“Mary, Mother of God. Carly, let me see.” The burly sous chef paled, his expression twisted in pain as he cradled Carly’s head between his palms. Jackson’s gut roared at him to shove Adrian aside so he could fix what he’d done, but the fear spiraling through him locked him into place a few steps away.
Carly wouldn’t be safe with his hands on her. His instincts could go to hell.
Adrian knelt beside Carly, eyes wild but missing nothing. “Okay, I know it hurts, but I need to stabilize your neck. Just sit tight.”
He moved carefully, easing Carly to a prone position on the pavement, but all Jackson could see was the bright shock of blood blooming over her chef’s jacket.
He’d become the one person on the planet he hated more than anyone else. Done the one thing he swore he’d avoid at all costs.
Oh, God, there was so much blood.
“Start talking, Wonder Bread. Now,” Adrian growled through his teeth. “What the hell happened?”
“It was an accident. She was behind me, and I didn’t see her, but . . .”
Adrian’s head snapped up. “You did this?”
Every cell in Jackson’s body sank with recognition. He deserved whatever Adrian was going to unleash on him, because he’d spun around with all his might, intending to hurt Carly anyway. Not physically, of course, but his words would’ve sliced through her all the same.
And he deserved to suffer for it.
“Bellamy! Get out here!” Adrian’s bellow rent the night air with its intention, yet he narrowed his eyes on Jackson all the same. “I am going to dismember you right here on the fucking pavement, and I’m going to smile while I’m doing it.”
Jackson didn’t flinch. “I know.”
Pounding footsteps sounded from the direction of the loading dock. Bellamy skittered to a stop in front of Adrian, who was still kneeling on the ground with Carly’s head in his hands, stilling her in spite of her feeble attempts to get up.
“The ambulance will be here any minute. Oh, God,” Bellamy murmured, eyes shining with fear. She whipped a towel from her apron, dropping to her knees to staunch the blood coming from Carly’s nose, and Carly gave a keening cry of pain in reply. “What happened?”
His mother, standing in the doorframe in her nightgown, telling his father in her soft, yet deadly serious voice . . . “It’s me you want. Leave him be.” His father’s eyes, flinty and mean, narrowing on her, moving to give her what she’d asked for.
“I do want you, Catherine. I love you so much, you ain’t ever gonna forget it. You’re mine, you hear me? Mine.”
He kissed her then, slow at first, but then his father pushed her from the doorframe and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the walls. But Jackson still heard the sickening sound of fists on soft flesh, saw the blood in the sink . . . the blood . . . the blood . . .
Jackson felt Adrian’s fury connect with his jawbone just as the ambulance rounded the corner of the west gate parking lot, red and white lights illuminating the scene in eerie, shimmering waves.
Or maybe that was Adrian’s right hook, because holy shit had that hurt. Jackson hunched over, palms braced on his thighs, and a metallic tang filled his mouth like old pennies, forcing him to spit. The memory of his mother, smoothing his hair as she tucked him into the backseat of the station wagon in the dead of night filled his head, making him dizzy.
He had to get out of here.
“Get up. Get. Up,” Adrian hissed, closing in, but before Jackson could move, Bellamy distracted them both.
“Stop it! Adrian, stop!” She looked torn between not wanting to leave Carly and trying to intervene. Two paramedics spilled from the ambulance, their purposeful strides seeming to garner Adrian’s attention.
Until he reared back and caught Jackson in the ribs with another blow, and Jackson lost every ounce of breath in his lungs.
“Jesus Christ! Evan, we got a brawl here!” The female paramedic whipped past Jackson so fast that all he could see was a streak of flaming red hair before she’d inserted herself between him and Adrian with all the defiance of a thoroughly pissed off watchdog. The other paramedic already knelt by Carly, assessing her while keeping one eye on the redhead, who Jackson belatedly recognized as Teagan O’Malley.
“You good, T? I got a facial trauma here, possible concussion,” the male paramedic reported in clipped, precise snatches.
