by Penny Reid
My eyes stung with a new wave of tears. I pressed my lips together because my chin had the wobbles again. “You love me,” I said, trying the words on. They felt too good to be true.
“Hmm. You don’t sound too certain.” Jackson grinned, lifting an eyebrow, taking away the breath I hadn’t caught yet. Lifting himself up, he climbed down my body, saying between kisses, “I guess I’ll just have to show you again.”
Chapter 23
*Jackson*
“It’s nice to look back on your life and see things as lessons, and not regrets.”
Rihanna
Life was good.
We’d spent all day in the cabin yesterday, naked, with the AC on, despite the fact that I’d started believing Rae within the first hour. She knew I loved her. She knew it and believed it and accepted it.
And yet—as I’d repeated yesterday during hour four, five, and six—one could never be too sure.
I grinned at the memory, my blood heating as visions of her carefree smiles and laugher played through my mind. It had been the happiest day of my life—so far—because Rae loved me, I loved her, we were solid, things were fantastic. Life wasn’t good, life was superb. . .
So why had I woken up anxious, and why did I spend all day today looking over my shoulder, a sense of dread heavy in my chest, waiting for the other shoe to drop?
“Jackson?”
I shook myself, realizing I’d been staring into the past, and gave Florence my attention. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
She didn’t respond right away, her dark brown eyes looking me over for a tick, like she was looking for something, or expected to discover something new about my features.
Eventually, she stepped closer, glanced over her shoulders—left, then right—and leaned close. “Have you been online today?”
Careful not to exhibit any change in expression, I shook my head. “No. Why?”
She pressed her lips together, her eyes growing real big. “You might want to check Twitter.”
“I don’t have a Twitter acc—”
“Fine. I’ll show you.” She pulled her phone from behind her back and shoved the screen under my nose, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Next time, ask me to go get your condoms. I don’t mind. It’ll confuse the heck out of Charles, that’s for sure, and give both Nancy and me a laugh.”
I couldn’t focus on her words and what I was seeing. A picture of me at the convenience store?
“Swipe your finger to the left, there’s more,” she said. Flo must’ve been impatient because she reached over and did it herself.
The second photo showed a close-up of my hands, what I’d purchased. Great. Now the whole world knows what size I wear. The third and fourth photos showed me leaving the store, and the fifth through tenth were pictures of me and Rae leaving the boat together yesterday, hand in hand, smiling like lovesick fools.
Which I supposed we were.
“You two look so cute together.” Flo had twisted her neck to look at the pictures with me. “Nancy told me it was going to happen, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
I couldn’t think, my heart started hammering. I mean, this wasn’t good, right? Or . . . was this bad? Will this hurt Rae?
“And it’s so nice that Charlotte and Rae have become such good friends.” Flo was still talking. “Do you think she’d mind if I called her Rae? You ask and let me know. Anyway, when I called Charlotte this morning to check in on her, she sounded thrilled. Said she set the two of you up.” Flo gave my shoulder a little nudge, and I looked at her. She was smiling. Gleefully.
I tried to smile but wasn’t so sure of my success.
It didn’t seem to matter to Florence, though. Still grinning, and looking at me like I was treasure, she took the phone from my hand and straightened. “I bet Charlotte saw the chemistry between the two of you right away, it’s hard to miss, unless you’re blind.” She chuckled, then sighed. “I just wish we could find someone for Charlotte too. She’s such a lovely girl, and so hard-working. It’s a shame what that Kevin did.”
“Flo.”
“Hmm? Yes?”
My mind on Rae and whether or not this latest development would negatively impact her, I stood from my desk. “Do you mind if I take a minute to, uh, make a call?”
“Oh! Yeah, well. You can’t.” She gave me a plaintive look. “Sorry. I meant to tell you first, your father wants to talk to you. Now.”
I felt my façade slip at this news, my eyes cutting to the door of his office. “Oh. Okay.”
Flo patted me on the back. “Good luck,” she said, then walked off, leaving me to my fate like she hadn’t just dropped a bunch of bombs all over my life. Or shoes.
Gathering a deep breath, I walked between the aisles, taking the shortest route possible to the sheriff’s office while my mind stumbled over what this might be about. It’s about the pictures, and you know it.
Yeah, I guess I did know it. Did he think I was behaving irresponsibly? The thought made me frown, and honestly it made me mad. By the time I’d made it to his door, knocked, and he’d called for me to enter, I’d talked myself into quite a tizzy, reasoning that, although I respected the hell out of my father, his life was not my life, and I was going to love whomever I damned well—
“Momma.” I stopped short because my mother stood in front of my father’s desk, her hands clasped in front of her, a small smile on her face.
“Jackson,” she said. “Thanks for coming. Close the door, please.”
My father, who stood at his desk behind her, leaned to one side and gave me the look.
Now, all y’all will know this look. This is the look one parent gives their child when they’re warning him or her about what’s about to happen at the hands of the other parent. Typically, parent A—in this case, my dad—disagrees with parent B—in this case, my mom—but feels obligated to play a supporting role in the looming conversation.
“Take a seat,” my mother said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of my father’s desk and moving to one side so I could.
