Christmas was done.
It had been a relatively merry Christmas, all things considered. Jackson had spent the day with his family, watching the holiday through Jace’s eyes, trying not to envy his sister and brother-in-law for their happiness. It wasn’t their fault they had a functional family unit and he didn’t.
He’d held it together, plastered a semi-genuine grin on his face for the day. He tried not to think of all those missing, tried to be thankful for what he had.
He’d laughed at all the right parts of A Christmas Story, a Gauge family tradition. He ate three helpings of dinner. He smiled graciously at the socks and underwear his mom bought him, thanked Gretta for the gift card to the gaming store. He passed on the wine, whiskey, and beer.
Driving home, though, his emotions started to unwind. The fake enthusiasm of the day peeled away, revealing the cracked, broken man underneath.
He was afraid to go home, afraid to find himself wallowing in sadness and, consequentially, in alcohol. He was afraid of hitting rock bottom again. He was afraid of being alone.
So he did something a bit rash, a bit crazy.
He turned his truck around and headed in the other direction, driving toward the one person he wanted to see, hoping she wasn’t too busy or too depressed or too anything to spend time with him.
_______________
“Jackson?” She was obviously surprised to see him at the door ten minutes later, and he was surprised to find her alone. The television played in the background, and she was wearing pajamas.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Definitely not,” she replied, ushering him in.
“Are you alone?”
“Should I be creeped out by that question?” she teased, smiling as she pulled her robe around her.
“Sorry. Let me explain. You see, I thought about going home and watching some lame Christmas movies or drinking myself into a coma. So I didn’t have to think about my son, Tim, or Wade. But then I started thinking. You’re probably having a pretty crappy night too, right? I mean, best case scenario, I figured your family was hovering around you, telling you it would be okay, buying you fuzzy socks and perfume hoping they’ll make you forget about Tim.”
She nodded, laughing. “That was my early evening spot-on.”
“Okay. Then I figured worst case, you were here alone, wallowing in sadness, replaying your Christmases with Tim movie style to sappy music in your head, also drowning in a bottle of wine.”
She sheepishly nodded, turning to eye the half-empty bottle of wine on the end table by the couch. “And that summarizes the rest of my night.”
“I thought so. So on the way home from my family’s overly festive Christmas feast, I realized something. Since both of us are having a shitty Christmas, why not spend the evening together?”
“Misery loves company?”
“Sort of. More like, commiserating while also keeping each other out of depression status.”
“And what did you have in mind?”
“A walk?”
“A walk? That was your master, soul-saving idea?”
“Yep. A walk. In the freezing cold air. Two miserable friends walking on Christmas trying to abate the loneliness and shittiness of the season.”
“Well, when you put it that way, how could I resist? Let me go change.”
“Don’t change. Just throw a coat on. You don’t have to impress anyone today.”
She eyed him like he was crazy, but the wine was probably dulling her rational thoughts. “Okay, then. Lead the way.”
It’s a stupid idea, really, he thought as she followed him into the brisk December air. The moon was out, lighting their path. It was cold but not completely unbearable. It was a good temperature to walk with Sophia, to let the pure state of their friendship coupled with a jaunt through nature numb him to his thoughts.
“Despite your lack of eloquence, I do appreciate this,” she said, turning to him. Her hands were shoved in her pockets, and her hair was in its customarily messy ponytail. “I told my parents to leave, that I was fine. I really wasn’t. I was in a pretty low place. You saved me from making a huge mistake, too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I was contemplating putting in our wedding video when you came to the door.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Yeah, I know. Masochistic at least. I just, I don’t know... I wanted to see him. You know?”
“Yeah. I get it. But please don’t. Don’t do it. Not yet.”
“So from the sounds of it, your holiday wasn’t much better?”
He stared ahead, eying the glassy road as they meandered forward. “Nope. My ex-wife refused to budge on the custody agreement. She gets Christmas this year with Logan. I wanted to just stop by, to just see him for a little bit. She refused.”
“She wouldn’t consider it at all? Not even for Christmas?”
“Nope.”
“Jackson, I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Yeah, it does. I can’t really blame her. Hey, do you want to sit for a few?” They had reached the tiny park at the end of the block. A bench illuminated by a streetlight humbly invited them in.
She nodded, parking herself on the bench. He sat beside her.
“So what happened? Tell me.”
He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to open up. “Well, I came home from the military. I’d left to be with her, to be with Logan. I was tired of having to leave. It wasn’t fair to either of them. So I quit. I’d been home a week when she told me the truth. She was seeing someone else. She was leaving me.”
Sophia gasped, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”
“Yeah. It was. She took my son, moved him in with Seth, and left me with the house. Not the homecoming I’d planned. I was jobless, wifeless, and sonless. I was pretty low. So I started drinking. A lot. Alcoholic level a lot.”
She looked at him, her eyes sparkling from the streetlight. She didn’t gasp, didn’t judge. She just listened. He tensed his jaw.
“One night, about a month after she left, I got really drunk. The booze gave me this crazy idea to get in my truck and drive to see Logan. I was on my way when I lost control of the vehicle and crashed into a tree.”
