Nailed It

by Cindi Madsen

  I sat up, keeping the sheets over my breasts because I already felt way too exposed, and looked for my discarded clothes. Looked for an escape, really. The walls began closing in, and my breaths came faster and faster.

  “Hey, hey.” Jackson’s arm came around my shoulders, and he pulled me to him, my back to his chest. Seconds ticked by, my breaths gradually slowing. “Fine,” he said, his voice low. “We’ll do it your way. I’m not pushing for more. I just thought we could try it out and see what happened, but I’m fine with this arrangement, too.”

  My heart knotted, each beat tightening it a bit more. “It’s all I have to give. I’m sorry.”

  “No reason to be sorry,” Jackson said, but I could hear the disappointment and frustration in his voice. He kissed my shoulder and then shifted away, a cold draft of air taking his place as he pulled on his jeans. “I’ve got to get going anyway. I need to take care of some things tomorrow morning so I won’t be in till around noon. Then I’ll finish the baseboards downstairs, and we’ll tackle the flooring and whatever else needs done up on this floor.”

  “Perfect,” I said. The house, the plan, him.

  Too bad it just wasn’t for me. Even though for the first time in years, I sort of wished I was the kind of girl who could believe in happy endings.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A mix of irritation and panic swirled through me as I paced the length of the upstairs hallway Monday morning. Black Widow watched, her whiskered face following my movements, her judging-you expression in full effect. My instincts had warned me against picking up the phone, but I was having a bit of a blue day—a few blue days, really—and that made me think Mom might be having one, too, and guilt from the time I hadn’t answered a call like that had me answering this one.

  And immediately regretting it.

  “But why do you have to move in with him?” I asked, my brain spinning for something that might make her see reason, even though it should know better by now.

  “Because it makes it so much easier to have sex all the time,” Mom retorted, and I groaned, wanting to stab my ears out, even though that wasn’t a thing. Fine, she wanted to play dirty, I could sling some mud of my own.

  “Well, then why can’t he move you in with him, since he’s getting all the benefits?”

  Her exasperated huff carried over the line. “I thought I could ask my only daughter for help, but clearly I was wrong. I’ll just use money I don’t have and call movers. Will you be happy then?”

  I glanced around at all the work I needed to do—work I couldn’t tell her about, because she’d consider it an act of treason. I only had a couple more weeks with Jackson’s help, and after our rough ending on Saturday night, I worried things would be tense and weird between us today. I fully expected him to show up, say he couldn’t do this anymore, and collect his tools. To walk away from our project and get as far away from me as he could. I was trying to prepare myself and be okay with it, even though it made everything inside of me feel heavy and wrong.

  One problem at a time, Ivy…

  “No, don’t do that,” I said, focusing on the situation at hand. “I’ll…I’ll find some time and help you move.”

  “Well, don’t put yourself out.”

  “Mom…” I didn’t know what more to say. No matter how many times I’d expressed my concerns about her life choices, it didn’t matter. Didn’t change anything. I’d been so determined to stop enabling her, but then came the night that shook me to my core, and I’d rather enable her than live with a lifetime of regret. “I just want you to be happy.”

  “And right now, the idea of moving in with the man I love makes me happy.”

  Which was exactly what I worried about. What happened when he stopped? And don’t even get me started on her saying she was already in love. She was more in love with love than she ever was with the men she dated.

  Love. The word made me feel empty and cold inside, and this was a big part of why. I was sick of love before I was old enough to date, and my bitterness toward it had only grown since. Defeated, I said, “Text me the details, and I’ll figure out something.”

  She gushed, thrilled her guilt trip had worked no doubt, and I told her good-bye.

  When I hung up, I noticed Jackson hovering near the top of the stairs.

  Great. On top of the weirdness and tension between us, he’d just seen a way-too-vulnerable snapshot of me. Or I suppose I could view it as keeping in line with Way Number Ten and refer to it as displaying more of my baggage. Not that he hadn’t already seen this particular suitcase of crazy.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Is everything okay?”