On autopilot, I closed the door, splitting my attention between the two of them as I walked over. I knew better than to sit before a lady did, so I stood in front of the chair and let my mother reach up and set a kiss on my cheek. Then she sat, which was our prompt to do so as well.
“Jackson, honey, how are you?” she asked, her smile friendly and patient, her eyes a normal size. This was a good sign. I only needed to worry if her eyes grew big or small. Didn’t matter which, either spelled disaster.
“Just fine,” I said, my gaze flicking to my dad. He sat with this his hands folded on top of his desk. He wore a rather bland smile, not too big, not too small, not too interested, and his stare pointed forward at nothing. Okay, well, that’s a bad sign.
“And your boat? How’s your boat?”
“The boat is . . . is . . .” Oh.
She’d seen the pictures. My mouth went completely dry. My mother had seen the pictures of me buying condoms from Charles at the convenience store and then the photos of Rae and I leaving the boat.
Her eyes narrowed. “Jackson James, do you have something you wish to tell us?”
I gripped the arms of the chair, uncertain what she wished to hear. She’d said nothing about the video kiss at the ATM, probably because she considered the issue my father’s to deal with, and probably because she—unlike everyone else—didn’t believe the story that had been spread around by Sienna, Jethro, and Charlotte. Knowing my mother, she’d been waiting patiently for me to fill her in.
But now, her patience had ended.
I understood. We lived in a small town. She was the wife of the sheriff. She was a respected teacher and educator. People talked. I was an adult—certainly—but I was also a member of this family. Being a member of a family meant that my decisions didn’t just impact me. The actions of one person reflects on the others. I knew my mother would support me in whatever I did—she might not always like it, yet she supported me�
�but she didn’t like to be blindsided by gossip, especially not gossip broadcast on a national level.
I glanced at my dad. His eyes met mine and he raised his eyebrows, just once, like, What do you want me to say?
Thankfully, my mother gave us both the answer. “I’d like to invite your lady friend over for dinner.”
“Yes!” I agreed at once, glancing at my dad again. He gave me a small nod.
“Let me know if she has any food allergies or special dietary requirements.” My mother crossed her legs at the ankle, picking a piece of lint invisible to my eye from her skirt. “You know it’s no trouble for me to make whatever she likes best. This woman obviously means something to you. I want to make a good impression.”
“I can’t imagine you not making a good impression,” my father said, earning him an appreciative sideways smile from his wife.
I breathed out a bundle of nerves, nodding. “I’ll find out. But I’m pretty sure she eats anything.”
“Even red meat?” my mother asked with a hint of wariness.
“Yes. Even red meat,” I assured her, and saw that soothed some of her nerves.
“Good. It’s settled,” she said, standing, which meant my father and I also stood. “We’ll see y’all on Saturday.” Once more, she placed a kiss on my cheek, but this time she also paired it with a hug. “We love you, Jackson,” she said softly, her embrace tight. “We just want to see you happy.”
“I know.” I met my father’s gaze over her shoulder. His smile looked genuine now. “I love you too.”
“Steak?” Rae looked between me and the package of USDA prime rib I’d picked up for her. “You want me to give your mother steak? As a gift?” Her tone hinted at inner turmoil.
“Yes.” I nodded just once, allowing my attention to settle on Dave for a moment. He stood next to his black Escalade, waiting for Rae and me to finish our conversation so we could all drive over to my parents’ house.
“I want her to like me,” Rae said, sounding and looking distraught.
“She will love you.”
Rae didn’t look convinced. If anything, she looked more panicked than she had on Thursday when I told her about dinner with my parents. Personally, I thought we were lucky. The fallout from condom-gate seemed minor and easily managed compared to the clusterfuck that was ATM-gate.
According to Rae, her publicist had expressed delight with the photos, especially the ones of us on my fancy boat. He’d said the boat raised my profile, whatever that meant. He’d also said something about Harrison being irritated, not that I cared what that asshole thought.
Anyway, Rae hadn’t been negatively impacted. That’s the important part.
I, on the other hand, received my fair share of dirty looks from folks around town on Thursday and Friday before and during the jam session. According to Flo, they felt like they’d been lied to, and considered the photos as evidence that I’d hoodwinked them all with the initial version of events surrounding the ATM video. This had been easily remedied—for the most part—by Charlotte stepping in and spreading an alternate story. She let it be known at the library, Daisy’s Nut House, and the Piggly Wiggly that she’d set Rae and me up, a tale corroborated by Darlene Simmons.
Darlene was the redhead who’d monologued at the Cades Cove picnic about Rae’s roles being brave choices. Darlene confirmed Charlotte’s story, adding that Charlotte had mentioned to her—while Charlotte had walked into the park that Saturday and Darlene had been leaving it—that Charlotte purposefully tricked Rae and me, placing us at same the place at the same time.
And so, if you can believe it, most folks in town ended up being happy for us. Other folks didn’t buy Charlotte’s version, thought we’d been together this whole time, but still seemed (albeit warily) happy. I did receive a slew of text messages from ex-flings, female friends, and my sister expressing curiosity and excitement for me. None of my work colleagues seemed surprised or appeared to care one way or the other. My parents seemed fine with the idea, but—presently—expected us for dinner within the next twenty minutes.
