by Jamie Beck
“I should’ve warned you it wouldn’t be a relaxing meal.” Gabby glanced at Jackson apologetically. Then she speared a bite of pork and engaged Luc in the airplane game. “Zoom zoom. Open wide for Mommy.”
Did any real kid ever fall for that ploy? Luc sure didn’t, but it forced him to stop whining long enough to seal his lips. Jackson couldn’t help but chuckle. Taking pity on Gabby, Jackson leaned toward Luc. “If you don’t want that pork, I’ll take it.”
Without a warning, Jackson swiped a piece from Luc’s plate and popped it in his mouth, licking his fingers for good measure. Both Gabby’s and Luc’s eyes widened. Jackson raised his left arm and made a muscle while looking at Gabby with grave seriousness. “Is it working? I mean, I’m going to win the swinging contest tomorrow, right?”
Gabby caught on quickly. “I think so. If you eat all that pork, you’ll be really strong.”
“That’s what I thought.” Jackson swiped another bite of Luc’s dinner.
Luc scowled and batted his hand down a touch too slowly. “Dat’s mine.”
“Oh, you want it now? ’Cause I really like it.” Jackson slowly reached toward Luc’s plate one last time, but Luc tugged his plastic dish away. Then, with some amount of bravado, his grubby little fingers stuffed a piece of pork into his mouth.
Jackson’s little victory brought a smile to Gabby’s face, which in turn breathed new life into his own lungs. Funny how such a simple moment could do that for him. He winked at her and then met Luc’s wary gaze with an exaggerated look of defeat. “Okay, you win. Guess I’ll have to find some other way to grow big muscles.”
Luc didn’t take his eyes off Jackson as he chewed a second bite of pork while wearing a look of challenge. It took every ounce of control at Jackson’s disposal to suppress the laughter and lightness pushing out from within—a welcome relief from the snug band normally cinching his chest.
“You’ll be a great uncle, Jackson.” Gabby’s quiet declaration shook him as much as it pleased him. Of course, she had no way of knowing his history with Alison, or his reasons for being here in Vermont.
When Vivi and David had questioned whether his drinking might someday hurt their child, even inadvertently, it had taken the fight right out of him. Made him feel about two inches tall, in fact. It was the single most compelling reason why he’d caved to his family’s demands that he “reevaluate” his habits.
Each time he recalled the ambush—er, intervention—it set him on his heels. While he still didn’t believe he’d ever been a drunk, he did recoil each time he remembered the helpless, despondent look in Vivi’s eyes, or the steel audible in her promise to protect her child. The fact that she worried Jackson would turn into a man like her dad had stung.
“Why’d that make you frown?” Gabby stared at him, head tipped in question.
“Was I frowning?” Jackson ate his last scoop of applesauce and decided to turn the tables on being the center of attention. While he hoped one day to recapture the open spirit that used to be second nature, it seemed too fraught with consequence right now. “Have you lived here your whole life?”
“Pretty much. I was born in Burlington. My great-grandparents immigrated there from Montreal, but my parents and I moved here when I was about Luc’s age.”
At the mention of parents, it occurred to him he hadn’t seen or heard anything about Mrs. Bouchard. He sat back and stretched his legs, assuming Gabby, like him, had lost her mother too young. “My mom died a few years ago, so I know how tough it is to lose a mother, especially when yours could’ve helped you with Luc, too.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss, Jackson. But my mom’s not dead.” She scrunched her nose. “Not literally, anyway.”
Before he could ask a follow-up question, Luc interrupted, his cheeks glistening with applesauce. “All done, Mama. All done!”
She rewarded his empty plate with applause and kissed his sloppy cheeks. When her tongue licked her lips to test the sweetness, she might as well have been licking Jackson’s neck for the way his entire body hummed in response. “Good boy, Luc. You’re going to be big and strong, like Jackson.”
“Like Dada,” he said, blissfully unaware of the way his mother winced at the mention of the man.
