Scars and Tats

by Kristi Pelton

“Give him to me,” he said, cutting me off and taking Beck from my arms. “I’ll put him to bed. Go take some drugs to ward off the fever.”

  Shocked at his attentiveness, I watched as Jackson cradled my tiny son in his arms and walked Beck to his bedroom. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and gulped down two acetaminophen. It was honestly scary to think of what sort of stranger could have lurked at our door. How too-good-to-be true was this… I needed to remain cautiously guarded.

  The even scarier thing—snow didn’t melt for months sometimes. Should I force him to take the snow mobile leaving us without one?

  “My sleeves were all wet,” he explained, coming back into the room with no shirt. “I didn’t want to take my shirt off in front of Beck. I don’t suppose you have anything, uh, my size?”

  Desperately trying not to react, I glanced at him like his nakedness had no effect on me. My glance was so casual and so fleeting that I hoped he wouldn’t know I was stunned by his smooth, tan muscled torso that resembled a rock statue. An outlined ‘v’ going into his jeans—well, it was like a blinking, lit arrow—I shook my head. How could my body possibly be in so much pain yet twinge with…something… when I looked at him? The foreign feeling that invaded my body was welcome. I felt alive and wanted and I honestly wasn’t sure if he even wanted me. Ian was my anchor and my reason for surviving. And as much as I loved him, I was so afraid of becoming her that I forbid myself of becoming sexual. That was no longer the case.

  I glanced up again. Shit. He’d asked me about the shirt. “I don’t, I’m sorry.”

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  I had a feeling I knew what was coming. Sitting across from him would be distractive, so I went to the sofa to face the fire.

  “Sure.”

  He sat too. “Does Beck have a father?”

  I rested my head against the back of the sofa. This question didn’t surprise me. It was a logical one.

  “Of course.”

  “Where is he?”

  My eyes came open, and I stared at him. Even though I was ill, the connection was there. The electrical jolt between us. This man could have hurt or violated Beck…but he didn’t. He was nothing but respectful and playful. Yet, there was no way in hell I was going to trust him. The risk outweighed the benefit. The fear inside was too much. I sat silent.

  “What are you afraid of?” he asked.

  “I’m tired, Jackson.”

  “You gonna ever tell me your name?” He moved to the hearth of the fireplace.

  I stared at him once again.

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “Well, just so you know, my family and friends call me Jack. Only my Catholic schoolteachers called me Jackson. They were nuns. You don’t seem all that holy to me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What type of an attorney are you?” I asked.

  He stroked his beard slowly. “I’m a federal prosecutor.”

  My eyelids grew heavier as father time ticked away. Time that moved so slow.

  “So, like Professor Plum did it with the candlestick in the conservatory?” I yawned.

  The smile that spread across his face lit my world in that second. He beamed—like a ray of sunshine that lit the room.

  “Something like that.”

  A huge part of me wanted to tell him what had happened—the papers I got about them trying to take Beck—the reason we fled…but I lost courage. What if he had some mandatory obligation to turn us in?

  My eyes closed.

  When the back of his fingers drew down the length of my face, my eyes slowly came back open.

  “You’re making a pass at me when I’m sick?” I sarcastically accused with the hint of a chuckle. He was a man after all—with a ginormous bulge in his underwear.

  “No. I’m not making a pass at you,” he laughed. “I was seeing if you were feverish. And I’m going to carry you to bed.”

  When he cradled my body in his arms, the ache was still there, clearly just dormant while I rested on the sofa.

  “Don’t molest me, Jack…son.”

  As he laid me down, he chuckled. “You mean like you did me? Turnabout is fair play, yes?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, causing my body to dip down toward him.

  “I was checking your infection.” I lied.

  “Sure you were. Geppetto thinks you’re lying, beautiful.”

  Hearing him call me beautiful unleashed a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

  As sick as I felt, I got lost in his eyes. Even in the dark, they were electrical.

