Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
MEYER
After the night of the charity dinner, things have been different between me and Jackson. I’m not entirely sure what to call it—what I want us to call it—but I do know that I don’t want it to end.
Maybe starting up a sexual relationship with my business partner will still come around to bite me in the ass, but I’m willing to take that risk.
While things with Jackson seem to be going well, other things…not so much. I finally got the air conditioning fixed in my car, only for the vehicle to choose this moment to completely crap out on me.
“ Ugh .”
After my tenth attempt, I give up on trying to get the engine to turn over.
I was supposed to be well on my way to Calderville by now. My mother finally wore me down and convinced me to join her and her bookclub for their meeting this week. I haven’t managed to read the book, but something tells me that doesn’t matter.
It really doesn’t matter now that my car won’t start.
With a sigh, I text Mom and tell her that I probably won’t be making it after all, unless some vehicular guardian angel makes their appearance and helps me out. Then I drop my forehead to the steering wheel with a groan as I think about how much this car repair will cost me.
I make a decent salary, but I’m not exactly swimming in piles of money, especially considering how much I spend to keep my mom in her apartment. Unexpected expenses like this usually hurt a little.
When I lift my head up, I spot Jackson across the parking lot. He’s speaking to our maintenance guy, but when he glances my way and notices my car sitting here, he claps Hank on the back and then makes his way toward me.
“You’re still here,” he says, bracing his forearms on the car and leaning through my open window.
My glare is withering. “You’re really observant, Hotshot.”
He chuckles, earning him another glare. “And why are you still here? What’s up?"
“My stupid car won’t start!” When he opens his mouth to speak, I hold up a hand. “Yes, I’ve tried whatever you’re about to suggest, and just about everything else, and now I’m over it.”
“I was going to suggest you take my car.”
My brows shoot up. “You’re letting me drive your car?” I ask. But I’m already unbuckling my seatbelt, ready to exit this hunk of junk .
Jackson steps back and opens the door for me. From his pocket, he produces his key fob, dangling it in front of me like tempting forbidden fruit.
When I grasp it, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he sets his free hand on my hip and guides me backwards until I hit the driver’s side of his car, conveniently parked next to mine. The black metal is warm at my back.
“I’m letting you drive my car,” he says, “on one condition.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
With the press of his body against mine, I prepare to agree to any number of sexual favours so I can spend the afternoon in the sleek Audi. But, as he often does, Jackson surprises me.
“Take the rest of the day off.”
My lips part. “But?—”
He shakes his head. “No buts. Go enjoy the day with your mom and her eccentric friends. We’ve got everything covered here.” He smirks. “If you’re a good girl, I might even take you to dinner later.”
“At Papa’s Pizza Emporium?” I ask, fluttering my lashes. “You really do know how to treat a woman.”
He pinches my hip. “Meyer.”
“ Fine . I promise to take the day off.”
“Thank you.”
With a quick kiss on my lips, Jackson relinquishes the keys. I grin as I unlock the car.
“You should be careful what strange woman you lend your car to, Hotshot. She might not give it back,” I tease.
He laughs. “It would hardly be the first thing she’s stolen,” he replies. That makes my breath hitch, but Jackson doesn’t notice. He gives my ass a light tap, urging me into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Tonight.”
“Text me when you get there,” he adds, his expression shifting to one of concern.
After everything, concern has become our default. But there’s been no movement in our case, so I’m all for putting things behind us. Jackson isn’t as quick to forget.
“I will, I promise.”
I wave as I pull out of his parking spot, and then I leave the inn feeling lighter than I have in a while. Despite everything bad that’s happened in the last few months, the good far outweighs it. Jackson outweighs it.
As I cruise along the highway, I fiddle with the controls on the dash. Jackson’s car has a slew of features my Fiesta could only dream of, and I want to try them all. Blessedly, the air conditioning is on full blast, cooling me down despite the sticky humidity outside.
Up ahead, a line of cars slows. A pickup truck at the front is holding them up, waiting to make a left turn onto a dirt backroad. I take my foot off the accelerator and press on the brake.
When the car doesn’t slow, I press a little harder. Still nothing.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I try the brake again. I grit my teeth, my gaze switching from the pedals at my feet to the windshield, where I can clearly see the vehicle I’m running the risk of rear-ending. Panic tries to take hold, but I shove it down .
Abandoning the pedal, I try the emergency brake. This is, after all, quickly becoming an emergency. Sweat begins to bead on my temple when that, too, doesn’t want to function.
Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, dragging on for endless minutes, but I know it’s only been a matter of seconds. The bumper in front of me is getting closer and closer, and the emergency brake still won’t fucking work .
With a muffled scream, I turn the wheel, steering the car away from the vehicles in front of me. I hit the dirt shoulder roughly, but the car keeps going. Tears slip down my cheeks unbidden as I desperately try the brakes again.
Finally, the car rolls down into the ditch, and a scream works its way loose when I crash into the trunk of a tree. My body slams forward on impact, but my seatbelt keeps me locked in place as the airbag inflates.
Shock descends as everything that just happened threatens to sweep me under. A numbness slides over my skin, dulling any pain I’m supposed to be feeling right now.
I don’t think I’m hurt, but I can’t tell for sure.
A frantic knock at my window has me turning my head, but I can’t even fully see who stands on the other side.