Which brings us to now and Rae staring at me like I was nuttier than a package of trail mix.
“Not flowers? Or a nice silk scarf? Or a bottle of wine? Or an iPad? Or Swiss chocolate? Or a Louboutin Cabata tote?” She held up two giant gift bags, presumably filled with the items she had just mentioned.
I put the steaks back in the plastic Piggly Wiggly bag, tying the straps together. “You can put the steaks in the bag with the wine. But I’m telling you, there is nothing better you can give my mother than steak.”
Her forehead wrinkled with deep creases of concern, her eyes searched mine, torn. “You’re not playing a trick on me, are you?”
“No.” I stepped closer, giving her a soft kiss and slipping the steaks into the bag I hoped held the wine and not the silk scarf. “I wouldn’t do that. I know you’re nervous, even though I’ve told you ten times you don’t need to be.”
She nodded, looking pained and close to tears. “Okay. Okay. I’ll give your mother steaks.”
“Good,” I said soothingly. “Now let’s go.” Taking the bags from her fingers before she could change her mind, I placed my free hand on the small of her back and gently applied pressure, guiding her toward the Escalade. We’d decided to have Dave drive us tonight rather than arriving in two vehicles. I’d also liked the idea because I got the sense Rae needed to be held before and after the dinner.
When I’d told her of my mother’s request, she’d freaked out.
And by that I mean, she’d FREAKED OUT, leaving the family room of my house—where we’d just settled in to watch a movie—pacing back and forth in the kitchen for several silent minutes, and then launching a thousand questions at me about how she should behave and what she should wear and asking me if we could write a script for the evening for her to follow.
Apparently, Rae had never been introduced to a man’s parents before. This fact, plus what I knew of her own situation growing up, I understood her anxiety. But I felt confident in my mom and dad. I knew I just needed to get her there and then everything would be just fine.
I handed the gift bags over to Dave, sharing a commiserating look with the guard, then opened the back door for her. She didn’t hop inside, but rather seemed distracted by the simple and modest black dress she’d finally settled on wearing.
“Is this too formal?”
“No.”
“Does it make me look like I’m in mourning?”
“No.”
She turned like she might walk back to the house. “I think I’ll go with the blue one. I don’t want them to think—”
I stepped in her path, steering her back to the car and basically lifting her into the back. I shut the door once she was inside, and I heard Dave engage the locks to prevent her from escaping. The guard and I shared another look. After what he, Miguel, and I had been through today—a ten-hour fashion show with a woman intent on making the perfect first impression—I wanted to ask Dave and Miguel to be groomsmen at my wedding. We’d bonded. For life.
Dave and Miguel had also spent the afternoon telling me all about Raquel’s house in California, the double gates, the dogs, the bars, the redundant alarm systems, the steel reinforced entries and three panic rooms. I suspected, even after today’s lengthy first-impression fashion show, the guards still preferred Sienna’s carriage house to the prison-like atmosphere of Rae’s place in LA. But it left me wondering if maybe Dave and Miguel should both come with us to my parents’ house tonight and stay for the evening. I didn’t like thinking about all the desperate and violent super fans that had made the security at her house in LA necessary.
Walking around the car, I heard the locks disengage and I opened my door, sliding inside next to Rae and her bouncing legs. She was staring forward, biting her thumbnail, and likely imagining all the worst-case scenarios that awaited her.
Taking out my phone, I texted my mom.
Jackson: She’s very nervous. Maybe have
Dad make those margaritas.
Mom: On it. Double the vodka.
Jackson: Margaritas have tequila.
Mom: We’ll add it all, you’re not driving.
I smiled at my mom’s response, sliding the phone back in my pocket. I then reached over and pulled Rae toward me, wrapping her in my arms as Dave turned around in the Winston’s driveway.
“Buckle up,” I said, reaching for the seatbelt behind her and handing it over. While she fumbled with the latch, finally managing it after three tries, I clicked mine into place.
Placing my arms around her again, bringing her cheek to my chest, I said, “Rae, I promise, they are going to love you.”
This must’ve been the wrong thing to say because I felt her body stiffen. “You don’t know that.”
I sighed. I couldn’t imagine anyone meeting her and not loving her instantly, just as I had. And then more and more each time we met, each interaction, each look and touch and smile.
“Would it help if I told you something weird about my mother?”
Some of the tension in her body released. “Not if it’s a violation of her privacy. I don’t want—”
“No. Of course not. This is something well known about Janet James.”
“Oh?” She straightened and looked at me. “What is it?”
“My mother grew up on a Texas cattle ranch and feels a great affinity for supporting American ranchers.”
She seemed to digest this. “That doesn’t seem weird. If she grew up on a cattle ranch, her affinity makes sense.”
“Yeah, but it’s somewhat extreme. With my mother, almost everything else is up for discussion, but anyone who tries to convince her to stray from her beliefs on this one thing, well, she’ll never look at them the same way again. She has bumper stickers on the back of her truck praising meat culture and steak in particular.”
