Chapter Nineteen
Sunny
“How did you get those scars, Jack?”
“Mama,” I groan, picking at my food. “You can’t just come out and ask questions like that.”
“Well, why on earth not?” she says, completely unbothered. “Remember what your father used to say? If you don’t ask questions in life, you’ll never know the answers. Now, Jack?”
“There are some questions you don’t need the answers to, Mama.”
“It’s alright, baby,” Jack says, his voice calm, eyes filled with amusement. “I got these when I was a young boy, ma’am.”
“ Angel ,” she corrects smoothly. “And when you marry my daughter… Mama. ”
“Mama!” I groan again, my face practically on fire. “You cannot just…”
Jack chuckles, and I swear the man looks more pleased than embarrassed.
“Yes, ma’am. Angel. Noted.”
“Now, what happened?”
Okay, it’s not like I don’t want to know the answer too, but… it’s not my place to ask. And it sure as heck ain’t Mama’s. But still…
Jack doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t frown. He just… goes still.
Quiet.
Then, after a long pause, he sets his chopsticks down, wipes his hands on his napkin, and meets my mother’s eyes with a calm that doesn’t match the weight of his words.
“My father gave them to me,” he says.
My breath catches. I feel it like a punch to my already broken ribs. Which Mama has known about since I got my phone back because I can’t lie to her.
“I was ten,” he continues, voice low but steady. “He believed pain built strength. Thought I needed to ‘toughen up.’ So he… did what he did.”
“Oh,” Mama whispers, a hand fluttering to her chest.
“He was wrong,” Jack adds, and his gaze flicks to me like he’s anchoring himself there. “Pain doesn’t make you strong. Surviving it does. And choosing to protect people instead of becoming like him? That’s what makes a man.”
Silence blankets the table for a beat.
Then Mama blinks, tears shining in her eyes. She reaches across the table and lays her hand over his.
“Well, I’m damn glad you survived, Jack,” she says softly. “Because my daughter doesn’t need perfect. She just needs good. And I can see plain as day that you’re good where it counts.”
Jack swallows hard and clears his throat. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“ Angel, ” she corrects again, smiling. “Or…”
“Mama… when I marry your daughter,” he finishes, glancing over at me with a look so steady, so confident, it nearly sends my soul into orbit. “Which won’t be as far off as one might think.”
“What is happening?” I whisper to myself, eyes wide, food frozen halfway to my mouth.
Mama beams like she just got handed front-row tickets to a gospel concert and a grandbaby in the same breath. “Well, I certainly approve. And you’ll make a fine son-in-law.”
“Mama,” I hiss, cheeks burning. “We’ve been dating for a week.”
Jack shrugs like it’s irrelevant. “Doesn’t take long to know when it’s right, baby.”
Mama nods in total agreement, completely unfazed by my internal spiral.
“Exactly. Your daddy proposed after two dates and a bar fight. We were married three months later and stayed that way for forty years…right up until his heart attack took him home.”
“Was he the one in the bar fight?” I ask, my heart tugging.
Daddy’s been gone three years. It’s been hard on Mama. After forty years with him, learning how to be alone hasn’t been easy.
I glance up at Jack and wonder what we’ll be like in forty years. Just imagining losing him now hurts. I don’t even want to think about what’ll happen if he goes before me.
“Nope,” she says cheerfully. “But he finished it.”
Jack chuckles, eyes full of something that looks dangerously like affection . For both of us.
“So,” Mama says, casually buttering a roll like she’s not about to commit emotional homicide, “how long do I have to wait for my first grandchild?”
I drop my face into my hands with a groan. “I should’ve just stayed on the porch.”
“I disagree,” Jack murmurs beside me, not even trying to hide the smile in his voice. “You’re Ma is amazing, baby.”
“Not helping,” I mumble into my palms.
“Oh, I think he’s helping just fine,” Mama grins. “Now, Susannah Mae, do you want a baby shower theme that’s sweet and southern or something a little more modern?”
“Kill me now.”
“Well, obviously it’ll be a biker baby with a god complex and adorable dimples. I just need to know if we’re doing sunflowers or skulls.”
“I’m moving to Canada.”
“No you’re not,” Jack says, leaning closer, voice low enough to be just for me. “You’re stuck with me, remember?”
I peek through my fingers to glare at him. He just smirks.
Mama hums. “Oh yes, I like this one.”
***
“How was it?” Riley asks the moment I walk through the front door of Jack’s house. Either they have keys or Jack just leaves his door unlocked. I don’t mind though. I need some girl time while Jack meets with his brothers about club stuff.
“Absolutely MORTIFYING, ” I announce, throwing my bag onto the couch like it personally betrayed me.
Abby perks up from the recliner, grinning. “Tell us everything. ”
I flop down dramatically, the universal signal for brace yourselves. Which hurt like crap, but right now, the pain eases some of my embarrassment.
Over the next several minutes, I recount the entire evening.
Every eyebrow-raising, soul-searing moment with no mercy and maximum dramatic flair.
From Mama asking Jack about his scars like it was a job interview, to her full-blown “when you marry my daughter” declaration… and of course, the final blow:
“She asked about grandkids, y’all.”
Riley gasps.
Abby cackles. “Already?! Dang, she’s not playing.”
“I’ve known the man for like, what, a week and a half?”
“Ten days,” Riley says helpfully.
“Not helping.”
“Did Jack faint?” Abby asks.
“No,” I grumble. “He just smiled. Like he enjoyed it. Like he’s already picked out nursery paint and baby names.”
“Oh, he definitely has,” Riley nods, looking entirely too smug. “Probably in that scary serial-killer memory palace he keeps behind those pretty eyes.”
“And then,” I say, leaning in like I’m revealing a secret, “he told her we were getting married. Like soon. Just casually. While eating an egg roll.”
“Married?” Abby squeaks.
“‘Not as far off as one might think,’” I quote, dropping my voice into Jack’s deep broody growl.
There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then…
Riley: “Girl.”
Abby: “You’re screwed.”
Me: Groans into a throw pillow.