“Oh my God! That’s awful.”
“Yeah. Luckily for me, I wasn’t hurt, and I didn’t hurt anyone else. It wasn’t as serious as it could have been. But I had no one to call. A guy I worked construction with came and picked me up. I was lucky I wasn’t caught by the police. It’s a small town, though, and Chloe, of course, found out. She was pissed, especially since I’d been on my way to Logan. She filed for sole custody immediately. Her lawyer painted me out to be a basket case from my Iraq tours, and she won, leaving me with a few weekends a month and a few appointed holidays.”
“That’s not fair. She did this. She started it.”
He smiled at her. It felt good to have someone on his side, deserved or not.
“Can you appeal?” she asked.
“I’d sort of given up on everything. But recently, I’ve been talking about it with my brother-in-law. He thinks we have a shot.”
“Don’t give up. You’re a good man. You made a mistake. I think the court was crazy not to see that.”
“I’ve had some shady moments in my past, some rock bottom moments. Being in Iraq took its toll. I’m not a saint, Sophia. Don’t get the wrong idea.”
“None of us are.”
He looked over at her now, this woman who’d been through so much, yet she was comforting him. “How are you holding up? Really?”
“Honestly? I’m not. I mean, I put on a good show during the day, but it’s awful. Some days, I don’t even want to get out of bed. Some days, I feel like it’s going to be okay, like I can be okay, only to have some other aspect of my life tell me otherwise. Most days, racking pain surges through my entire body. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay.”
He instinctively reached over, wrapping an arm around her, pulling he
r in to him.
“We’re quite the pair, huh?”
She eyed him now, pulling back slightly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—”
“I know.” She settled back against him, and they sat for a few moments looking at the stars, wondering what the new year could possibly bring.
“I’m glad you stayed in town,” Sophia murmured. He squeezed her arm.
“Me too.”
“Thanks for making Christmas a little bit more bearable.”
“Same here.”
“And Jackson?”
“Yeah?” He turned to look at her now, her blue eyes gleaming up at him, her cheeks slightly pink from the chill of the night air.
“You’re a good man. Chloe’s a stupid bitch if she doesn’t see that. You fight for Logan. You fight until you get him back. You survived Iraq. You can survive some stupid woman who has her head up her ass.”
He smiled. “Tell me how you really feel, huh?”
“I don’t like censoring myself.”
“I see that. But thank you.”
She did something surprising then, something that jolted him to life.
Under the moonlight on Christmas night, perhaps still emboldened by the contents of the wine bottle, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips felt smooth and shocking against the cold of his cheek.
“I can see why Tim thought you were such a good friend, even when you two lost touch,” she said. She jumped to her feet then, before he had time to think about it. She pulled him off the bench and they headed toward her house in silence, the calmness of the neighborhood soothing both of them into a place of complacency if not downright peace.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jackson
“Hey. I hope you like coffee.” Jackson stood sheepishly holding two Dunkin Donuts large coffees at her door. She was dressed in leggings and a T-shirt and looked peaceful.
The holidays had been gone for a couple of weeks, and the two had fallen into somewhat of a routine. Once or twice a week, he’d show up at her door. She’d grab a coat, and they’d take a walk through her neighborhood. They’d stroll down memory lane together, too, talking about Tim, old times, and old dreams. They’d talk like two old friends who’d just rediscovered each other. Talking with her felt like talking with a piece of Tim. He felt close to him again by being with her.
It was more than that, though.
Sophia understood loss. She didn’t try to tell him he should cheer up or be thankful. She didn’t begrudge him feelings of depression, hurt, or anger when he talked about Logan. She let him simmer in the grief, let him spew about it. She made him feel okay.
Jackson needed to be near her, not just for comfort, but also for a pull all too familiar. There was something about her, something about the way her hair frizzed a bit at the top, something about the way she aimlessly twirled the loose hair around her face. There was something about her delicate hands when they reached out to touch his arm, the way her blue eyes glimmered like she could feel his pain.
He shut down that side of his heart, closed off any lascivious feelings that were emerging.
She’s your best friend’s wife, he reminded himself. She’s off-limits. This is crazy.
He promised himself—promised Tim—nothing would come of it. Sure, she was gorgeous; every man who came in contact with her was probably pulled in by her. Who wouldn’t be? But she certainly didn’t feel anything toward him, and he would never expect her to. It would be too weird.
“Thank you,” she said, the smile lighting up her face. “Are you kidding? I love coffee.” She helped herself to one of the cups in his hand and wandered back inside, not needing to lead him inside anymore. He knew the way. “What’s up? You’re earlier than usual.”
“Yeah, I got off work early. I wanted to stop by, see how you’re doing.”
She smiled. “Better now. Who can resist a man with coffee?”
He felt his cheeks redden as he looked at the ground, fiddling with his coffee cup.
She reddened now, too. “Sorry. That sounded awkward.”
He shook his head. “It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”
“You hungry?” she asked.
“Yeah. I planned on heading home for some frozen pizza after our walk.”
