by Rachael Wade
“You okay?” Jackson asked, looking between me and his mom’s grave.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”
Understanding swept his face. “Hey,” he said, pulling me closer, “I’ve got you.”
I brushed a tear from the corner of my eye and pointed to the flowers. “They’re beautiful, Jack. I think they’re my favorite, too.”
“Oh, yeah?” He released me and knelt down in the grass, taking what I guessed was last week’s withered bouquet from the stone’s edge, replacing it with the fresh one. Before he stood, he pulled two flowers from the new bouquet with his fingers. “For you,” he said, rising to his feet. He gently snapped the lily from its stem, then slipped it over my ear. Next, he plucked a piece of the iris from its stem and fastened it over my heart, between my shirt and hoodie zipper. “And for Jen.”
“Thank you.”
“Emma Pierce, meet my mom, Sara. Mom, meet Emma, love of my life.” He gestured to the grave at our feet. Misty rain painted droplets of dew over our cheeks and arms as we stood there, staring down at Sara’s resting place. Jackson’s introduction teased another tear down my cheek, but I captured the sob, wanting to keep myself in check. This meeting was important to him, and I wasn’t about to take that from him.
“Hi, Sara. It’s great to meet you. Your son speaks very highly of you.”
“This is where she’d say, ‘He better. He put me through eighteen hours of hellish labor.’”
“Why am I not surprised you made her delivery difficult?” I forced a smile, biting down on my lip.
“I guess I made a lot of things difficult for her.”
Oh, no. My attempt at a lighthearted stab was useless. He scanned Sara’s angel, hands in his pockets, gaze lost in thought.
My tone was earnest this time. “What do you mean?”
“Just...when things started going downhill, I’m sure I didn’t make things easy on her in those last days.”
“I’m sure she loved you and forgave you for whatever you put her through. You told me you worked to help with the medical bills. And this was during your freshman year in high school, right? She knew you were a kid, doing the best you could.”
“I was trouble, Emma. Even then. Especially then.”
“You were acting out, just as any kid who was losing his mom to cancer would.”
“Not every kid starts stealing and carting around hookers for his dad to make ends meet in high school. I partied with them, came home drunk...you name it, Em. I did it. I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing by helping my dad earn money. I really should have been spending my time at home, with my mom, while she was there. I could have given her so much more of my time. I still hate thinking about that shit.”
“That’s understandable, Jack. It’s true, those circumstances were a bit...unconventional.” I stepped forward to stand next to him, side by side. “But you didn’t ask for that. You were a kid. A lost, heartbroken, scared kid. And everyone deals with that in different ways. Some lash out.” I swallowed hard, jarred by the clarity, realizing just how much baggage Jackson had been carrying around since his mother’s death.
It explained so much about him.
He wasn’t just this hotheaded, fun-loving womanizer the island had come to know him as. It was clear to me now, looking at the distress on his face—so raw, so tender—that his reputation wasn’t just a facade. He wasn’t this broken, tormented soul putting on a front for the town.
There was no front. Only honesty.
Everything about Jackson’s behavior screamed hurt. From the fights and empty one-night stands to his drained bank account and the thoughtless property damage, his actions were hotwired by affliction. They might have been masked in carelessness and a smile, but he wasn’t trying to deceive anyone. The mask was real—a 100 percent genuine coping mechanism.
“Lash out? That’s putting it mildly.”
“You’ve made mistakes. Who hasn’t? Some are just heavier than others. And you’re not proud of them, that’s what matters. You shouldn’t want to take them back, because they’re a part of you, they made you who you are. Don’t regret them. But you know they hurt you and others, and that’s a sign of a conscience, Jackson. A heart. You’re human—an imperfect, frail human. Maybe it’s time you start treating yourself like one. You’re not going to get it all right, all the time.” Releasing a soft sigh, I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth, struck by the magnitude of my hypocrisy. “I’m ready to read the obituary, you know. I meant to tell you, the first day I came to find you on your boat. Wanted to read it with you, actually.”
