Worth the Risk (St. James Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  “So you say.”

  “Damn straight, so I say. Booze just helped me relax. Took the edge off some of my troubles.”

  “You could’ve turned to your dad, siblings, or your friend Hank.”

  “David had moved halfway around the world when he and my dad weren’t speaking. Made things a little awkward for everyone, and the fact that neither will tell me why they fought makes it hard to trust them much now. Meanwhile, Cat was wrapped up with her ex, which ended in disaster. Hank had his own problems to deal with. So I coped on my own.”

  “But your brother returned to the States more than a year ago, and your sister and her ex split at about that same time. Both of them seem to have found a way to move on and form attachments without Scotch, unlike you.”

  Fuck off. The words bunched up, ready to spring from the tip of his tongue. Instead of hollering, his tone turned acerbic.

  “David and Vivi’s ‘attachment’ goes back fourteen years, so that doesn’t really count. As for Hank and Cat,” Jackson stalled, scratching the back of his neck, “I’m still getting used to that one, but I hate the way she stole him from my payroll.”

  It burned to remember how, after years of him being a loyal brother, employer, and friend, Cat and Hank had teamed up to go into the furniture-making business together, cutting him out in the process. Of course, their venture stood on wobbly legs at best, and Hank had since stepped up and helped him out this fall, so maybe it was time to let that hurt feeling go.

  “Are you trying to argue that alcohol is a better coping mechanism than friendship and love?” Doc raised one brow. “Trying to persuade me that you haven’t met a single person in two years that you could confide in, turn to, or trust?”

  The image of Gabby’s smile arrested him. He’d confided more in her recently than he had in anyone other than Doc. That probably signified something, but he shooed the thought away like a stray cat.

  Gabby lived in Vermont, with her son, whose bio-daddy wanted back in that picture. Although she was attracted to him on some level, he doubted she wanted a man with a drinking issue in her life . . . or Luc’s. Besides, his life was in Connecticut.

  “One minute you say I’m an alcoholic, the next you’re encouraging me to find love. I thought recovering addicts weren’t supposed to get involved.”

  “First of all, I never once used the words ‘alcoholic’ or ‘love.’ In recent years, the paradigm on alcoholism has shifted. Alcoholism, alcohol abuse, ‘almost alcoholic’ . . . some now believe these things sit on a spectrum. Alcoholism is linked with dependency. Accepting what you’ve told me as the whole truth, you’ve kind of butted up against that line, but maybe not crossed it. You restricted your drinking to evenings, which casts doubt on physical dependence. You quit at will and, so far, without relapse, which weakens a claim of mental dependence. But you’re probably craving it in times of stress, and you’ve definitely abused alcohol based on volume alone.”

  “That’s even a stretch. A few drinks a night isn’t abuse.”

  “Jackson, sixty percent of Americans drink less than one drink per week. Thirty percent drink between one and fourteen drinks per week. Only ten percent of adults drink more, with some extremists clocking in at about four bottles of whiskey per week.”

  Holy hell, a few weeks ago he’d been in that top ten percent. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, avoiding eye contact while he processed that information. David had mentioned something similar during the intervention, but Jackson had dismissed it as being, well, David.

  “Bottom line, if you’re self-medicating with alcohol, you’ve got a drinking problem. So you shouldn’t drink until you’ve found healthier ways of dealing with stress and disappointment. I’d recommend going at least a year without it and see how you feel, and then, if you think you can have a social drink without it turning into three or four, maybe it’d be okay.” Doc leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Prior to the year of your mom’s death and the fallout with David and Alison, it sounds like you didn’t abuse alcohol. I’m thinking we need to dig into the root of your pain in order to get back to a place where you were able to rely on sports, friends, and hobbies to cope.”

  Jackson rubbed his left palm with his right thumb, remembering the feel of Luc’s hand and the surge of happiness it had wrought. Then a shiver shot through him from remembering Gabby’s warm kiss on his neck. Maybe . . . “So you’re saying I could start a relationship with someone now if I wanted to?”

  “Not a romantic relationship. I think it’s a little soon because if it failed, you might not be ready to handle the disappointment without turning back to alcohol.”