“Conscious?” Teagan’s eyes never left Adrian, who had stood down since delivering the body shot although he looked strung tight enough to explode.
“Looks like barely.” Evan rattled off a bunch of numbers and medical terms like a rapid-fire machine gun, the last of which made Jackson clutch in silent panic.
“I need that c-spine and backboard. We need to get to Riverside, stat.”
Teagan narrowed her scissor-sharp stare on Adrian. “You boys going to behave, or do I need to call my buddies at the police department?”
Adrian froze, answering her with a silent nod, although his expression suggested he wasn’t done with Jackson by a longshot. Jackson straightened, still coughing, and wiped a smear of blood from his mouth with the back of an unused fist.
Teagan sprang into action, shooting a wary glance at Adrian as she turned toward Jackson. “Do yourself a favor and don’t move from that spot, slugger.”
Her hands fell swiftly over Jackson in assessment, but he resisted. “Stop. Go help her, please.” The words escaped on a gasp, and Teagan looked ready to balk until her partner called out for assistance, clearly illustrating that Carly’s injuries were more dire than Jackson’s.
“Dammit. Stay away from each other, but don’t go far. I’m not done with you, Jackson. You need to get checked out,” she said, running toward the ambulance.
Jackson forced himself to look at Carly, so small and fragile on the ground, as the male paramedic rolled her gently into his arms to put her on the backboard. Adrian sent Jackson a look like a death sentence, even though he didn’t move.
“I’m coming back for you,” he promised, and Jackson nodded in resignation.
“Take care of her first,” he said, and then he disappeared into the dark cover of night.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Carly stirred, feeling as if she’d slowly risen from the bottom of a sleepy lake.
With her head on fire.
“Jackson,” she mumbled, groggy and thick. She reached a hand out, fumbling, until the fragments of the past few hours knitted together in her memory, flying at her with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
Jackson was gone. She’d trusted him with her heart, and he’d left before she could get a word in edgewise.
“Hey, shhh. Don’t worry, gnocchella. Everything’s fine. Get some rest, okay?”
For as long as Carly had known Adrian, she’d never seen him look so scared or so small. She blinked, even though it felt like a tactical assault on her sinuses, and focused on the spot where he sat next to her bed.
“Ugh.” Her tongue was thick as paste, and she shifted against the doughy mattress even though it rattled her head enough to make her nauseous. She skimmed a hand over the faded cotton of her hospital gown, frowning at the IV poking out from a swath of surgical tape. “Did I sleep?”
“A little bit, yeah.” A muscle ticked in Adrian’s rough jawline, visible even through his ever-present dark stubble. “You need more, though.”
Carly ignored him, letting her frown linger. “He didn’t come, did he?”
Adrian returned the favor in the ignoring department, and he one-upped her on the frown, too. “Bellamy’s outside. Gavin, too. They’re worried, but other than to tell them you have a concussion and the mother of all shiners, I didn’t know what else to say.”
Carly sank another inch into her brittle pillow. “It was a mistake,” she said softly, the irony heavy in her mouth. Although the hospital staff had asked her dozens of pointed questions about the nature of her injury, she’d remained adamant. No matter what had happened between them, Jackson would never lay
a hand on her in anger.
Too bad smashing her heart to pieces didn’t fall into the same category.
Carly exhaled a shaky breath. “Can you just tell them I’m going to sleep? I’ll call the restaurant in the morning to let them know I’m okay.” Her eyes found the clock on the wall, and she realized with a slow hitch that technically, it was morning now.
“Don’t worry about the restaurant, Carly. Gavin and I have it covered, okay? Just rest.” He brushed his fingers over hers, as if he wanted to squeeze but was afraid of hurting her, and quietly slipped from the room.
Carly knew Adrian’s words were meant to put her mind at ease, but they dredged to the surface what Jackson had said earlier, when she’d stood before him, wide-open and vulnerable.