His eyebrows rose. “Really? That’s great news, Em. Wait, why didn’t you?”
“Someone dragged me into the ocean and it was destroyed in my shorts pocket.”
“Ahhh, I see.” He threaded his fingers through mine. “Well, just say when. Whenever you’re ready to grab another copy and do it, I’ll be right next to you. So...you ready to head home?”
“Now? We just got here.”
“It’s cool,” he shrugged, jutting his chin toward the grave’s flowers. “I did what I came to do. I’m glad you met my mom.”
“I am, too.” I smiled. “Let’s do this again sometime, Sara,” I said, peering past him to acknowledge the stone. Turning away, I started toward Jackson’s truck, thankful to be heading home.
***
“Who knew Jackson was such a math whiz kid?” Whitney peeked over my shoulder, eyeing my homework. I was huddled over a pile of assignments I’d put off—unwisely, right before finals—working to finish them off before Carter came by to pick up Whitney.
“Yup. The boy has mad skills.” And thank God he did. Turned out, the one subject Jack was best at was math, which was a real lifesaver when I could barely divide properly. He’d been a great tutor. All week, I’d been consumed with crunching for finals, pulling extra shifts for some Christmas money, and all-things Jackson. When he wasn’t tutoring me, we were on the beach, on his boat, or making futile attempts to keep Ruben away from Whitney.
Tonight, I had plans to go to Jackson’s to help him put the finishing decorative touches on his boat, while Carter and Whitney had plans for dinner and a movie. He’d finally cleaned and organized it—mostly thanks to my obsessive neat freak ways—and had created an almost livable space to call home, but I wouldn’t be going anywhere if I didn’t finish this mountain of assignments.
“I’m gonna wash these dishes while you finish up,” Whitney said, skirting around me to move to the sink. “Oh, hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Before Carter gets here, I wanted to ask you to go to Seattle with me in May. He invited me to be his date at his friend Kate’s wedding, and I could use the support. He asked Kate if you and Jackson could come, and she said yes.”
“Support for what?” I looked up from my papers, confused. “You’ll be with Carter.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know how I feel about this Kate chick. From the little bit I’ve gathered from Carter, she really did a number on him. He moved down here to get away from her. He won’t say it, but I know he did. Who flies clear across the country to get away from someone like that? It makes me wonder if I’m just some weird rebound or something, that’s all.”
“He wanted to get away from her, but he says she’s still his best friend?”
“So he says.” She shrugged. “I don’t get it. Which is why I want you with me. I need your help feeling her out, putting the pieces together. I think it’s too soon for me to be prying, asking him about all of the details, you know? If he wanted me to know, I think he’d tell me. He’s holding back for a reason.”
“Well, whatever the reason is, it’s no reason to distrust him. You’re not a rebound. I can tell he’s really into you, Whit. He wouldn’t ask you to this wedding as his date if he had something to hide. Besides, this Kate chick is getting married. No worries.”
“I hope you’re right. Because he makes me crazy. I haven’t felt this way since...Adam.” She stilled, fr
ying pan and sponge in hand. “He doesn’t baby me, he’s not some macho ape trying to tell me how to live my life. He supports me, lets me be me. I like that.”
“I do too.”
“Only...”
“What is it?”
“He’s almost too nice. Know what I mean? It kinda freaks me out sometimes. How messed up is that?”
“Whit, there’s nothing wrong with you for thinking that way. It’s just a byproduct of being screwed over. I promise you, though. You have nothing to worry about with Carter. Don’t sabotage this, okay? Give this a chance. He’s a good guy and you deserve to see where the relationship goes.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Resolved, she shook her head and resumed her scrubbing. “God, Em. Can I have your babies? I love you. Listen, though. If this Kate turns out to be Mega Bitch, you have to promise to restrain me and make sure I don’t get carried away at this wedding.”
“I’ve got your back.”
“Swear?”