“Mm hmm.” She helped Luc down from his booster, then shot Jackson a quick glance. “Hang on a sec. I’ll get him settled in with a video so he doesn’t destroy the house while we have coffee.”
Once Gabby left the kitchen, Jackson wondered what kind of man would walk away from her—or worse, from his own son. A moron, that’s who. Why’d such a cute, capable girl fall for a moron? Then again, Luc’s dad had probably been young, scared, and unprepared. Jackson knew firsthand that unplanned pregnancies were the quickest way to have the rose-colored glasses stripped away from a relationship.
He stood to make himself useful rather than sit around getting irritated about a guy he didn’t even know. Gathering the dishes, he rinsed everything and had begun to load the dishwasher by the time Gabby returned.
“Oh, please stop! You’re our guest.” She hurried toward him, shooing him away. “You don’t need to do dishes.”
“Surely you know the main rule in the kitchen: the cook doesn’t clean.” Jackson nodded toward the roasting pan. “Gimme that pot. I work magic with a Brillo pad.”
She cracked a smile and then followed his orders.
“I bet you do.” She picked up a clean dish towel. “I’ll dry.”
Gabby leaned her hip against the counter and, with a grin on her face, waited in companionable silence. Rather than shake off the sense of comfort she inspired, he decided to enjoy it.
He plunged the pot into hot water, picturing her standing in this kitchen night after night, feeding and cleaning up after her son and father. Must be exhausting and, at times, lonely. Again he couldn’t help but wonder about Luc’s dad, and whether or not Gabby missed the man, or resented him.
Realizing that he’d only be in town a short while, he decided to pry.
“So, I have to ask, but you don’t have to answer. Is Luc’s dad in the picture?” Jackson kept his eyes on the pan in the sink as he scrubbed, allowing her some privacy despite the probing question.
“He’s around.” A long sigh preceded the tumble of words that spilled out next. “I was only eighteen when I got pregnant. He was twenty-one and wanted no part of fatherhood. When Luc turned one, he started taking an interest, but he’s not what anyone would call an ‘involved’ father.” She shrugged. “Suits me fine, though. The only thing I need from him is his promise not to meddle in how I raise my son. That would make my life harder, and frankly, worry me. For the most part, our informal deal seems to work for him, too, so all’s well that ends well, right?”
Her gentle snicker didn’t fully conceal what Jackson guessed was a deep-rooted sense of disappointment, if not for herself, then for Luc.
He handed Gabby the pot to dry. Although he wouldn’t say he exactly applauded her glee in limiting Luc’s father’s role, he also couldn’t help but respect her fortitude. “I give you a ton of credit. Lots of women in your shoes would’ve made different choices.”
Women like Alison. Once again the frosty memory of her chilling text—the one notifying him she’d aborted their child despite his pleas—traveled so icily through his veins it seared.
Why hadn’t Alison been more like Gabby instead of like Luc’s deadbeat dad? At moments like this, Jackson couldn’t remember why the hell he’d ever thought himself in love with that woman. Maybe Gabby felt the same way about Luc’s dad. Either way, his mood began to wither.
“I thought about giving him up for adoption, but by the end of the pregnancy there really was no other choice for me.” Gabby’s feminine sigh yanked him back from his morbid flashback. “God forbid I be like my mom.”
Having already invaded her privacy about Luc’s dad, he decided not to press her about the “not literally dead” mom, opting instead to wait and watch.
For the briefest moment, her
guard went down and the light in her eyes dimmed. He recognized that bleak sense of betrayal, but could think of nothing to do or say to soothe her. After all, his default method of choice—a bottle and a tall glass—hadn’t worked out so well for him.
She set the dry pan on the counter and faced him, head-on, like she seemed to do most everything else. In a moment of sheer envy, he discovered her grit to be more than a little breathtaking.