The resort could always replace her. She wasn’t a necessary ingredient, just something brought in for a temporary punch of flavor to spice things up.
Sadness clogged her chest, her eyelids trembling against the weight of the fresh tears threatening to spill down her face. She’d known—she’d known—that putting her heart on the line was a huge risk, and yet somehow, she’d believed it would be okay, that they’d defy the odds of her past because her connection to Jackson was different. Seamless. Right.
But here she sat, just as duped as ever.
Carly gave in to a good, long cry before drifting back to sleep.
Jackson drove the deserted roads of Pine Mountain for over an hour, aimlessly riding each one out until it dead ended, only to turn around and do the same thing on a different stretch of asphalt. He had no idea where he was headed, or that he had a destination at all, really, until he stopped driving and started walking. Even then he didn’t stop until he was surrounded by the moonlit chill of the path leading through the archway of crepe myrtle.
It was odd to see his mother’s garden in the thick of night, vibrant color replaced by eerie shades of black and gray. He started forward, measuring his steps on the dirt path carefully so he wouldn’t trip over an errant tree root, and making enough noise to let whatever wildlife might be out here know that he was certainly bigger. Finally, the low branches opened up like a yawn, and he stepped into the clearing with a sense of relief that didn’t last.
His mother stood, wrapped in her bathrobe, cradling a cup of coffee between her palms and wearing her own look of relief. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m glad you came. I was starting to get worried.”
“Christ, Ma!” Jackson jerked backward, pain streaking through his bruised ribs at the sudden movement. It was a keen reminder of everything that had happened tonight, and it made Jackson’s mouth feel like a sandbox. “What’re you doing out here?”
“Waiting for you, of course. It seems we have something to talk about.” She moved toward him, her silhouette coming into sharper focus as she nodded to the wooden bench at the far end of the rectangular plot.
Jackson’s thoughts swam with confusion. “I, uh . . . how did you know I’d be here?” Hell, Jackson hadn’t even known where he’d be going or where he’d end up.
“Shane couldn’t get ahold of you. But after he spoke with Bellamy, he was rather concerned. I can’t say I blame him.”
Understanding shot through him, twining around his fear. “You talked to Shane?” Oh, God. Shane . . . Bellamy . . .
Carly.
His mother nodded. “He wanted you to know that Carly’s going to be just fine. Bellamy’s at the hospital with her now.”
Grateful relief sparked through him, although he had no right to feel it.
Thank God she’s in better hands than mine.
“Come, sit.” Catherine smoothed the back of her terrycloth robe before sitting on the bench, and as strange as it was, he did what she asked.
She fixed him with a stare both serious and kind. “I know you came out here to be alone, and I’ll leave you to it soon enough. But it’s time we talked about what happened the night we left Harrisburg. In fact, we’re long overdue.”
Jackson jumped as if she’d slapped him. “I don’t want to talk about it.” The horrible images edged their way back, threatening to surface at the slightest provocation, and he jammed them down, just like always.
But his mother stood firm. “I know. But you don’t have a choice this time, because I’m going to do all the talking.”
And before he could protest, she stunned him to silence with what came next.
“Your father hit me for years, Jackson. I know you think it was just one night, that he lost control and snapped in a moment of impulse, but it wasn’t that way.” Catherine paused, wistful. “As horrible as it sounds, the first few times it happened, I let it go after he apologized. He was a passionate man, full of emotion. He blamed the beatings on his love for me, and I thought that he truly hadn’t meant any harm. It’s why I told you he loved me just a little too much. For a long time, I actually believed that was true.”
“Jesus, Ma,” Jackson breathed, but she held up a hand, resolute.
“Weeks would go by, sometimes months, and I’d think everything was better and he’d learned how to control his emotions, that those incidents had been isolated. But then they piled up. Something would set him off, always when you kids were in bed, and he’d get so angry. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t going to stop. Both of your grandparents had passed by then, but once I told Aunt Billie what was going on, she agreed to take us all in on the spot. I thought . . .” She trailed off, and Jackson watched her in utter shock as she gathered up the strength to finish.
