20. Ozzy
Ozzy
“ W ell, that was stupid,” I mutter, peeking out the window just in time to see Jackson drop like a sack of bricks.
Theo’s standing over him, cradling her fist and crying, while Derek bends over, howling with laughter.
It’s an absolute mess out there; testosterone and poor impulse control smeared all over the front lawn like blood after a bar fight.
“I really don’t want to go back out there,” I admit, pulling the curtain shut like a coward.
Morris chuckles weakly behind me, the sound brittle but real.
“No need to,” he says, waving one shaky hand as I set his lunch tray on the rolling stand beside his hospital bed.
“Those kids been beatin’ the piss outta each other since they could walk.
Ain’t the first time Jackson’s caught a fist to the face—and hell, it won’t be the last.”
I snort and sit down beside him, plucking half of his sandwich and a handful of chips off the tray. “Guess that’s one way to work out your issues.”
“Yeah, well, the Rowe boys love a dramatic exit,” Morris mutters, adjusting his oxygen line slightly before slumping back into the pillows.
His paper-white skin looks thinner than it did yesterday, and his hands are shaking more.
“That’s disgusting, by the way,” he adds, watching as I shove the chips into the peanut butter sandwich and take a huge bite.
I shrug. “One more reason for everyone to find me weird.”
“Don’t need reasons for that,” he jokes, but his smile turns thoughtful.
I catch it out of the corner of my eye—he’s watching me closely, which usually means he’s got something to say that’s going to hurt.
“Listen… Jackson’s a good boy. Stubborn.
Stupid sometimes, sure. But his heart’s bigger than his damn brain. ”
I nearly choke on my food while reaching over to grab his glass of water and take a drink. “Wow,” I croak out. “How sweet. You trying to convince me he didn’t mean what he did?”
“No,” Morris says, firm but not unkind. “I’m telling you he did what he did because he was scared. Because he loves too hard and carries too much. He always has. He doesn’t know how to love without trying to fix. That gets messy, especially when the person he loves has pain he can’t make go away.”
I can’t speak, which is best since Morris isn’t finished talking.
“I love him. But he is a fixer to a fault. He wants all the information so he can make a plan. When I was diagnosed…” He takes a shaky breath.
“It killed them all but him and my Dorothy. They went into fix-it mode. They made plans, medication, new age shit, diet, experimental drugs, surgeries. They did all this while transforming how the ranch was run without anyone’s input.
Right now, my wife and her bad hip are in town making orders for feed to last us over the winter. ”
“I wish she would let me help some, so she has more time with you.”
“Ah!” He waves his hand. “Dorothy and I had our tearful goodbye already. She has a ranch to run, and those boys out there need to see her moving. She is the glue holding everyone together.” I hear the sadness in his tone, and it kills me.
I hate that this man is dying. And I hate that he doesn’t want to leave them behind.
“Jackson had no right to look up whatever he found, and I mean none. But you know he didn’t do it to hurt you, right? ”
I shift uncomfortably and look out the window. Jackson is sitting on the ground, his long hair out of his hair tie and shielding me from seeing his face as he stares down at his knees.
Morris continues on a sigh. “You think he didn’t already feel like shit when he typed your name into that search bar? Boy probably threw up after reading what he found. He cares for you, Ozzy. But he’s drowning in all the ways he doesn’t know how to be what you need.”
I suck in a shaky breath, blinking at my lap. “I know he didn’t mean to hurt me. I just… I wasn’t ready for him to learn what I’m sure he did. I didn’t want him to see me like that. I didn’t want anyone to.”
“You didn’t deserve what happened to you.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “But you’re still here. That’s a miracle, girlie. That’s the power.”
After a pregnant pause, he asks, “You like my boy?”
I finally look up. “Morris, I think I’m in love with him,” I whisper. “And it terrifies me. Every minute I love him, I feel like I’m waiting for the floor to drop out. Like I’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone. Or I’ll flinch one too many times, and he’ll walk.”
He stares at me so long and hard, I feel myself growing nervous. Should I have kept my mouth shut? Of course I should’ve. He doesn’t want someone like me to love his son.
Morris blinks slowly, then chuckles, and it sounds a little wet. “Hell, I got to meet my first grandbaby and now I get to see two of my boys fall in love in the same damn year.”His smile widens as he closes his eyes. “What an absolute gift this is.”
I feel my treacherous bottom lip wobble, and I try to force down the lump growing in my throat.“Morris,” I laugh to cover my sob, “just because I might love him doesn’t mean he feels the same about me. I’m not easy to love.”
He shifts slowly, painfully, and turns to look at me.
“You’re not supposed to be. Love ain’t supposed to be easy.
It’s supposed to be real. Messy. Complicated.
And brave. You think Dorothy was a walk in the park?
Hell no. But I’d walk through fire for that woman, and I’ll tell you this: Jackson would do the same for you. ”
“I don’t want him to feel sorry for me,” I confess. “I don’t want his love to be something I earned because of how broken I am.”
“It’s not pity,” Morris rasps. “It’s awe. That boy looks at you like you rose from the ashes and lit the whole damn sky.”
The tears spill before I can stop them. I don’t sob—I just sit there with Morris, both of us quiet, two broken things trying to find grace in the wreckage.
Finally, he exhales and closes his eyes. “You better wake me up for dinner,” he mutters, smiling faintly. “I wanna hear about you kicking his ass later.”
I lean over, press a kiss to his forehead, and squeeze his frail hand. “You better not die before I make you try my peanut butter and chip pancakes.”
Morris grunts. “Not really giving me much of a reason to hang on.”
