11. Jackson #3
Back at the table, I drop into my chair hard enough to rattle the bottles. Carter just sips his beer, smirking. “You know,” he drawls as he sips from his bottle of beer, “you two just need to fuck and get it over with.”
I imagine smashing his face into the wall but take a long drink from my own bottle instead. “Tink ain’t my type,” I mutter.
“You’ve shown her more attention than any girl in years.”
“I ain’t got time for the drama,” I lie. “I’ve got a ranch to run.”
Jensen sighs. “Even Pops made time for Mama. You just choose not to.”
I snap, feeling hot and cornered. “That’s because I’ve got you two idiots, our parents, Theo, and now that brat to deal with.” Carter is unfazed by my outburst, too busy watching Lacey Hale swaying her hips in her tight jeans. Jensen, on the other hand, seems uncomfortable.
“Sorry, Jen, ” I say softly, knowing he tends to take things like this personally. “I’m just?—”
“It’s fine.” He waves me off, eyes focusing on Niamh.
Glancing over, I see Niamh grinning as she shows Ozzy how to dance.
Ozzy looks so happy at this moment. Her face is relaxed, and her smile is wide and genuine.
It punches the air out of me. I chuckle inwardly to myself as I think about Carter’s words.
Somehow I know that if I were to actually fuck Ozzy, it wouldn’t get rid of any of the tension.
“Well, goddamn.” The familiar male voice cuts through the hum of the bar like a goddamn chainsaw. I freeze. Beau fucking Stokes. My brother Derek’s ex-best friend. The one who burned our family and laughed while doing it. The last person I want within a hundred miles of her.
He walks in like he owns the place and zeroes in on Ozzy. Of course he does. She sees him coming and holds out a hand. “That’s far enough.” Her voice is trying to be strong. But I’ve been around her long enough to know it’s anything but.
Beau grins, takes off his hat, and runs a hand through his slicked-back hair. “No need to be rude,” he purrs. “Come show me what those curves can do, baby girl.” He grabs her wrist, and I snap.
In two strides, I’m there. I twist his wrist so hard he jerks.
Ozzy gasps as I pull her behind me, pressing her against my back with one arm while I stare this motherfucker down.
“You getting hard of hearing there, Beau?” I hiss.
My pulse is a freight train. Ozzy’s trembling against me, her nails curling into the back of my shirt.
She’s gripping me . She feels safe behind me , which awakens the protective feelings that have been growing inside me.
The feeling is so intense, it’s almost terrifying.
“She said that was enough. You touch her again, I’ll make you regret it like you do every other decision you’ve ever made. ”
Beau scowls, his jaw tight. But he’s a coward—always has been. He backs off, his pride bruised, and disappears into the crowd.
I turn to Ozzy, and I don’t like what I see. Her eyes are watery and her breathing’s shallow. She’s not okay. “Hey,” I whisper, “you good?”
She nods, barely, and I instantly know it’s a lie. Something in me twists—something dark and hungry. The same something that makes me want to burn the world down if anyone looks at her wrong. I don’t know what this thing is between us. I don’t know what it’s becoming.
“Baby,” I whisper, bending down to meet her at eye level. Her body is taut, vibrating with fear and tension, and her eyes—they’re glassed over.
“Get me out of here,” she breathes. “Please.”
I don’t hesitate. I hold out my hand like it’s the most sacred thing I’ve ever offered, and when her shaking fingers slip into mine, I swear something breaks open in my chest. We move fast—through the crowd, out the door, into the cool night air.
Her breaths are shallow; the kind that sound like they’re trying not to become sobs.
I get her to the truck, open the door, and then pause.
“Ozzy, are you okay with me driving?” I ask carefully.
She doesn’t answer. She’s flinching at every passing sound—someone slamming a tailgate closed, a laugh from a drunk group across the lot, even the squeak of my door hinges. Her hands curl into fists like she’s bracing for impact.
“What do you need?” I ask quietly, trying not to let the desperation crack through. “Tell me what you need, Tink.”
Her face crumples, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. “Quiet?” she croaks. “Safety? To not be scared all the goddamn time? A fucking hug…” The tears start falling, and I feel like I’m watching a dam finally break.
I take a step forward. “I—I can hug you,” I offer, lifting my hands. “But only if—” She flinches, and I stop moving. “Okay,” I murmur, stepping back. Think, Rowe, think.
An idea hits me. A ridiculous, probably stupid idea—but maybe stupid is what tonight calls for. I walk to the passenger side of my truck, open the door, and slide in. “Come here,” I say, tugging off the leather belt from my jeans with one hand.
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.
“There’s a pack of D-rings in the glove box there,” I tell her, already threading my belt through its own loop, forming a crude restraint. “Take one out. Hook it through the loop of my belt and the ceiling anchor just behind my head.”