  Like bellows, Doc’s opinion cinched, forcing hope from Jackson’s chest with a whoosh.

  “You’re talking out of both sides of your mouth, Doc. First you tell me to connect with people, then you tell me I’m too damn fragile to handle it. Which is it?”

  “When I said to invest in relationships, I was speaking of your family and friends. Clear the air with your siblings and your dad. Rebuild the trust and love that once sustained you. Then, assuming you manage that alcohol-free, you can probably safely venture into a new romantic attachment.”

  Rebuild the trust. No shit, Sherlock.

  Jackson inhaled and counted to three. Sarcasm and denial weren’t going to do a damn thing to change his outlook. And despite his protests, yesterday had made him realize he wanted to experience happiness again without it being remarkable or taking effort.

  Swallowing his pride, which went down a little like swallowing an apple whole, he asked, “Here’s the thing. How do you rebuild trust, especially when people keep secrets?”

  Doc inhaled slowly, nodding pensively. “Perhaps we start by inviting your family to a group session.”

  Jackson leaned forward, grinning. “Doc, getting that group to open up is like trying to shuck an oyster with your teeth.”

  Doc clasped his hands behind his head and sat back in his chair. “I like a challenge, don’t you?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  While pushing Luc on the swing, Gabby’s thoughts strayed back to her earlier hospital visit with her dad. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for being grumpy today. Noisy hospitals allowed for little sleep and served lousy food. That, coupled with a month-long ban on his driving, had overshadowed the gratitude he should’ve shown for the fact that the doctors also predicted a full recovery.

  The crunchy sound of tires grinding gravel caused her to look up.

  “Dada!” Luc yelped from the swing as Noah’s patrol car came into view.

  Oh, great. She steadied the swing in case Luc wanted to jump down and hug his dad. Luc sat there, swinging his legs, apparently satisfied to stay put.

  Noah strode toward them, dressed in his uniform, looking handsome as usual. It’d be so much easier on her if he’d have a bad case of adult acne, or start losing his hair, or something—anything—that might put a chink in his cocksure attitude.

  “Hey, Gabs, real sorry to hear about your dad.” Noah then crouched down and pinched Luc’s feet. “You swinging, Luc?”

  Luc nodded enthusiastically.

  “Watch me, Dada.” And then he looked up at her and ordered, “Push me high, Mama!”

  Gabby complied before returning her attention to Noah. “Thanks. He’s lucky, though. The doctors say he’ll be feeling more like his old self by Christmas.”

  “That’s great.” Noah’s gaze traveled around the swing set, then he slapped his hand against one of the swing set beams. He narrowed his eyes and spoke in a flat tone edged with a hint of envy. “Guess Jackson did a good job here.”

  “He’s a builder, so he said it was easy.” She pushed Luc again while a grin curled the corners of her mouth. That seemed to happen whenever she recalled any image of Jackson, especially the one of him watching Luc’s reaction to this particular gift. “Refused to take a penny, too.”

  Noah cocked his head, then glanced away for a moment, looking almost tormented.


  “Maybe he’s got another form of payment in mind.” Noah issued an arch look, lest she missed the warning in his accusation.

  I wish.

  “That’s your speed, not his.” She flashed her best sarcastic smile. Jackson had his own problems, to be sure, but she could tell he didn’t use women. Not even women who threw themselves at him, apparently.

  “Higher, Mama!” Luc’s command rang out. Then, as he rose higher into the air, he shouted, “Look, Dada!”

  “Good job.” Noah offered his son a brief smile and then mocked Gabby. “And FYI, that’s every guy’s speed. Trust me.”

  She snorted, wondering how she hadn’t seen this side of Noah long before she got pregnant. “It’s sad that you believe that, but I’m not going to argue with you.”

  “Good.” He removed his hat and fidgeted with its rim, looking uncharacteristically awkward as he reverted back to his normal, flirtatious mode. “So, I stopped by to check on you and Luc. If you need anything, you let me know.”

  For a split second, Noah appeared almost vulnerable and sincere. If prior experience hadn’t taught her that he couldn’t be trusted, she’d have thought him quite an angel then, with the sun creating a halo effect around his blond hair. No doubt, however, he’d fail even the simplest test of sincerity.

