With a nod of her head up and down, as though she is having an internal conversation, Claire pushes back from the table and stands. One more nod and a slap of her hands on the table, she turns to walk out of the room with a, “Thanks for the update, Jackson,” thrown casually over her shoulder. And she’s gone. Not just out of the room, but emotionally not here and present.
She has shored up her defenses and is back to the Ice Queen everyone who doesn’t truly know her calls her. Claire was, is, and will always be one tough woman. She has struggled emotionally and financially for over half of her life, and doesn’t need anyone for anything. I know most people think that she was handed the position with the team because of Mac. Initially that might have been true. However, the standard that is expected of you when you work for the New York Giants cannot be maintained through nepotism. No matter how loved Mac was, if Claire wasn’t damn good at her job she would have never made it.
From what I have been told about those first years after Sasha was born, she refused any kind of help from her parents. She even became emancipated so that they couldn’t get their hands on Sasha. A single teenage mother taking care of an infant, living in a studio apartment, struggling to pay bills and graduate high school. She did it. Even made Mac damn proud of her along the way. Failure is not in Claire’s DNA.
She fucking amazes me.
I toss my empty beer bottle in the recycling bin, because Claire is that person—she cares about everything and everyone. Hearing her voice, I walk toward it. I can’t help myself, Claire’s voice is soothing to me. And even though she isn’t talking to me, I find my anger slowly dissipating.
“Sash, it’s Mom. I just wanted to hear your voice. Call me back when you have a chance. I love you, baby!” Stopping at the door, I just stand there in awe of the woman that Claire has become.
Claire
THE BOMB THAT Jackson just dropped on me has me rattled. I now know why he felt the need to be here in person to tell me this news. Walking out of the kitchen, the only thing I can think of is Sasha and that she can’t ever know the details behind her conception. We grew up together. She is my best friend. You can’t help not to when you are only sixteen years old and have an infant to raise. Picking up the phone in my office, I dial Sasha. I know she’s in class right now but I need to hear her voice. Leaving a quick message, I hang the phone up and turn to see Jackson standing in the doorway.
“Do you want to talk?”
“Not really.”
“I do. Do you think you can listen to me?”
Sighing deeply, I nod, and walk over to the couch that sits perpendicular to the fireplace. My office is the only room “room” on the first floor and the two-sided fireplace sits on its only wall. It serves dual purposes. Esthetically, it makes the space look larger and offers a peek into the rest of the first floor. Personally, I don’t feel as though I’m caged in. The fireplace is the only thing that allows anyone to see into this room and offers me the ability to breathe at the same time.
When Jackson just stands there, I nod to the club chair that is across, and say, “You want to talk. Let’s talk, Jackson.” It is said in the prissy tone that I give to everyone when I’ve circled my emotional wagons. I know that everyone calls me the Ice Queen, and although it is warranted, it still hurts to hear. Fuck them, I am more than Mac’s daughter! No one has taken the time to get to know me. So I do the job and get out.
I have had little to no time to make friends over the years, and the small group of people that I call friend or family is truly all that I need. Just because I’m alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely. Okay, well maybe I am to a sense. But life doesn’t always ask you for permission to happen and in the end, you are where you end up.
It’s not as though I don’t get asked out, I do, but I just can’t seem to let go of the past and move forward. The brutality in which I was welcomed into an intimate relationship between a man and a woman broke something within me. I don’t trust many people and even fewer men. Derrick and Ben being the only two in which I have allowed to see the real me.
Jackson knew the true me once, but that was years ago, before Brad changed that person forevermore. However, Jackson has slowly worn me down over the past year. I haven’t allowed the walls to completely come down around him, but I am working on it. He is, after all, a good man.
Everyone is busy making a life of their own. I understand that and although I helped to build the foundation in which their lives are built, I am not always going to be included on the additional floors that they are erecting. I have emotional barriers that don’t allow anyone in, this isn’t anyone’s fault but my own. A neglectful mother, absent father, and being emotionally and physically fucked over in my first foray at love has left me with a multitude of emotional issues.
Coming into the room, Jackson sits down on the opposite end of the couch instead of where I wanted him. He always was a stubborn one. He’s herding me, trying to break my resolve, just like one of his fucking horses. He has the patience of a saint and the determination and fortitude that is inspiring. Jackson is a big man, and at six foot six still looks like he did twenty-three years ago. Beautiful. His blond hair is just now starting to show some graying around the temples, which I find absolutely sexy. The best part about Jackson is his eyes. They remind me of the pictures I’ve seen of icebergs. Not the white that you see on top, but the ice blue that hangs deeper within the shelf. Mesmerizing is what they are. I find it hard to stay angry with him when he sets those eyes on me.
I know for a fact that he works out with his players. I have even “happened” to walk past a time or two when he is working out. His players like him. Really like him. Which is new for me because Mac worked under the assumption that fear equaled respect. Jackson is loyal, strong of mind, and compassionate; and he has a wicked sense of humor. Too often to count, he’s had me force myself not to laugh at his antics. His inner beauty matches the outer and is a deadly combination. The fact he is oblivious to all this only makes him more beautiful.