“She left my dad and me right before my sixteenth birthday. It all started when she got a severe case of shingles, of all things. She had complications—postherpetic neuralgia—and suffered intense nerve pain for months, so her doctor gave her heavy painkillers to help. She got hooked on them, though. When the disease went into remission and the prescription ran out, she found other ways to get the pills in town. Eventually those dealers led her to heroin, which is cheaper. When my dad finally drew a line in the sand, she chose that life over rehab and us. It stinks because a part of me will always wonder why, wonder where she is, wonder if there’ll ever be a day when we might meet again under better circumstances.”
“What would you do if she reached out?” Jackson knew his question had as much to do with his own situation as it did with hers.
“I’m not sure.” Then a frown wrinkled her forehead. “I have good memories from before she got sick. But those last few years were ugly, so when she actually left, I mostly felt relief.” Gabby grimaced. “Am I awful for feeling that way? ’Cause relief was at least equal to grief. I miss what was, but I don’t miss the daily worry. After the shock and sorrow passed, we found peace at home—except for the times I acted out now and then.” She shrugged apologetically.
Jackson worked to maintain an unruffled expression in the wake of her emotional outpouring, but inside his stomach twisted like a screw. Had David, Vivi, Cat, and Hank all felt a sense of relief in his absence?
Had he gotten so absorbed in his own pain that he really hadn’t recognized he might be causing theirs? “So you don’t want to see her?”
After a pronounced pause, Gabby sighed, gazing off at some distant point while she spoke. “Normally I believe in second chances, but in this case, I’m not sure. It’s not worth considering, since it’ll never happen.” A note of sadness rang in that last remark. “The most important thing the whole experience taught me is that I have to be a mom Luc can always be proud of. One he can count on. I won’t let him be hurt by someone he should be able to trust. Not even if that person’s his own father.”
Gabby’s gaze returned to him. “You’re pale. Have I horrified you with my seedy family history?”
Pale? That was better than blood red, which was what he would’ve guessed given his spike in body temperature. A beat of misplaced anger surfaced thanks to the unwanted mirror she’d thrust at him. But she had no idea of his life or his secrets, so she hadn’t known how her feelings about her mother’s behavior would affect him.
Gabby’s baby blues filled with concern, which chased away his irritation. God, he admired her strength and sincerity. So resilient, which reminded him a bit of Vivi. Well, minus the quirks and the fact that he didn’t—in any way—think of Gabby like a sister.
Somehow the fierce little warrior in front of him remained chipper and compassionate despite being abandoned, getting pregnant by a dickhead, and living her whole life in this tiny town. Tar-thick shame stiffened him as he contrasted his relative weakness against the strength of this wisp of a woman.
“No. It’s not you.” He cleared his throat. “It’s me.”
“Oh?” Her brows furrowed. “So someone close to you battles addiction, too?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He twisted his neck, scanning everything in the room but her, unable to remember why he’d thought for one second opening this door had been a brave move. His shirt clung to his skin thanks to a sudden trickle of perspiration.
“Cryptic.” A resigned grin flickered, but she didn’t press.
Suddenly infuriated with himself for being comparatively spineless and dishonest, he met her gaze in an endeavor to deserve her respect. Too bad the truth would probably shatter her opinion of him.
“According to my family, I’m the screwup. I’m on this ‘hiatus’ because they ambushed me—told me to change my drinking habits if I wanted to be part of my niece or nephew’s life.” He watched her jaw drop open and then, with some chagrin, said, “Told ya you wouldn’t think our meeting ‘serendipitous’ for long.”
Gabby’s mind blanked upon hearing his unexpected confession. A confession that explained the occasional melancholy she’d witnessed behind his smiles.
She floundered for the right words while reconciling this news with the man who’d kept her safe in the storm, who’d kindly built Luc’s play set, who’d burst into her mundane existence and unknowingly stirred hope for something more from life—something better—that she’d previously all but surrendered.
How could this man be anything like her mother?
The unwelcome insight cast him in smoky light, making her distrust her instincts. For a day he’d shimmered like an oasis in the desert, and apparently that had been exactly what he was. A fantasy—the swift, sudden loss of which hit her hard.