“Frozen pizza?” She crinkled her nose. “That’s sort of sad.”
“Yeah, sort of is.”
“So let’s skip the walk today, huh? I actually have a roast in the crockpot that’s about done. Stay for dinner.”
“Sounds good.” Deep down, he’d been hoping for an invitation, for an extension of their time together. Standing by Sophia, he realized how much he didn’t want to go home to his gloomy apartment to watch reruns.
Sophia sipped her coffee before speaking again. “I’ll warn you, I’m going to put you to work though. I hate mashing potatoes.”
“Well, lucky for you, there’s a gourmet chef in the house,” he teased, raising his chin just a bit.
“Well then, what the heck am I doing getting anything ready at all? The kitchen awaits.” She beamed at him, sipped her coffee, and gestured toward the kitchen.
As he sauntered toward the kitchen, he realized how good it felt to see her smile.
_______________
One hour later, they’d properly served the roast, mashed the potatoes—which were quite lumpy, to his chagrin—and set the table. They now sat across from each other, ready to dig in.
“This looks awesome,” Jackson said. “But I will say, I think the potatoes clearly make the meal.”
“Ha! Don’t you wish. They look a bit lumpy.”
“Questioning the master chef? Who do you think you are?”
She grabbed a fork and fluffed the potatoes, whipping them a bit before taking a bite. “Okay, so they don’t taste too bad.”
“Too bad? I’m insulted.”
She grinned. “They’re pretty damn good, I’ll admit. Better than mine would be.”
They ate for a few moments in silence before he spoke. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a real, home-cooked dinner.”
“God, me too. The grief books don’t tell you how cooking for one is so much more depressing than cooking for two.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Yeah, but you’re a bachelor. It’s acceptable for you to eat takeout every day.”
He nodded quietly, staring at the roast beef.
“Oops, sorry. Now who’s saying the wrong thing?” she said, embarrassed.
“It’s fine. It’s not like I’ve forgotten.”
“So was Chloe your first real love?”
“At the time, I thought so. I had a few girlfriends before her, but none like her. I thought it was the real deal.”
“How’d you meet?”
“At a bar.”
Sophia laughed a bit. “That’s never a good sign.”
He shot her a glance.
“Sorry. There I go again. I’m sure it was romantic.”
“Not really. There was just something about her from the first second I saw her.”
“Careful, soldier, or I might think you’re a hopeless romantic.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“You? Muscular army man? It doesn’t fit.”
“Glad you can appreciate my muscles.” He flexed, teasing her. Their banter was playful, easy, natural. It didn’t feel like he was sitting down to a dinner with his late best friend’s grieving wife. It felt like they were...
He stopped himself, exhaling as he put his bicep down.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at him like he was crazy. “For what?”
“I feel weird, sitting here, at Tim’s table, with his wife. Being flirtatious.”
Her face fell. “That wasn’t my intention, I’m sorry.”
He looked up at her, her eyes swimming with confusion, with sorrow, with guilt. He smiled.
“Look at us, two wrecked souls, an awkward mess of potato
es and apologies.”
She nodded. “We sure are. I bet Tim’s looking down laughing at us right now.”
“Or he’s pissed.”
“Hey,” she said, reaching across the table. “Nothing’s going on. We’re just friends, right? Just two friends helping each other through a rough time. I think Tim would be glad you came into my life. You make me smile, Jackson. I like spending time with you. But nothing’s going on. We don’t have to feel guilty.”
He nodded, feeling better about the situation. She made him feel better about everything. She was right. They were just friends. It wouldn’t do to tiptoe around each other.
They finished eating while talking about his work at the restaurant and about how she started her salon. They laughed. They smiled. It felt good to be carefree for a change.
After dinner, she cleared the plates. “It’s too damn quiet in here.” She found her phone, hooked it up to the speaker in the kitchen, and put on Pandora.
“What is this crap?” he teased as the latest pop song came on.
She scowled at him. “It’s not crap. Maybe you’re just old, soldier. What, you want some 1960s songs?”
Before he could even think, he charged across the kitchen, grabbing on to her arm, playfully poking at her. “Are you calling me old?” She screamed and wriggled to get away, both of them laughing and joking as they poked and tickled at each other, her shrieks filling the house with a warmth that certainly hadn’t been there in a while.
When they both grew tired, he let up, his face actually hurting from laughing. She wriggled back slightly, her wrists still in his hands. Her face was glowing with joy. It looked good on her.
The song changed, as if on cue. James Bay’s song, “Why Don’t You Be You,” filled the kitchen, and her face softened.
“I love this song.”
Before he could reconsider, rationalize, or tell himself it was wrong, he pulled her in, putting her hands on his shoulders, putting his hands on her waist. The move was smooth, easy, and as they looked into each other’s eyes, the questions melted away. The guilt melted away. The fears, the rejections, the hurt, and the grief faded into the measures of the song. They fell into step, an easy sway, a silent dance on the ceramic tile. There was some tension between them. They were afraid to give in too much, to cross the line they knew was firmly planted.
To Say Goodbye Page 9