  “Actually, could you watch Luc tomorrow while I visit my dad?”

  “Oh, uh, well, what time?” He tapped his hat against his thigh. “I’ve got to work, you know.”

  Hedging—how predictable. With the exception of putting his personal safety at risk at his work, Noah rarely went out of his way for other people. Any nice thing he did, he did at his convenience, and usually with his own agenda in mind. She couldn’t imagine why he’d even bothered with his unenthusiastic offer, nor did she much care.

  “I’d planned to go around lunchtime so I could bring him a better meal.” Gabby stopped pushing Luc, letting him struggle a bit to keep it going on his own.

  “Sorry, Gabs.” The look of relief on Noah’s face almost made her laugh aloud. “I’m working the day shift tomorrow. Can’t babysit during lunch.”

  Gabby rolled her eyes and settled a fist against her hip. “It’s not ‘babysitting’ when a father spends time with his son.”

  Noah sighed, shaking his head. “Never a break with you. And you wonder why I wasn’t racing down the aisle.”

  “No, Noah. I don’t wonder at all.”

  At eighteen she’d wanted a commitment more than anything. Looking back, she guessed part of that need had been driven by fear of being a teenaged single mom. Another part had come from wanting to start her own family after her mother had blown hers apart. Teenage lust and hormones must’ve accounted for most of the rest of what she’d thought had been love.

  By the time Luc was born, she’d figured out some hard truths about herself and Noah. It seemed, however, Noah still wanted something from her despite her obvious lack of interest.

  Just then, Jackson’s Jeep pulled into the driveway. Noah’s shoulders straightened and he put his hat back on, tipping the brim down to look more threatening, she guessed.

  As for her, she hadn’t seen Jackson since she’d made a fool of herself last night. Good God, she’d rather be caught naked in public than face him now, in front of Noah. Hopefully she could keep her chin up and her expression relaxed. Act as if nothing happened last night, which, of course, was basically—and very regrettably—true.

  When Jackson got out of his car, Luc tumbled off the swing in an attempt to hurl himself across the yard. “Jackson!” He pushed off the ground and tore across the driveway, arms held high. “I want to play monstore!”

  After a quick nod toward Gabby and Noah, Jackson turned his killer smile on Luc and caught him, raising him overhead and shaking him in the air like he weighed little more than a sack of sugar. “You know what happens if I catch you, right?”

  “Tickles!” Luc’s giggle lightened Gabby’s heart, but Noah’s expression turned dark.

  Jackson set Luc on the ground and started counting. “One, two, three . . .”

  Luc ran back to Gabby, screeching in joyful terror. Jackson growled and lumbered toward him, arms outstretched. “I’m comin’!”

  Luc dashed between Gabby’s legs, trembling, his arms stretched up to her for protection. “Mama, Mama!”

  Gabby scooped him up onto her hip and then mock-yelled at Jackson. “Stay away, monster, or I’ll lock you in the basement and feed you spiders for dinner.”

  “Okay, okay!” Jackson stopped on a dime, feigning horror and raising his arms in surrender. “Spiders taste gross.”

  He winked at Gabby then extended his hand to Noah. “Noah. Nice to see you again.”

  Liar. Gabby covered her thoughts with a pleasant grin.

  “Looks like my son’s taken a shine to you.” Noah’s voice, tight yet polite, sliced through the air.

  “He’s a great kid.” Jackson’s grin faded. “You’re a lucky guy.”

  “Let’s catch fwogs.” Luc’s gaze homed in on Jackson.

  “No, no.” Jackson shook his head, wagging one finger. “You just want to see me get muddy again, don’t you?”

  Luc giggled, nodding excitedly.

  “Looky there. Seems you don’t need my help after all, Gabs.” Noah gestured toward Jackson. “You’ve already got a built-in babysitter with this here man of leisure.”

  The antagonism in Noah’s voice set off a tiny quiver of alarm, but she dismissed it as pure macho BS. She knew Noah’s ego, not his heart, was the only thing bruised by the fact his son had bonded with another man.