“Why?” she whispers.
“Thirty seconds of trust, Tink,” I plead, meeting her eyes. “Just give me thirty. That’s all I’m asking.”
She hesitates, before climbing into the cab with slow, uncertain movements. Her fingers tremble as she pulls out a ring and attaches it where I told her. I feel her slip my belt into place. I raise my arms above my head, locked in. Not exactly comfortable. But comfort ain’t the goal here.
“There,” I say softly. “I can’t touch you. You’ve got all the power now, Ozzy. You want to cry, scream, shake, punch, hug—I’m right here, baby. And you don’t have to be afraid.”
She stares at me like she doesn’t believe it. Her mouth falls open, and her eyes shutter.“Jackson…” she breathes weakly.
I shake my head.“Close the door, Ozzy. Close the door and let go.”
Shockingly, she closes the door to the cab before slowly making her way closer to me, as if approaching a trapped wild animal. I inhale, and Jesus fucking Christ, her smell. It’s spicy and woodsy, while her hair has a floral scent that mixes perfectly. It’s a smell I wish I could live in.
Ozzy trails one long nail up the length of my forearm, then over my neck, stopping just under my jaw. The touch is light. Testing. Her voice is thready when she speaks. “You could break that hook in two seconds.”
“Yes,” I admit. “But you would be out the door before I ever got free.”
She nods slowly, then…oh my god, she is straddling my lap.
I–I don’t know what I was expecting. There’s no easy way to hug in the front of my truck, but…
fucking god. Okay, Rowe, act unbothered.
Her thighs bracket mine. My belt groans slightly with the shift of her weight, but I stay perfectly still.
Ozzy is shaking so hard, it’s breaking my heart.
“Jackson…” she chokes, and I can’t help it. I lean just enough to press my cheek to her temple as she folds into me. Her arms wrap around my neck, her forehead crashes into my shoulder, and her whole body starts to shake.
I stare up at the truck’s ceiling as she breaks apart in my arms. Her sobs are violent—ugly, gut-wrenching things. And all I can do is sit here, restrained, while she drenches my shirt and clings to me like a woman on the verge of drowning.
She pulls back, whimpering as we look into each other’s eyes.
I’ve never stared at Ozzy this close. I look from her red-rimmed eyes down her slender nose and her lush lips.
Fuck, I bet they are so fucking soft. I stare at her neck tattoo and frown.
What is that? Squinting my eyes, I look closer and…
are those scars? I follow the tattoo down the exposed skin on her chest, the same raised skin, it’s… everywhere.
They peek out from under her neckline, snaking down the side of her throat, winding beneath the edges of her low-cut shirt. My breath catches in my throat. Someone did this to her.
“Ozzy,” I whisper, my voice raw. “Baby… what happened to you?”
Her sob in response sounds like it’s clawed its way up from the depths of hell. She grips the neck of my shirt, almost violently. My arms scream in burning pain, but I ignore it. Someone hurt her worse than I ever thought. This is more than some stupid ex that hit her.
Ozzy continues to wail, and the sound is so gut-wrenching it causes me to feel physically ill.
I want to wrap her in my arms, but I can’t, and it’s not what she needs.
So I continue to stare up at the roof of my truck as she soaks my shirt with her tears, and I try to ignore the burning in my eyes.
I am still and quiet until her sobs calm slightly, even though her grip around my neck doesn’t loosen.
“Tell me…” she begs through a cracked voice. “Tell me I’ll be okay. Lie to me. Please, just—say I won’t feel like this forever.”
“Hey…” I shift my head and timidly press my cheek against hers before whispering in her ear as softly as I can.
“This feeling, it’s not forever, baby. It’s a fucking monster, I know, but monsters get tired.
You already survived the worst of it, Ozzy.
You hear me? You’re still here. You’re strong enough to hold me right now.
You’re strong enough to breathe. That means you’ve already won. ”
Her breathing hitches. She leans back just far enough to look at me.
We’re so close I can feel the heat of her lips against mine.
She stares into me, into the parts I don’t show anyone.
She leans in and my heart stutters, thinking she’s about to kiss me, but she reaches up and unhooks the belt with one hand.
I groan as I slowly lower them and silently mourn as she slides off my lap like nothing happened.
But something definitely fucking did.
“Can you drive us back to the ranch?” she asks, quiet and worn thin.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice barely audible. “Of course.”
As we drive back to the ranch, it doesn’t take long for her to shut down like usual.
Her eyes go distant, and her face becomes stony.
I don’t take it personally, though. She’s given me something today.
She is letting me drive, and she let me touch her face.
Ozzy has given me her trust; even if it was only a tiny amount for a few minutes, it’s more than I had before, and I think it’s probably more than most get from her.
So, I’ll treasure it. And I’ll do whatever I have to in order to earn more.