  “When I’m with a woman, I want her to be hot for me not because of her fever.” He winked with a smirk. “I won’t hurt you or Beck. Trust that. Trust me. Because when you’re feeling better, I intend to have my way with your body.”

  I started to speak, but his finger pressed over my lips. “Shh,” he shushed. “Sleep. You’re going to need your rest. Besides, if you talk, you’ll kill the moment…so don’t.”

  As I closed my eyes, allowing sleep to overtake me, I thought about his words—I intend to have my way with your body. Unsure if it was a threat or a promise, his words held intent. And any good attorney knew that intent was nine tenths of the law. Or something like that…

  Chapter 11

  JACKSON

  People are more what they hide than what they show. (Unknown)

  When Beck came to me during the night, I felt instantly that he was hot. Shit. Mela still slept soundly in her bed and seemed fever free each time I’d gone in. There was no way I was going to wake her. Not until morning. I found children’s Ibuprofen in the cupboard and gave to him the dose indicated on the box.

  “Can I lie down with you?” Beck asked weakly

  “Yep. Of course you can, buddy.”

  Mela didn’t trust me, wouldn’t open up to me, and I wouldn’t lose what little progress I’d made. So I was not going to be caught curled up with Beck on the sofa

  “How about you sit right here,” I asked him.

  His brown hair shook as he nodded. But the rounded doe eyes that matched his mother’s, except for the color, held little of the spark they’d had the past few days. I sat him on my knee, and he rested in the pit of my arm. Damn, he was burning up.

  He nestled beneath my arm…such a cute kid. Way more trusting than his mother. And within only a few short few minutes, he was asleep in my arms.

  The more time I spent here, the harder it was going to be to leave. Never once had I really wanted a family, especially with all the shit with mine. But watching these two. It was like nothing I’d ever seen. Like some military code. Family. Loyalty. Commitment. Protection wasn’t really the right word. More like a feral guarding.

  She had muscles everywhere. But not in a bulky, gross way…more sexy and fit. Her chocolate eyes were like a dessert at a fancy restaurant. So beautiful…tempting…yet intimidating.

  Beck’s hair smelled of berries as his body relaxed into me. God. Kids were so trusting. As I felt his tiny body twitch, an overwhelming sense of protection enveloped me. If he trusted me, I would never let him down. I’d be the man he thought I was.

  Chapter 12

  MELA

  The scars you can’t see are the hardest to heal (unknown)

  Oh sweet Jesus. My entire body rocked with pain. No wonder Jackson wanted to die. I wanted to die. Rolling around on the mattress, I prayed for relief. After a bit, I rolled out of bed to pee—the coldness of the toilet seat only added to the agony.

  The light over the kitchen sink was on, and when I opened the fridge, the light reflected on the toddler medicine spoon. Though the pain shooting through every nerve ending of my body didn’t dissipate, my motherly instinct went into overdrive.

  The minute I rounded the corner, I caught the flicker of the firelight splaying over Jackson’s bearded face. His neck angled uncomfortably back on the sofa. When I moved to the front of the sofa, I spotted my baby boy cuddled up against this stranger. A stranger that he’d known for only a few days, yet had already
become attached to.

  A pain almost as bad as the night Ian had died shot through my heart at what would happen with Beck once Jackson left. Beck would feel his first heartbreak. I closed my eyes preparing myself. When I opened them, Jackson laid his index finger over his lips, quietly shushing me. I held my hands out to the side in question. He raised a finger and beckoned me toward them. That seemed to be a one-way road…with nowhere to turn around… but I started moving to him anyway. My knees grew weak; it must be the flu I told myself. I leaned near him to hear what he had to say.

  “He’s got it too,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I gave him some medicine for his fever. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  My heart swelled so big it hurt, making my eyes tear up. Without realizing it, I rested my forehead against his neck, overcome with emotion. No one else had really ever taken care of us. I’d always taken care of Beck. Having someone else fill that role was harder than I realized, but necessary to allow.

  Suddenly, Jackson leaned away from me, eyes wide.