“I foolishly harbored the hope that maybe, if I gave your father an ultimatum, he’d love me enough to stop hurting me and we could work things out. Brooke and Autumn were at a friend’s house for the night, and Dylan wasn’t even six yet, but you . . . you were there.”
Catherine’s knuckles flashed, white and worried, around her un-sipped coffee cup. “When I told him I would leave him if he didn’t stop hitting me, he didn’t lose his cool or scream and holler. He didn’t even try to hurt me.”
Blue plaid flannel, smelling like whiskey over laundry soap, strong hands—too strong for Jackson to counter—yanking him out of bed . . . his mother in the doorframe . . .
“It’s me you want. Leave him be.”
“Oh, God, Ma.” Jackson stared, unable to say anything else.
His father had come after him, and she’d taken the punishment by defending him. How could he not have made the connection after all this time that it wasn’t passion or impulse or love that had made his father hit his mother?
It was cold, hard evil.
Catherine gave a tight nod. “I managed to keep him away from you that night, but I swore to myself right then and there I would never put my children in danger again. I told you he hurt me because he loved me too much, but that’s not why it happened. Your father hit me because he was a mean, terrible man, Jackson. And it’s high time you realized that despite being his son, you’re nothing like him.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say. I should’ve done more to protect you,” Jackson whispered, his eyes tightening with wet heat.
“Oh, sweetie, oh no. Don’t you see? I should’ve done that for you, before it got so bad.” She dropped her chin into the folds of her bathrobe. “After we left, I thought your memories would fade over time. Kids are resilient, and even your sisters came to terms with our leaving after a while, although of course I never told them exactly why. Once you became an adult, I assumed you’d forgotten. You’ve always been so easygoing that I didn’t think much of your not having a serious girlfriend. Not until recently, anyway.”
Jackson jolted upright, his listening-trance broken. “Don’t,” he warned, more pleading than insistent. “Please.”
But Catherine persisted, putting her coffee cup down on the soft grass so she could take both his hands. “Being in love with someone doesn’t mean you’re going to lose control and hurt them, honey. It means you’d do anything to keep them safe.”
Jackson opened his mouth, ready to respond with one of his many ingrai
ned defensive maneuvers.
Instead, everything he’d felt about Carly, from the instant he’d seen her through the screen door at the bungalow to the gut-wrenching moment he’d left her in the hands of paramedics, spilled from his lips in a torrent of emotion. Catherine simply listened, her only response being a slight flinch when Jackson described exactly how Carly had gotten hurt.
“You didn’t hurt her on purpose, Jackson. You must know that,” she insisted, but he shook his head, resolute.
“But I did. I may not have hit her on purpose.” He stopped, nauseous at the memory. “But what I said was unforgiveable. I told her she never meant anything to me. I walked away when she needed me most.”
Oh, hell. No way could he fix this. No amount of I’m sorry or heartfelt explanation was going to convince Carly he hadn’t meant what he’d said.
Even if he shouted it from the rooftops, she wasn’t going to believe what was really in his heart.
It was her, plain and simple. He was in love with her.
Catherine smiled. “She’s a smart girl, honey. At the very least, trust her to give you a good listen. You might be surprised at how things turn out.”
“I don’t know, Ma. I think this is too big.” He swallowed hard. “Plus, she’d have to be here in order to hear me out, and she’s going back to New York.” Jackson tried to picture the restaurant, the garden, Joe’s Grocery—hell, even Rural Route 4—without Carly, but he came up painfully empty.
Feed her.
Christ! His inner voice had gone outer limits. He couldn’t right this with a goddamn peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Far be it from me to tell you what to do, honey. But she can still forgive you for an accident, even if she’s taken that job.”
But the numbness had returned to Jackson’s body, filling him with resignation and defeat.
“Some things you just can’t fix with I’m sorry.”
Gimme Some Sugar Page 30