  I debated telling him everything was fine, but instead I rubbed at the headache forming behind my temples, hoping to convince it to leave me alone for a little while, because I was all filled up on shit to deal with. “My mom’s moving in with a new guy. He makes her happy, apparently, so I should just deal with it.”

  Jackson stepped farther into the hallway, the bare bulbs overhead highlighting his hair and ruggedly handsome face. “But you’re worried about what happens when he stops making her happy. Because of what happened last time.”

  I pressed my lips together and clenched my fists so I wouldn’t cry, but my eyes watered anyway. If he hadn’t known exactly how I felt, I might’ve been able to hold it back. “Pretty much,” I said, and then I sniffed, super loudly.

  Within a couple of large strides, Jackson had me in his arms. I wanted the strength to push away. To tell him I didn’t need a shoulder to cry on—last time I’d used his shoulder for that reason certainly hadn’t turned out so well. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it when it felt so damn good to let him hold me.

  “I know I shouldn’t enable her and jump to move her in or help her flee every single time. She’ll never learn to be independent that way, but I think that ship has sailed anyway, and I can’t seem to help it. I set up boundaries, and she just laughs at them and takes them out like Godzilla, not caring about the destruction she leaves behind.”

  Jackson smoothed a hand down my hair. “It’s okay. I of all people know what it’s like to try to set up boundaries with family members who treat them like silly suggestions.”

  I smiled at that. At least his family crashed through with love instead of more destruction. At least they did it because they cared so much about his well-being instead of only thinking about theirs.

  “Tell you what. I’ll help you move her into the guy’s house, and I’ll have a nice chat with him about what’ll happen if he fails to make her happy.”

  I half-laughed, half-cried. “Poor guy. If he doesn’t leave her, she’ll leave him. It’s like musical chairs; she’ll just keep on bouncing until the music stops and she literally can’t move anymore, and that’ll be the guy who sticks. Even if he wishes he could run but that bum hip of his won’t let him.”

  “Maybe this one will stick,” Jackson said, and I looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Hey, a little optimism never hurt anybody.”

  “Wrong. It’s hurt me every single time I’ve tried it out.” A sharp pain lanced my heart. Time to redirect before I lost my grip on my control and fell apart.

  I pulled out of his embrace. “I need a Cherry Coke. Do you want one?” Sugar plus caffeine was always a safe bet. When Jackson didn’t immediately answer, I said, “I’ll grab you one, just in case.”

  As I rushed down the stairs, he muttered, “And the world record for fastest at running away from anything involving emotions goes to Ivy Clarke.”

  My hand gripped the banister, and my feet slowed. A big part of me wanted to turn and defend myself—I had a feeling he’d purposely said it loud enough for me to hear, probably to goad me into finishing our conversation. To keep from engaging and turning this into a shouting match, I reminded myself that he’d just so nicely offered to help with my mom’s move. He wasn’t exactly wrong, either. Even though it still kind of stung.

  I took long strides throug
h the living room and into the kitchen. The cool air that wafted over me as I grabbed two cans out of the fridge was a welcome relief. I popped the lid open to mine and gulped about half of it down so the energizing effects could kick in as soon as possible. If it could also drown out everything else, that’d be great, but that was super wishful thinking.

  I heard Jackson’s heavy footsteps approaching, and I steeled myself for a lecture about how much I sucked at being a quasi-girlfriend, but then they went the opposite way. I stepped through the archway that opened to the dining room and saw him bend down next to the kittens, checking on them.

  Over the past few days, their eyes were slowly opening, little slits with blue showing through. They were seeing the world bit by bit, and I wished it was a better, less-complicated place. I still didn’t know what I was going to do with four kittens who obviously couldn’t live here forever.