“Swear.” Content when I heard her sigh in relief, I returned my attention to my homework. I finished a few minutes before Carter showed up, happy to head to my car when he arrived to give him privacy with Whitney.
Twenty minutes later, Jackson was dragging me inside his boat’s cabin like a crazed man. No greeting, no air or space left between us. Only urgency, a need for skin on skin. Pulling me against him, he plopped down on the couch and lassoed me onto his lap so I was straddling him, tearing my shirt and skirt off as he moved.
“Jack,” I laughed, gripping his hair, “slow down, baby.”
“I can’t. I haven’t seen you all day.” Grinning up at me as I loomed over him, he gazed at my breasts, but he didn’t reach for them. Instead, he rested his hands on my hips and devoured me with his eyes, lips parting at the sight, as if he’d never seen me without my shirt on before. The intensity of his stare was disarming. One strong hand finally left my waist and travelled across my chest, tracing my curves and pulling lightly at the straps of my bra. “Leave this on, they look gorgeous in this lace,” he demanded, his voice filled with desire.
Bending forward, he nuzzled his mouth against one breast and nudged the top of the bra cup aside with his teeth to breathe against my nipple. My whole body flamed from the touch, head falling back with a soft whimper as I gave in to the sensation. He groaned and sat back against the couch, taking me with him. His grip tightened on my hips and he straightened me against his chest, positioning my knees on each side of his waist so they sank into the couch cushions, forcing my legs farther apart.
My torso was now flush with his face, his lips to my navel. My breathing shallowed when he peered up at me through those dark lashes, making his intentions clear. “Tell me where you want me to touch you.” He kissed just below my belly button, shifting to level his mouth with the apex of my thighs.
“Mmmhhhm, please touch me here, Jackson.” With his dark hair intertwined in my fingers, I guided his head between my legs, raising my hips to meet the rush of hot breath. I closed my eyes for a moment at the feel of his mouth grazing over my black cotton panties, my nerves singing as he slid and buried his nose up and down my sensitive lips. The vibrations from the moan-induced hum resonating in his throat made me shudder. I glanced down and gripped his hair harder, whispering his name and my plea again.
He pulled back slightly to lick just above my waistband, eyes flashing upward to watch my reaction. I held his gaze for a second, releasing it when I felt his tongue delve underneath the cotton material, my eyes closing in ecstasy. His hand left my hip to finger aside the lace edge, giving him better access. I cried out at the pressure of his tongue, my fingers diving deeper into his hair, entangling the silky, espresso strands. The more I shifted to find relief from the intensity of the strokes of his tongue, the harder he pushed his mouth against me, the harder he gripped my hips to hold me in place. The heat from his mouth and the wetness combined sent me spiraling, and I pressed tighter into him before doubling over, my head falling on his shoulder as the release swept over my body. His relentless tongue continued to swirl and grind against me until every last wave of pleasure washed over me, wringing me out until my knees collapsed around him. God, that was fast. With Jackson, I had no control on the speed or breaks—ever.
And he so obviously reveled in the control he wielded.
His lips found my shoulder, panting against it, biting the skin there before pressing down in a soft kiss. “Emma...holy hell...” his hands slid up my ass and lower back, one landing on my neck, the other tangled in my hair, his chest heaving. “You taste incredible. I could do that all day, every day. Please, hire me for that and let me die a happy man.” I let out a tired laugh against his neck, easing my head up to bring my forehead to his, leaning in to steal a kiss. His tongue slipped inside of my mouth and he claimed me, groaning and rolling his hips to press harder into my core.
Feeling his desire burn beneath me, I pulled back and flicked my gaze down to his, realizing it was my turn to issue my command. “Tell me you want me to taste you.”
“Taste me,” he answered with no hesitation, watching in awe as I scooted down to the floor to crouch between his legs and stroke him through his jeans. He threw his head back against the couch headrest and I watched the muscles in his throat restrict then relax as he absorbed the feel of my hand on him. “Ah, yeah, baby, keep doing that.”