  “You’re burning up.” Immediately, he managed to lift Beck and lay him back down without stirring him. As I turned around to go get the water I’d originally come to the kitchen for, Jackson knocked my legs out from under me and cradled me in his arms once again. I could get used to that.

  I groaned as the pain embraced my body again…like a blanket of agony. A shiver fluttered through me when my cold body hit the sheets. Jackson left me quickly, darted to the kitchen and came back with pills and bottled water.

  “Come on, Jazzy J. Jeff, sit up.”

  I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. “Jazzy J?” I asked, not understanding.

  “Jasmine is I all I have to go off of. I’ll keep them coming until you tell me the real thing,” he said, tipping the cold water to my lips.

  The water burned my throat it was so cold.

  When I felt Jackson run his fingers through my hair, my eyes dragged open. This was the first time I really wanted to look at him…to try and read what his eyes were saying. But I honestly couldn’t as hard as I fought.

  Once my lids closed, I whispered, “Mela. My name is Mela.”

  The next morning, gray light came through the windows. Gray light meant clouds and clouds meant snow. As I lay there staring up at the ceiling fan, willing my body to move but scared of what may come, I wasn’t sure if I wanted more snow or not. A week ago, I didn’t want this man anywhere near us…now I wasn’t so sure I wanted him to go.

  Sluggishly, but feeling little pain, I padded out into the living room in my t-shirt and sweat shorts. Beck slept peacefully behind Jackson’s bent legs—nestled in like a cocoon. My eyes were like a pendulum swinging back and forth between the two of them. They could be father and son…both with their electric blue eyes. Right then, both were closed. As a mother, I never wanted my son to hurt, but given his instant pull toward Jackson, I had a hunch hurt was coming his way.

  Quietly, I opened the fireplace doors. The woodpile needed replenished but opening the front door would definitely wake them. Snow continued to fall outside in our personal winter wonderland. The white quilt covered everything in sight. My eyes zeroed in on the approaching snowmobiles as panic seized me.

  “Beck!”I shouted. His eyes fluttered open and Jackson jumped to his feet. “Beck. I know you don’t feel well, but cubbyhole now!”

  He rubbed his sleepy eyes. His red cheeks a telltale sign as to how he felt.

  “Now, Beck!”

  Jackson darted over to the window, drawing the curtain back to look as Beck trotted for his hideout.

  “You don’t know them?” Jackson asked. One look at my face and he ran straight for the cupboard where I kept the pistol.

  I shook my head. “I meant what I said. No one comes here,” I said, unhinging the shotgun from the back of the front door. The hum of the motors was audible now. I couldn’t help but eye Jackson with suspicion.

  “Look at me,” he said with a tone that demanded my attention. “Go in there with Beck. I got this.”

  Instantly, I shook my head. “No!”

  “Go, Mela! Now.” The blue in his eyes darkened.

  I’d told Beck never to hesitate when I ordered him to do something…so I paid heed to my own words and I ran…but only to the other room. I held my breath when I heard the front door open.

  “Can I help you gentleman?” Jackson asked. The low timbre in his voice touched something in my soul.

  “We’re looking for someone. And we have guns of our own. But we’re not looking for trouble.”

  Bile inched up my esophagus. My world as I knew it could change in a matter of seconds. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer.

  Jackson said, “Who you looking for?”

  “A man by the name of Jackson Winslow.”

  Silence. That was our Jackson. Was he wanted? Dangerous? He’d slept next to Beck. He’d been in our house for nearly a week.

  “Well now, you’re looking at him.”

  “Can we see some ID?”

  “Of course. Can you tell me what this is about?”

  Cautiously, I peeked around the corner to see what was happening. Jackson tossed his ID out the door, keeping the men at bay.

  “You’ve been reported missing, Mr. Winslow,” one of the men said. “But it looks like you’ve been found.”

  “Well, thank God. I was worried,” Jackson laughed.

  “I rented this cabin and came out here to get away.”

  “Here’s your driver’s license, Mr. Winslow. Given your line of work and the recent incidents with your family—there were some concerns with friends and family as to your whereabouts. You here alone?”