I give him a small chuckle. “I’m running down to the pharmacy to grab your pills. Don’t worry, I’ll bring most of them back.”
I leave the living room quietly; my heart is so full and broken all at once. And I know, no matter what Jackson did or didn’t see… this love thing?
It’s already happening.
And there’s no turning back.
Tapping Gretchen’s steering wheel, I look at the front of the store. I just need to get in, grab the prescription, and get back to the ranch.
Quick. Simple. Easy.
I should’ve brought my anxiety pills with me.
I didn’t even change out of my sweats and cropped tee shirt. Didn’t bother with makeup or heels. I threw my hair in a messy bun and left. The only armor I have are my sunglasses.
The air’s thick and humid, curling around me like a warning. Something about being here feels… off. Not storm clouds or traffic off. Heavier than that. Like I shouldn’t have left the house. I know better than to ignore these feelings.
I know.
But here I am, ignoring my instincts. Why? Because Morris needs his medication and I’m still fighting with Jackson, so I snuck out before he knew I had gone.
The store is quiet as I head up to the empty pharmacy.
The usual elderly woman is behind the counter—she’s kind enough not to make small talk.
I hand over the slip for Morris’s refills, tapping my fingers against the counter to the rhythm of my pulse.
A fast, erratic beat. My nerves are frayed from everything that’s been happening.
The flashback at the fair, Morris’ declining health, thoughts on where I’m headed after. Thoughts of Jackson. It’s all too much.
“Well, well. Look who came around without her guard dog.”
The voice hits me like a slap. My stomach drops. My legs freeze mid-step as I’m exiting the store.
Dean.
Fucking Dean.
I don’t look up. Don’t engage. If I ignore him, he’ll vanish.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself. But he doesn’t vanish…no, he follows me.
Of course he follows me .
“What’s wrong, pretty girl? Not so tough without a cowboy next to you? Living up at the ranch with all those Rowe boys. Bet you’re real popular out there, huh?” He laughs, slow and greasy. “Always did like a girl who knew how to keep her mouth shut—except when she’s on her knees.”
My jaw tightens. I turn on instinct, eyes locked on his smug face—but I stop cold.
He’s not alone.
Three other men—decked in biker jackets, scuffed boots, and sweat-stained hats—lean against their bikes like a wall of vultures.
Dean steps forward. Too close . I smell his breath before I feel it, a sick blend of menthol and beer. His fingers reach out and brush my hair.
I flinch like I’ve been shot. My skin goes cold, and my hands start shaking.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I croak, voice cracking like glass. “Jackson told you to leave me alone!”
“Aww, come on, sweet cheeks. Don’t be like that.
We’re just playing.” He backs me into a corner, his beer gut touching my stomach.
He lets out a long breath as his friends chuckle.
“Why don’t you come along with me for a ride?
I’ll show you a good time.” His hand wraps over my thigh and my body reacts before my mind can catch up.
I’m no longer looking at Dean—it’s Hugh and he’s tightening his hold on my collar.
Not again…I can’t go back…I won’t.
I pull up crooked to the ranch, slamming Gretchen into park, as I stumble out. My legs nearly giving out. I don’t remember driving here. I don’t remember what happened with Dean or his buddies. I just remember Hugh, fighting and clawing Hugh. And then running.
“Ozzy!?” Jackson nearly barks out my voice from somewhere in the distance. I look to where I hear his voice coming from and see him racing toward me from the barn, his brows furrowed in panic. He sees me—really sees me—and everything in him shifts.
“Tink?” His voice is low, urgent. “Oh my god, baby, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My chest is caving in. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. My hands won’t stop shaking. I feel them on me—Dean’s fingers in my hair like smoke that won’t wash out. Hugh on my throat.
Oh god, they’re on me. “Get them off!” I scream, smacking my head, trying to get their touch off me.
Jackson approaches cautiously. He reaches out, but stops just short of touching.
“Hey. It’s me,” he says, voice softer now. “I’m not gonna touch you unless you want me to. Say the word.”
I can’t say anything. My knees buckle and I drop to the gravel driveway like my strings got cut.
He’s beside me instantly, crouched low, hands still in the air. “Look at me,” he says. But it’s not commanding—it’s a desperate plea. “Ozzy, look at me. You’re safe. You’re home. Nobody’s gonna touch you here.”
My eyes meet his.
It’s like breathing air for the first time in minutes. I pull in a ragged gasp and choke on it. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop them,” I whisper. “He touched me. I told him not to—Dean—he touched m-me—” My voice cracks again. “I got away. I don’t know…I can’t remember?—”
Jackson’s whole body coils tight like a drawn bow, but his voice stays even. Controlled.
“Dean,” he repeats. “Dean touched you.”
I nod, tears blurring my vision. “There were more of them. They didn’t—nothing else happened—I couldn’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”
His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring, but he says nothing for a second. I can see the fire building in his eyes. “You did so good, baby,” he whispers. “You came home.”
I break. The tears I’m holding back come loose, and I press both hands to my face like I might be able to stop the sobs from leaving.
I hear him move. Slowly.
His powerful arms wrap around me gently, like he’s afraid I’ll crack in half—but I don’t flinch. I don’t pull away. I bury my face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in.
“Shhh…Shhh…” he whispers as I break against him and try with everything in me to attach myself to him.
“Don’t let me go,” I whimper, digging my nails into his neck. “Don’t let me go, please. Please, please…keep me Jackson. Just keep me.”
“Always, baby.” His voice cracks as he holds me tighter. I can feel his heart hammering in his chest. “Always.”
I cry harder, not because I’m scared. No; it’s because for the first time in my entire life, I know I am home, and I never want to be without it again.