  “Noisy little things,” Jackson said, patting one on the head. All of them squished over in the same corner, vying for his attention. I sometimes had the same urge, so I could hardly blame them.

  “Maybe I’ll take one as a housewarming gift when I help my mom move,” I joked as I knelt next to him and extended the unopened Coke—my version of a peace pipe—and every nerve ending in my body stood on end, desperately hoping it’d be enough.

  Instead of taking it, he curled his fingers around mine. “Listen up, Flash, because I’ve got somethin’ to say, and I’m not above tackling you to the ground to get you to hear it if that’s what it takes.”

  Apparently, he wasn’t going to let go of my hand until he said his piece, either. “You’re not responsible for her choices,” he said, and everything in me froze, leaving me unable to move, even if he’d let me. “And you sure as hell weren’t responsible for the one she made last spring.”

  “She called me earlier that night, and I let it go to voicemail.” Much to my dismay, my voice cracked. “If I would’ve—”

  “Nope.” Jackson locked eyes with me. “You’re not responsible. End of story.”

  Black Widow came over and checked on her kittens, making sure we were taking good care of them since they were squeaking their cute little heads off.

  “See?” Jackson nodded at the momma cat. “She’s taking care of them, not the other way around.”

  “When it comes down to it, I’m all she’s got,” I said. She’d pushed everyone else away, including the one friend she’d had since she was a teenager. That one hit the hardest, because I didn’t think it was a possibility. I always thought she and Dixie were soul mates. Nothing romantic, just solid, always going to be there for each other, soul mates. I’d built my foundation with it, telling myself that at least that would never change. But it did, and it took the last shred of my sense of security with it. I supposed that was another reason I was determined to be okay on my own. I saw my future, and while Linc and Savannah were in it, things would change after they got married.

  Jackson cupped my cheek. “And she’s dang lucky to have you.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across mine.

  I closed my eyes, enjoying the contrast of his soft lips and scratchy whiskers. Just when I was considering sinking into everything Jackson and forgetting the rest of the world, he broke the kiss.

  He pushed to his feet, retrieved his tool box, and headed upstairs while I sat there and let the mix of happiness and sorrow twist through me. Happiness that Jackson knew just what I needed; sorrow that my mom would never change. Another strand of sorrow to mourn the fact that I couldn’t be the girl who believed in happily-ever-afters with the guy turning my insides to mush.

  I lived in the real world now.

  The real world, where if I didn’t give my mom attention, she found other ways to gain it.

  After dealing with the moodiness that’d accompanied more breakups than I could count, I’d instinctively known that was why Mom was calling me that night, and I’d let the call go to voicemail. I was at work, after all. When I had a break, I listened to the message, which confirmed my suspicions that she and her beau at the time were over.

  I’d decided I couldn’t keep swooping in and saving her. Without Dixie to help balance her out, her emotions and mood swings were oppressive, and she needed to learn to save herself.

  Three days later, she took too many sleeping pills and landed in the hospital. Ever since that cry for help, I felt so obligated to answer every call. To try to do whatever it took to keep her happy.

  Was it horrible that I wished she would finally find the one even though I didn’t believe in that, just so he could take care of her so I wouldn’t have to?

  I knew it was, but that was how I felt right now.

  I didn’t want to end up pacing the halls of another hospital, the antiseptic smell burning my nostrils as I faced the reality of losing Mom—who was the only person I really had, too, even though it never seemed like I’d truly had her.

  Usually, I tried to keep my friends away from my mother, especially when she was in a downswing, but that night I’d desperately needed someone. I have no doubt Savannah would’ve flown home from her convention in a heartbeat, but it would’ve taken a day, and she’d been talking about presenting in front of her dating coach peers for months. I didn’t want to blow that for her, but I’d needed someone—needed someone more than I ever had in my entire life.