  “What does it matter?” he asked. “But, the answer is yes. I’m alone.”

  I released the breath that I didn’t realize I was still holding.

  “Do you need assistance getting out of here with the snow?”

  I was back to holding my breath. I’m not sure why so much was riding on this answer, but I waited to hear his words.

  “No. I’m good,” Jackson said. I closed my eyes, my body relaxed against the wall. This was my chance to get him out of the house…to leave…to never see him again. Yet, I stood silent. Reality was—I didn’t want him to go. I’d only started to get to know him. And regardless of the gash and regardless of the unknown—I liked him. A lot.

  “OK. We will let your family know that you’re safe.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and I heard the door close, latch and lock.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what ‘family’ meant…whom that included. They didn’t say wife…didn’t mention kids. In almost four years, no one had come to our home. I could only prepare so much for threatening moments like these, and honestly, I was so glad he was here. We’d never been protected before.

  “Mela?”

  My name slipping off his tongue stirred something inside of me. When he rounded the corner where I was hiding, my eyes captured his. His masculine stance overpowered the room as his eyes burned into mine. Without a conscious thought, my feet started to move to him. A mixture of emotions gripped me as I neared him. Part of me wanted to cry and the other part wanted to thank him. As if reading my mind, his arms instinctively opened as I got close, and I collapsed into his embrace.

  As his arms snaked around me, I thought about Beck seeing us—what he might think—and was grateful he was in his hideout. I allowed Jackson to hold me, our bodies pressed together and mine naturally reacting to his. And not just because Beck wasn’t there but because it felt nice and safe and…right. My cheek nestled perfectly between his chest muscles as his massive hands held me in place.

  He lowered his mouth next to my ear.

  “I’ll protect you, Mela. But I need to know what I’m protecting you from.” His voice was a rough whisper that sent a flurry of goose bumps rippling out over my neck, making my nipples pebble up. It was quick… but I swear his nose grazed my ear while he inhaled. Instinctively, I leaned into him. When his hands sudd
enly tightened on my shoulders, I pulled away, trying to read him. His closed lids hid the blue from me. Something was wrong, his jaw clenched as he deliberately pushed me away.

  “We need to check on Beck,” he murmured, lowering his head.

  I’d made him uncomfortable. I bit the side of my lip hard enough that I drew blood. Just like that, our tender moment became awkward. I’d misread him. The enormous walls that I’d built over the years had been on the verge of tumbling, but now they weeble wobbled right back up…maybe even inching higher. If you don’t let people in, you don’t get hurt, my brain shouted.

  “I’ll go,” he spoke softly, hanging his head and heading toward Beck’s hideout. Clearly, Beck had showed it to him.

  Within a couple of minutes, I heard my name come from his mouth again.

  “Mela.”

  I shuffled around.

  “He won’t come out. He said that I don’t know the secret word.”

  The crease between his brows confused me. I didn’t know what it meant. My lack of experience once again retarded my ability to communicate with a man.

  I breezed past him to get to Beck. Kudos to Beck for doing as he should.

  “Tell me what you’re hiding from. Tell me, Mela. Tell me why he has to hide and won’t come out without a secret word. Tell me why he is wise beyond any four year old I’ve ever met.”

  “Beck!” I shouted into the cubbyhole. “WOD.”

  If Jackson were going to hurt Beck, he’d have done it by now. Once he left, we’d change the secret word. Beck loved his WOD’s that Layne had for him every day.

  As Beck crawled toward me, his lids seemed swollen, his face flushed, his skin scorching.

  “Oh, baby. You are burning up.”

  Though he sat on my lap, resting his head on my shoulder, Jackson stood with his arms extended ready to take him. When I tried to get up off the ground, Beck reached for him as if it was second nature.

  “Would you take him to my bed please? I’m gonna get him some medicine.”

  Jackson moved past me to do as I asked. When I arrived in the bedroom, Beck was all tucked in.

  “Jackson, will you stay with us forever?” Beck asked, coughing.