Honestly, Jackson had more in common with me than Brad did. More often than not, it was Jackson and I that sat up all night chatting, either on the phone or in person.
Mac and Jami never really cared what I was up to because I was the reliable one. Staid is often a better word choice when people refer to me. If I said I was at a friend’s house for a sleepover, they either didn’t care enough to realize my absences, too busy to check, or just trusted me at my word. The fact that I had no friends seemed to escape my parents.
I showed them just how reliable I was now didn’t I?
Unfortunately for Jackson, Mac was a lot more observant when it came to his players than his own children. So when I ended up pregnant, Mac automatically assumed it was Jackson’s baby. Not that Mac would have brought this to light with the team. Jackson was so fucking talented, and Mac would have never jeopardized the team’s success over a minor “incident,” such as his underage daughter getting knocked up. But he did ultimately push Jackson to his limits and he left the team and me.
Jackson
CLEARING MY THROAT, I drag Claire out of whatever thought she is in. Turning fully to face me, she gives me her undivided attention. To me, having Claire’s full attention is intimidating, initially. But I recover quickly because I know that I have a small window before she shuts me down, and quickly.
“You’re handling this better than I expected.”
“What did you think, Jackson? That I would crumble at the thought that Brad is back?”
“Quite frankly, Claire, yes. We both know what he did to you. How can you be so nonchalant about this? Fuck!” I scream up into the ceiling. “The man brutalized you in the cruelest manner possible.” Unable to sit any longer, I get up and start pacing her small, yet elegantly decorated office.
“That was almost twenty-three years ago. Am I supposed to allow Brad Callahan’s comings and goings to dictate my life?”
She is so fucking calm and reserved right now. Me, I’m the
complete opposite. All I can think of is what Claire went through all those years ago. Hell, honestly all I can think of is how she shut me out. In a burst of anger that I can no longer hold in, shit I have been holding it in for the past twenty-three years, I yell at her, “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Why am I the only one that is so goddamn mad? He fucking raped you? He stole your innocence and then tossed you aside as if you were trash!”
“Thank you so much for the recap of the most horrific time of my life, Jackson.”
“Stop calling me, Jackson! Jesus, woman!” I’m still pacing the room and can hardly see straight at the moment. But Claire, she is the epitome of not giving a fuck. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why is it so fucking hard for you to just admit that you are hurt and angry! That someone destroyed you? I was there, Claire. I was the person that picked you up and took care of you.”
Abruptly Claire stands up from where she has been sitting, and yells, “What do you want from me, Jack? You want my blood, sweat and tears? Do you want my soul? Well you can’t have it. I don’t have one anymore. I lost most of it at sixteen years old! What was left after that night, I gave to Sasha and Zoey. What you see before you is a soulless person!”
Well hell…there is no response to that
Claire
WHO THE FUCK does Jackson think he is? Drudging up the worst moment in my life? I have spent too many hours working on who I am, on what I have become, to let this shit get in my way. On a huff, I flop back down onto the couch. Jackson didn’t know what to say to me and left, with the promise that he’d be back.
Yes, Bradford Michael Callahan raped me. He brutally ripped my virginity away and emotionally ruined me for any man. He took it forcefully and tossed me aside. However, he gave me Sasha. And that child is the kindest soul anyone will ever meet. She and I survived. Frankly, I survived because of her.
I may not be able to say that I have loved a man to the depths of my being. But I can certainly say that I have loved deeply and without regret. My girls still come to me when they need love. And that is all that matters. I have done my job and have contributed to the world. Just look at the two amazing women I have raised.
Resting my head on the back of the couch, I find myself lost somewhere in the in-between. Not fully lost in a memory of a time best forgotten and not completely in the here and now.
I was sixteen years old and thinking that I was in love. Thinking that Brad was going to save me from Mac and Jami, when all he truly cared about was the McEvoy name.
We had been hanging out—Jackson, Brad, and I—for almost a year when I finally started to feel comfortable being alone with Brad. That was my first mistake, thinking that Brad and Jackson were made from the same mold. They weren’t. I learned that the hard way.
The night that Brad raped me was the worst night of my life. It was horrific and although I still have major issues from that evening, I truly don’t remember much from it. Once Brad crawled on top of me and tore my panties from my body, my mind went blank until I was in Jackson’s arms and screaming. Later he would tell me how he had found me. Alone. In a fetal position in front of the couch. Half-naked with blood on my lips, hands, and between my legs.
What I do remember is feeling Brad being too big, too heavy. I couldn’t breathe with him on top of me and I wished with everything in me that Jackson would come and save me. Thinking that I shouldn’t have worn the denim mini skirt. What truly stands out in my memory, is that one Coach leopard print ballet slipper was still on while the other was over by the television.
Funny how something so trivial sticks out in my mind. Dr. Jacobs says that is what most survivors do. Focus on one thing so as to not have to focus on the real issue. Magicians call it sleight of hand. Watch the right hand so that you don’t see what’s going on with the left. But my favorite shoes are the only thing that even still to this day stands out in my mind.