Of course, unlike her mother, Jackson had chosen his family over addiction. He’d chosen to try to change for their sakes. And he’d been honest with her despite knowing how she might view him in light of her own past.
Sensing he didn’t often open himself up that way, she shouldn’t take it lightly.
“For what it’s worth, you seem to be handling it very well.” She stood uncharacteristically still, hearing nothing but the low murmur coming from the television in the other room.
“I’ve only been here twenty-four hours—or three strong cravings, depending on how I keep track.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Time will tell.”
Little by little the warm, playful Jackson who’d tricked her son into eating pork withdrew behind a hard shell. Head slightly bowed, gaze darting around the room to avoid hers, a frown wrestling for control of his face.
She knew exactly how sickening it felt to expose an unflattering self-truth. How he must feel standing before her now—vulnerable—braced for judgment and disappointment. Precisely how she’d felt when forced to announce her accidental pregnancy.
So while she couldn’t pretend enthusiasm or nonchalance, she would take care not to treat it, or him, with scorn. “And in that twenty-four hours, you’ve twice proven yourself to be a caring, generous guy. A guy who also, obviously, loves his family enough to make changes. All in all, I’d bet on you.”
She noticed the corners of his mouth twitch upward for an instant, but then they settled back into a grim line.
“Listen, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to skip coffee tonight.” He let his arms fall to his sides.
Just then her father bustled through the kitchen door. “Wind’s picking up out there. Think a storm is coming.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m heading out before it starts.” Jackson nodded at her father, a polite smile replacing his formerly serious mien. “Hopefully your ‘emergency’ was a nonevent.”
“Nothing was missing, but the back slider was unlocked. I’m thinking some local kids know the house is empty and tried to sneak inside to drink or whatnot, then took off when the alarm went off.” Jon shook his head. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. People are forever making bad choices when it comes to booze and sex.”
Gabby glanced at the floor, knowing her father had spoken without thinking. He hadn’t meant to insult her. But given her own history, and everything she and Jackson had just discussed, the comment sucked the air out of the room.
Her dad seemed oblivious to the layers of tension as he crossed to the oven to retrieve his plate. He dipped his finger in the glaze and licked it, then slid an enthusiastic look at Jackson. “Good stuff, right?”
“Excellent, sir.” Jackson grinned. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Gabby followed behind J
ackson and stood in the doorway as he made his way down the steps. The moon played hide-and-seek behind quick-moving gray clouds, but its light occasionally glinted off the dark strands of his hair. “Jackson!”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thank you for trusting me . . .” She didn’t know quite how to finish the sentence.
He merely nodded before turning and striding off to the garage.
“Close the door! It’s cold in here,” her father called from the table.
She doubted the warm kitchen would thaw the chilled hope still lodged in her heart, but she closed the door and went to sit with her dad while he ate.
Jackson’s revelation didn’t erase all the kindness he’d shown her, but it did shatter her illusions of him as a dependable sort of man.
She knew an addict wasn’t reliable. Shouldn’t be trusted. Could hurt her, and more importantly, Luc. Yet she wanted to believe otherwise about Jackson. Wanted to hold on to the bubbly feeling he inspired. To prove him to be unlike her mother and Noah, whom had both let her down.
“Everything okay?” Her dad’s narrowed gaze demanded an answer.
“Yes, why?”
“You look troubled.” He set down his fork. “Jackson didn’t do anything disrespectful, did he?”
“No, Dad! He was a perfect gentleman. Got Luc to eat and did the dishes.”
One of her dad’s brows cocked, skeptically. “Don’t go setting your sights on that man. He’s going back to his real life next month.”
She huffed to signal that of course she hadn’t forgotten, which in fact she sort of had. Perhaps not forgotten so much as shoved aside. Willingly ignored in order to convince herself a brief flirtation would satisfy her well enough.
That kind of foolishness only proved the truth of her dad’s belief about booze and sex. The clattering of hundreds of Legos being dumped onto the floor underscored the point, as if that were necessary.
CHAPTER FIVE