“Miss?” someone calls. “Are you alright?”
I think I nod. My fingers fumble with the latch, trying to unhook my seatbelt. My whole being shakes. I feel like I’m floating; like I don’t know where my body is.
All I do know is that those brakes should have worked.
I refused the ambulance that was offered to me, but one of the police constables that responded to the scene, a regular at the restaurant with his wife and kids, insisted that I go to the hospital. He didn’t take no for an answer, so here I am, sitting in the waiting room.
I spoke to a doctor not that long ago, and she said she wanted an x-ray of my chest to check if my ribs are broken or simply bruised. Although there’s nothing simple about the discomfort I feel right now.
When I pull out my phone, I see a text from Jackson waiting, asking if I made it to Calderville. I wince as I begin to type a reply.
So exactly how attached are you to your car?
His reply comes instantly.
Hotshot
What happened?
I may have gotten into a bit of an accident.
I try to start typing another message, but my phone begins to ring. I grimace as I pick up the call, preparing for his inevitable anger. I wrecked his car, after all. I’d be pissed at me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say immediately. “I?—“
“Where are you?” he demands.
“I’m at the hospital. Jackson, I?— ”
“In Fraisier Creek?”
“Yes?” It comes out more like a question than a statement.
“I’ll be there in five.”
I don’t have a chance to say anything more before the line clicks. But true to his word, five minutes later, the sliding doors of the emergency department open. He scans the waiting area until he spots me, and then he’s crossing the room in quick strides.
Jackson drops to a crouch in front of my chair. “Are you okay?” he asks. “What happened?”
“How did you get here so fast?” I ask instead.
“Pippa dropped me off. Tell me where you’re hurt.”
I frown. “Sorry about your car.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, then rests his hands on either armrest of my chair, caging me in. “Baby, I don’t give a shit about the car.”
I shake my head. “I tried to stop, but it just wouldn’t. I promise I didn’t?—”
“Hey,” he says gently. “I mean it, Meyer. I could not care less about the fucking car. All that matters is you. So are you okay ?”
There’s a restless edge to his words. When I take a second to study him, I can see the panic thrumming beneath his outwardly calm fa?ade. I did that. I affected him like that.
There’s a burning in my chest. Whether from my potentially broken ribs or Jackson’s words, I’m not sure. But the need to reassure him wins out.
I nod. “I’m okay,” I say. “Mostly. ”
His gaze hardens. “Define mostly .”
“My chest hurts a little. I’m waiting to be called back to radiology for an x-ray.” In this moment, it’s easier to be upfront. “And I’m probably going to have a gnarly bruise on my jaw from the airbag… But you should see the other guy.”
My stupid joke falls flat as Jackson’s own jaw works, clenched to the point of grinding his teeth. His hand reaches up, fingers brushing the column of my throat. I’m sure he can feel it when I swallow thickly, my breath shallowing. Again, from the chest pain or from his touch, I’m not sure. He tilts my head to the side, inspecting my jaw.
“Fuck,” he curses.
“That bad?” I ask. “I guess my usual tinted moisturizer isn’t going to cut it while it heals. I’ll have to cover it with foundation so I don’t scare the guests away. It’s?—”
“Meyer,” Jackson says, cutting me off again. “Make no mistake, you’re fucking beautiful, bruised or not. I just hate that you’re hurt.”
I nod as I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Sorry. This is how I cope with things. Or avoid them, I guess.”
His gaze softens as he continues to take me in. “You have nothing to apologize for, baby.”
Everything—the fear, the exhaustion, the pain—stacks up and takes my breath away. And then tears begin to prick my eyes. I blink furiously. Crying in public is a line I won’t let myself cross.
My chin wobbles as I stifle the sob working its way up my throat, begging to be set free.
I hardly notice at first, but Jackson’s arms slide under me, and then I’m being settled on his lap. I curl around him, hiding my face against his shoulder. I pay no mind to the burning in my chest when I shift. I need the comfort more than I care about the pain.
We stay like that for what feels like forever, but I eventually manage to calm myself enough to lift my head. “Jackson,” I say. “Something was wrong with the brakes in your car.”
His arm tightens around me. His kiss ghosts my temple. “We can talk about it later. Right now, let’s just focus on getting you out of here.”
I want to argue, but I’ve already been at the hospital for what must be hours, and I’m exhausted. I don’t have it in me.
“Meyer?” a nurse calls. “You can head on back to radiology now. Just make a right at the end of the hall and follow the signage.”
Jackson pulls his arms back, allowing me the space to stand. I do so on shaky legs. Now that the adrenaline has seeped from my body, I feel wrung out, like a used sponge. I want nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed.
When he starts following me, I turn to him. “You don’t need to come with me,” I say. “It’s okay.”
He takes my hand. “And you don’t need to be alone.”
Alone .
I’m often alone—with my thoughts, with my hurts. Not for lack of trying on Mom’s and Pippa’s parts. But it’s much easier to keep this cage around my heart intact if I don’t give anyone the tools to dismantle it.
But Jackson Vaughan has thoroughly wormed his way in. He came prepared with instructions and snuck past my defences, in such an effortless way I had no choice but to let it happen.
Alone used to be a comfort. Now comfort comes in the form of a pair of honey-coloured eyes.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Always, baby.” He squeezes my hand. “Always.”