  “A good one, too,” she replied, not exactly proud of her taunt, especially after Jackson’s reaction evidenced his disappointment in her.

  “No sitter’s as good as a father.” Jackson gave Noah a meaningful look, but Gabby didn’t think it appeased him.

  Noah decided, suddenly, to be affectionate with Luc. If Gabby hadn’t been leaning against one of the swing set poles, she might’ve fallen over.

  “Give Daddy a hug good-bye.” Noah lifted Luc from Gabby’s hip and hugged him.

  “Bye-bye, Dada.” Luc’s hugs always came with a fair amount of dirt and slobber, so Gabby wasn’t surprised to see Noah dust himself off after handing Luc back to her.

  “Don’t forget to let me know how I can help . . . when I’m not working,” Noah instructed Gabby before strutting toward his car. “See you later.”

  As soon as he pulled out of the driveway, Gabby sighed, hard and long, shaking her head.

  “How’s your father today?” Jackson’s beautiful eyes bored into hers with genuine concern.

  “He’ll be home in two days, but no driving for several weeks. With therapy he should be in pretty good shape by Christmas.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Luc squirmed, so she put him down and he went directly to the slide. With her security blanket now otherwise occupied, she’d have to address Jackson, and the memory of his gentle rejection, head-on.

  Right before she launched into an apology, he said, “I’ve been thinking.”

  Hope filled her lungs like helium, raising her spirits. She teased, “Careful, there.”

  The little joke earned her an amused grin.

  “Seriously, here’s the deal. Instead of replacing the rotted wood, how ’bout I help pick up the slack with your dad’s business? I’m guessing he has a weekly schedule of tasks for the homes he oversees. I’m here another four or so weeks, so that will get you partway through his recovery period.”

  Although the offer wasn’t what she’d hoped he’d been considering, she wouldn’t turn it down. Pride had never stood in the way of her accepting help. “If I weren’t desperate, I’d refuse your help. You’re supposed to be wrestling your own problems, not getting distracted by mine. But, lucky for you, I am desperate, so yes, feel free to use me as a diversion.”

  Wait, that sounded different than she’d intended. No way to hide the fact that she had a one-track mind wher
e Jackson St. James was concerned. Thankfully, aside from a quick grin, he didn’t make a deal out of the sexual connotation.

  “Okay, then. Maybe once Luc’s asleep you can give me a rundown of what’s what. Then I’ll start up tomorrow. But first,” he raised his voice and whipped around to look for Luc, then reverted to his growly monster voice, “I’ve got a little boy to eat.”

  Luc’s eyes widened with glee. Peals of nervous laughter accompanied him as he dashed toward her garden gate.

  Jackson stomped off, chasing him down, making all kinds of scary grunts and other noises. And although nothing made Gabby happier than to hear her son laughing, this time a thin layer of melancholy settled over her mood like fine ash.

  Some kids enjoyed this kind of exchange every day of their lives, but not her son. Some women came home to a man like this—well, maybe not quite like Jackson—every day, but not her.

  Her mind chewed on that thought while she meandered down the driveway to grab the bundle of mail that had been shoved into the mailbox. She tucked it under her arm and strode back toward the house, still preoccupied with chastising herself for her choices.

  Yes, Noah had bailed on her, but she’d bailed on herself, too. She’d let three years pass without making any attempt to date. In doing so, she’d failed herself and her son. That couldn’t continue.

  She wanted a father figure for Luc. She wanted a man to love. She wanted to be loved.

  Luc’s happy screech drew her back to the present. Jackson tossed Luc in the air, all traces of his troubles temporarily erased from those gorgeous eyes.

  Unfortunately, Gabby realized then that she wanted the impossible, because right now she just wanted Jackson.

  Standing there feeling foolish, she removed the rubber band from the bundle and sifted through the mail. Bills, ads, a catalogue of stuff she could never afford, and a letter. A letter addressed to her?

  The handwriting . . .

  She stopped in her tracks, not even flinching when an insect buzzed past her ear. Her mouth turned pasty as her eyes homed in on the return address—Hammill, 15 Mills Avenue, Burlington, VT.