Unable to sit still, I stand up and start pacing the room. I’m so lost in my own thoughts that it isn’t until Jackson clears his throat that I realize he’s returned. Stopping in my tracks, I turn to face both him and my past.
Standing at the door, he appears to have regained his composure. The Jackson that is before me now is the Jackson that I have known since I was fifteen. Calm, patient, understanding and beautiful. “What, Jackson? Speak for Christ’s sake!”
“I don’t know what to say to you anymore, Claire. I’ve tried over the past year, but you just won’t let me in.” Shoving off the door frame he has been leaning against, he starts to pace and shows a rare side of him. Agitation is not something that Jackson ever shows anyone. And it is a sight to behold. “Fuck, Claire, you shut me out. I wanted to help. I know what you went through. But you shut down and then shut me out. You were my best friend. Fuck! I told you shit that I hadn’t told another soul. Christ, I told you about my mother!”
Jackson is on a roll, and the only thing that I can think of is that he looks absolutely breathtaking. I’ve tried to keep my emotions in check when it comes to him. But lately his persistence with getting to know not only me again but Sasha as well, has my resolve slowly crumbling around me.
As much as I thought that I loved Brad all those years ago, I know that wasn’t love. But what I felt for Jackson was. Hindsight and all that shit. But I was ashamed, hurt, and felt that I was tainted. As much as I missed Jackson, I couldn’t allow that taint to affect him. But it did. Mac made sure that Jackson suffered for something he didn’t even do. And the damn thing is, Jackson allowed it. Not once did he bring to light my shame.
In this moment the truth finally hits me with the force of a runaway train and has me gasping for air. Even back then Jackson was protecting me.
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I truly am. I was just trying to survive. When Mac found out that I was pregnant, he assumed that you were the father. I should have told him the truth. But I was so ashamed and thought that I was protecting you by not saying anything. It never occurred to me that he would force you out. You had too much talent.”
I know that I have to allow Jackson in. He has repeatedly proven to me that he is trustworthy and reliable. Nodding internally, I decide to do just that—let Jackson in.
“Initially after that night, I couldn’t even look at you. I was devastated over what Brad took from me. It’s not like I was prepared to be inducted into a sexual relationship in general, but to lose my virginity so brutally made the following hours, days, weeks—hell—months a constant struggle.” With a shrug, I sit down deflated in the chair that I had wanted Jackson to sit in in the first place.
He’s across the room, just on the other side of the couch when he says, “Shit, Claire, I was just as devastated. It killed me to know that I left you alone with that asshole. I knew you needed to be protected. But I never expected to walk into the apartment and find what I did. Brad should have never been allowed to be alone with you. I thought that I was a better judge of character. He played me.” Stopping his pacing, Jackson finally looks over at me. “Goddammit, he played me and hurt you and now the son of a bitch is back in our lives. I will not let him hurt you again! Do you understand me? This is a game to him. He is destructive and uses people for his benefit. For him to be back now means that he is ready for round two.” Having run out of steam, Jackson leans on the couch with his powerful forearms propped on the back, his hands clasped together, and his head hanging low.
“What you fail to understand, Jackson, is that I’m not that naïve fifteen-year-old anymore. He can’t hurt me.”
With a look of pure disbelief, Jackson says, “But he can hurt Sasha, Claire. Isn’t that why the first thing you did once I told you he was back was call her?”
Trying my best to play my insecurities off, I say, “I call Sasha all the time. I just wanted to hear her voice.”
“Bullshit! It freaked you out so much that your first instinct was to protect Sasha. I know you, Claire. I see you! I’ve been watching you since you were fifteen fucking years old. I know when you are pani
cked. But here’s something you need to know. So listen up and listen good, woman. If nothing ever comes of the attraction that you and I have for one another, and make no mistake there is an attraction, I will never leave you alone again. I will protect you and Sasha until my dying breath.”
Stunned would be an understatement. Jackson has completely stunned me stupid. I’m sitting here, mouth agape, and all I can do is look like a fucking guppy! This man just admitted that he too has feelings for me and has no intention of letting anyone hurt me or my daughter.
Focus, Claire! Brad is back!!
Jackson
I’VE SHOCKED HER, which is a feat in and of itself. Smirking internally, I realize that I can’t push too much right now or she will shut down completely. But I’m a patient man. Hell, I’ve waited for Claire for over half my life. A little longer won’t kill me. But make no mistake, she and Sasha will be mine.
Shoving off the back of the couch, I walk over to where Claire is sitting. Squatting down so that we are eye level, I take my left index finger and reach forward to close her mouth. She doesn’t jerk away from my touch, which is progress.
Claire, in a lot of ways, is similar to my favorite Mustang. Skittish, wary, headstrong, and fucking beautiful. It might have taken me five years to bring my “lady” along, but with patience she bent to my will. So will Claire.
Looking up into Claire’s gorgeous green eyes is like coming home. I can see her fear, but her resolve and strength are shining through. It is that strength that has me leaning forward. Needing a taste of this woman. Just a small taste. And just as I’m about to make my move, Claire’s cell phone starts blaring Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong.
Encroachment (Coach's Shadow Trilogy #2) Page 3