  Jackson’s name had flashed like a beacon in the storm my life had dissolved into. Sure, we constantly argued, our crazy strong attraction always underlying our interactions, but he was reliable. He was the kind of person who knew what to do in emergencies, and as he’d held me that night while I’d cried and spilled my guts, I knew I’d picked exactly the right person.

  He was still there in the waiting room with me the next morning. I saw him in a new light, literally and metaphorically.

  Once Mom was released and I’d settled her in at home, he came over to check on me. The magnetic pull between us was supercharged and stronger than ever, and instead of bothering to fight it, we gave in, crossing lines without thinking about the consequences. After all the stress of taking care of someone else, it felt so good to be taken care of that I let Jackson completely sweep me away to a place where none of my worries existed.

  Night after night, until I could feel my heart strings getting all tangled up with his.

  I saw the disaster we were headed toward and slammed the emergency brake, hoping that’d keep us from crashing and burning. Only I was me, so I’d been too harsh and things got ugly.

  I pushed, I avoided, and when Jackson hunted me down at the club one night so he could push back, he found me dancing with another guy. A nobody, and definitely not anyone I was interested in, but I’d tried to tell myself I was. Or that I could be, because I couldn’t deal with the other option.

  Jackson had practically carried me out of the club, and I’d yelled and he’d yelled, and instead of the flirty challenge that came along with most of our fights, this wasn’t flirty or challenging. It was harsh and devastating, and neither of us was good at losing, which meant we swung that much harder.

  I told him he’d read way too much into our week together, and when I could see the words sink in, instead of fixing them, I purposely picked at the scab—it was easier than thinking I’d made a mistake.

  So I’d shrugged and said, “Look, it was a fun week, but I’m not sure what you expected. I’m not a one-guy relationship-type girl, and I never will be. Sorry if you thought otherwise.”

  We’d thrown a lot of verbal punches in our day, and that was definitely a low blow, but I was too stubborn and prideful to take it back.

  He’d shaken his head, his eyes going cold, his words coming out sharp. “I should’ve seen this coming,” he said with a mirthless laugh. “I knew how you were. But don’t you worry your little head about me—I’ll sleep just fine. So go on back in there and have your fun, and good luck trying to look at yourself in the mirror.”

  That jab was the TKO kind, one that knocked me on my ass, even as I’d
forced myself to stay standing.

  I’d finally pushed hard enough for him to walk away, and it took everything in me to remind myself it was for the best as I resisted the urge to crumple onto the sidewalk and cry.

  A pit opened itself in my chest that night, and I renewed my vow to never let anyone get that close or that deep again.

  Now here I was, my heart strings tangled as ever, and he was going to get tied up in the mess. Then we’d have to cut each other loose, and the cutting would hurt. After that would come the downward spiral, and I instinctively knew this time would hurt more and leave me broken for longer.

  He only likes you when you’re broken and vulnerable anyway.

  So that I wouldn’t think about that stray, distressing thought too much, I forced myself to my feet and headed upstairs to see what the plan was for this week. I’d focus on the here and now, and worry about next week, well, next week. One day at a time—that was how I’d lived my life, and I’d made it okay so far.

  Mostly made it, anyway.

  I found Jackson eyeing the window in my bedroom. Er, my old bedroom. “Hey,” I said, shoving the bad memories and complications away and telling myself it was fake-it-till-you-make-it time. Especially since when it came to time, we didn’t have a lot left. “What’s the plan, boss?”

  He laughed. “That’s rich, you calling me boss.”

  “I thought I’d try it out.” I made a face. “I don’t like it.”

  “I’m so shocked. Now, come ’ere. I want to show you something.” He gestured me over and then positioned me in front of him. “What would you think about me knocking out this tiny window and turning it into a big picture window? One with a little reading nook, so you could sit and read in the big sunny window and look out over the street.”

  “But this isn’t my house.”

  Jackson’s eyebrows crinkled, and he tilted his head. “I mean a more metaphorical you. So I guess what I should’ve said was ‘so someone could sit and read in the reading nook.’”