24. Jackson
Jackson
T his is unreal.
Not just what happened an hour ago—though if I think about Ozzy’s voice breaking on my name, or the way her body opened to me with that perfect, trembling trust, I’ll lose all ability to focus—but this…
this right here. This moment sitting on the couch with Ozzy, Mama, and Pops watching a movie. Just… being together. Like a family.
We didn’t even do this when we were kids. Back then, the house was too full of movement—chores, injuries, slammed doors, hollering. Pops would be in the barn or the fields. Mama used to crochet in the corner but didn’t pay the TV much attention. But tonight?
Tonight, Mama’s asleep beside Pops, her head tucked on his shoulder, their hands still clasped like they’ve been doing it for fifty years.
Her soft snores come out with each rise of her chest, and Pops looks like he’s about five minutes away from joining her but he’s still holding on.
He won’t sleep until he knows everyone else is settled.
Ozzy sits cross-legged on the armchair next to him, tossing popcorn into the air and trying to catch it in her mouth, failing about half the time. The other half, she catches it and throws her arms up like she just stuck a perfect landing at the Olympics.
God, she’s fucking breathtaking.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Can’t stop thinking about her skin under my hands, the way she let herself unravel for me.
Let me touch her where it hurts and didn’t flinch.
No walls. No armor. Just her. Just Ozzy—brave and brilliant and mine for that second.
I don’t know how I’ll ever recover from it.
But even as I sit here, with her laugh in my ears and her warmth filling the whole goddamn room, something in my chest aches.
Because I know deep down that I’m losing him.
Pops. Every breath he takes is thinner than the one before it.
Every night feels more borrowed. And that ache is turning into something sharp, something jagged.
She catches me staring.
Ozzy glances my way, mid-popcorn throw; one brow lifted in that sharp, sassy way she does when she knows she has you wrapped around her finger. I grin and wink, and she rolls her eyes like I’m the most annoying man alive. A piece of popcorn bounces off my chest, and I stick my tongue out.
She flips me off.
And it’s at this moment, I know without a shadow of doubt.
I love her.
“Am I gonna have to separate you two?” Pops asks, not even opening his eyes. His voice is weak but still carrying that familiar edge of playfulness.
“She started it,” I grumble without hesitation, pointing at her like a child caught red-handed.
Her look of betrayal is instant and dramatic. “Me?” she gasps. “You’re the one staring at me like a goddamn creep.”
“Just enjoying the view,” I shrug, and that makes her blush deep enough to light the room. She tucks her chin, and I can’t stop grinning.
“That line’s older than me,” Pops mutters, dry and amused. “Surely I taught you better than that, boy.”
“You probably did,” I reply. “But it seems to be having the desired effect.”
“Assholes,” Ozzy mutters under her breath, sinking deeper into the chair with a grumble, but she’s smiling.
The room falls into a comfortable quiet after that, the kind that only happens when the people around you feel like home. The movie plays on. The popcorn bowl gets lighter. The air is warm with something I can’t name—hope, maybe? Or the ghost of something that never quite got to exist before now.
When the credits start rolling, I move into cleanup mode. I collect the glasses and the popcorn bowl, wiping crumbs from the coffee table. Ozzy is tucking a blanket around Pops, her voice low and gentle.
“You know,” I hear him say, his voice slow and raspy, “the lady doctor in town—Dr. Beale—she’s hiring soon. Her nurse, Linda, is retiring.”
Ozzy hums noncommittally, brushing the blanket smooth. “You want me to call and give her a recommendation?”
“No,” he says, firmer now. “I want you to give her your résumé.”
I freeze halfway to the kitchen. My heart thuds in my throat as I turn and watch her reaction.
Ozzy’s brows shoot up, eyes wide. “Morris, that’d be a permanent job.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’d have to find a place. Settle. I’d have to be here… every day.”
“I know how jobs work, girlie,” he huffs. “And it’d be good for you.”
Her eyes swing to me like I’m her lifeline. Like she’s hoping I’ll laugh and brush it off; tell her Pops is just talking out of his ass. But I can’t. Because that means she’s thinking about leaving when he’s gone. And I don’t know if I’ll survive that.
I watch the fear flicker across her face—fear of permanence, fear of putting down roots in soil that might go sour. But more than anything, I see hesitation. She’s not sure if she’s wanted here. If she should stay.
And that fucking guts me.
She deserves to know she is.
But I stay quiet. Because this ain’t about me. It’s about her and Pops. And whatever decision she makes, it has to be hers alone.
Still, I feel it—like a crack forming in the ground between us. Because when we lose him— and we will —I’ll be grieving the man who raised me, while also begging whatever higher power exists not to take her from me too.
Please don’t go.
Please stay.
I don’t say it. I can’t. Not tonight.
Instead, I carry the dishes into the kitchen, set them in the sink, and lean against the counter in the dark, trying not to fall apart.
“Do you want to go on a date with me?”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can catch them. Loud. Unfiltered. No plan. No setup. No moment carved out with care. Just a goddamn declaration flung across the breakfast table like a live grenade.
