-with-the-crowd-doing-a-slow-clap sort of moments. He didn’t expect it to be. Which was precisely why he’d come prepared.

  But before he could begin the epic groveling he had planned, he took another good look around at all her moving boxes. “Wait a minute, if you’re just going away for a month, what’s with all the packing?” And the need for a truck driven by he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned.

  “I’m putting some stuff in storage since the photographer I’m swapping houses with needs as much room as she can get. Plus”—a slow, eye-twinkling grin spread across her face—“I’m actually starting a new job.”