I took my time undoing his pants button, wanting to draw out his anticipation as much as possible. This was our rhythm, our worship: give and take, gift and receive, honor and entrust. Making love to this man wasn’t just an expression of my feelings for him or a carnal, physical need—it was an offering.
As I eased down his zipper, a loud bang on the door jolted us both from the spell, and Jackson’s head snapped up at the sound.
“Don’t answer,” I whispered, my fingers still teasing. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to take him into my mouth and make him feel just as good, just as wanted, as he made me feel.
“Open the door!” A voice screeched from the cabin door, clearly female, and clearly livid. “Jackson, you no good son of bitch, I know you’re in there, so open the damn door right now!”
“Shit!” Jackson scrambled up from the couch, reaching to toss me my clothes. He zipped up and adjusted himself, a tirade of expletives that would’ve made a sailor blush exploding from his lips.
“Who is it?” I flew up from my knees to cover myself, spinning around in the dim light to fasten my skirt. “What did you do now?” He cut me a look and straightened himself, dashing to the sink to wash up.
“Her name’s Natasha,” he answered angrily, taking a deep breath. “Just let me handle this, and I swear I’ll explain everything as soon as I get rid of her.”
“Get rid of her? What does she want?” I searched the cabin frantically for any remaining clothing, still feeling exposed and flushed from our lovemaking. Jackson rushed to the door and it swung open. There stood a tall, beautiful brunette glaring at him from the small doorway. She stepped down into the cabin toward him, her nostrils flaring and arms crossing against her chest. I wanted to step back and hide in a corner, under the covers—do anything other than stand there and gape at her like a fish—but her clothing caught my attention and I couldn’t look away.
She wasn’t just scantily clad—she was practically naked. A short, flirty black trench coat hung loose over her shapely frame, and tall, silver stilettos sparkled on her feet. I realized upon a closer look that her breasts weren’t entirely bare, but instead covered by decorative sequins. Her makeup was thick, with dramatic black shadow and bright red lips. All of my muscles tensed. The Casey incident at Pete’s was nowhere near as awkward as this. Whoever this girl was, she knew Jack—was angry with him—and he didn’t seem surprised at all by her appearance or her visit for that matter, only irritated by the inconvenience it posed.
“Where’s my money, Jackson?” She glanced past him to lock eyes with me, her gaze dropping to my feet, then travelling bac
k up. “If you have the cash to take this one out, you have the cash to pay me. It’s been two weeks. Come on, it’s almost six and I need to get to work.”
Pay her? A cold shiver rolled over my arms and I stiffened at her words.
“I know, Natasha,” Jackson said harshly, “we discussed this over the weekend. I ran short this week, but I’ll have the money on Monday, okay? I have no reason to lie to you about it.”
“No reason to lie? Really, Jack?”
“Natasha, please stop—”
“What about Ruben’s birthday party? He brought all his friends in and you swore you’d pick up the tab. That never happened.”
“I didn’t know he was bringing the whole neighborhood, Natasha. And that was two months ago.”
“Exactly. Two months ago, and still no money. Yet I let it slide. I can’t believe I lent you another 500.”
The cold shiver that seized my arms turned to ice and I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. I didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to see this. Moreover, I didn’t want to have the conversation I knew was coming the second this girl walked out the door.
“I know you have no reason to believe me, but I will pay you back. Monday. I swear it.”
Natasha stepped closer to pin him with her smoky eyes. “I hope that’s the truth. Because if you don’t show up with that money, I’ll tell Ed you’ve been ripping me off.”
“I haven’t been ripping you off, and you know it. This was a mutual loan.”
“He sure as hell won’t believe that.” She smiled smugly, lifting a brow. “And I doubt your daddy will vouch for you, either. Not that his word is good anymore, locked up behind those bars. Hasn’t been for some time. I’m surprised Ed still bails you out when you come running to him. After all these years. What an idiot.”
“Get out. Get off my boat.” He pointed to the door, opening it roughly.
“What, don’t want your new little girlfriend to meet the staff?”