Ozzy freezes mid-bite, her fork clattering onto her plate of syrupy pancakes with a dull metallic clink. She blinks at me, mouth open and eyes wide—like I’ve just told her I’m secretly a traveling magician or confessed to murder.
Shit.
“I mean,” Carter taunts, leaning against my shoulder with his usual shit-eating grin. “It’s all so sudden, Jackson. What will the townspeople think? Two brothers?—”
“I will beat your stupid face in if you don’t shut up,” I hiss, elbowing him hard in the ribs.
Mama doesn’t miss a beat. Her hand whacks the back of Carter’s head without ever looking up from her crossword puzzle.
Some things in life are guaranteed—sunrises, taxes, and Mama regulating her sons with casual violence.
I turn back to Ozzy, who’s still staring at me like I grew a second head.
I try to give her an apologetic smile, but it’s more of a grimace than anything.
My entire body starts to prickle—hot and tight with shame.
I feel like my skin is too small. My palms go clammy.
My mouth goes dry. Why the hell did I blurt that out here, at breakfast, in front of my whole damn family?
She’s about to let me down. I can see it. Her lips twitch like she’s searching for a gentle way to reject me. A polite laugh. An “I value our friendship.” Maybe even an “I’m not ready.” Hell, I wouldn’t blame her.
I prepare to die. Right there in my seat. Spontaneous combustion by humiliation.
“Sure.” Her voice cuts through the roaring panic in my ears like a cold glass of water to the face.
I blink. “What?”
Ozzy smiles—small, soft, amused in a way that makes me feel like I might survive this day after all. “Sure, Jackson. I’ll go on a date with you.”
I must look like someone just handed me a newborn puppy because Carter chokes on his coffee beside me, and Mama mutters something about God testing her patience.
Ozzy’s still watching me, head tilted slightly like she’s trying to figure out if I’m actually having a stroke.
“What did you have in mind?” she asks gently.
“For what?” I say, brain still rebooting. A beat of silence passes. I hear the creak of Pops’ bed from the living room, followed by his dry, half-laughing groan.
“For the date, you nimrod,” he calls out.
“Oh! Fuck! Right. The date.” I nod quickly like that’ll convince everyone I’m fine. “Yeah. The date. Uh—it’s a surprise.”
She raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes as she picks up her plate and walks it to the sink. “Yes,” she murmurs under her breath. “To both of us, evidently.”
I stare after her, heart still hammering in my chest, trying to convince myself I didn’t just make the biggest idiot of myself in Rowe Ranch history. But I mean… she said yes.
She said yes .
And that is worth me being crowned an idiot.
“Ladies love picnics,” Carter boasts while hoisting Wyatt up onto his shoulder, the kid squealing like a banshee as they spin in circles. “Guaranteed to get you puss?—”
“Jesus Christ,” Theo mutters, smacking Carter on the back of the head. “Your son is right there , you goddamn animal.”
Wyatt giggles and claps like he just witnessed a magic trick. Carter doesn’t even flinch. He’s too used to being publicly humiliated to care.
Theo turns to me with a much straighter face. “But yeah… a picnic. That’s not a bad idea. Set it up somewhere familiar. You’ve got a whole damn ranch—go out toward the tree line. Lay out a blanket, give her the woods to look at and shit.”
My stomach knots immediately.
The tree line? No. No fucking way.
My mind flashes to the way she looked the night I found her out there. Breathless. Shaking. Gone behind her eyes. Her body moving, but her mind somewhere else entirely.
I can’t do that to her. I won’t do that to her.
I give them a tight nod, force a smile I don’t feel, and step off the porch. “Thanks,” I mutter, tossing a hand in the air as I head to the truck. “I’ll figure something out.”
Something being the key word here. Because I have no goddamn clue what I’m doing.
I fire up the engine and pull out onto the gravel road, chewing the inside of my cheek.
A picnic sounds simple enough… until I realize I don’t actually know what the hell Ozzy would want.
Everything I’ve ever seen her eat has involved either salt, sugar, or pure spite.
The girl lives off sarcasm and gas station snacks.
She practically snarled at a granola bar Jensen offered her last week.
Still, I want this to be right .
I want her to feel thought of.
Wanted.
Slipping my earbud in, I hit Indy’s contact on my phone. If anyone knows what Ozzy likes—besides maybe eating peanut butter and chips…which is disgusting—it’s her.
The line picks up after two rings.
“The fuck you callin’ my girl for?” Derek barks.
I roll my eyes. “Jealousy isn't a good look on you, big brother.”
“Shows what you know. Women eat that possessive shit up—oh hey, darlin’.” There’s a rustle and the unmistakable sound of a phone being yanked from someone’s hand.
“It’s a shame I’m going to have to murder your brother,” Indy mutters, before her voice brightens. “So what can I do for you, Jackson?”
I exhale slowly and lean back in the driver’s seat as I turn into the grocery store parking lot. “I’m takin’ Ozzy on a date.”
There’s a shriek in my ear that damn near ruptures my eardrum.
“I knew it!” she gasps. “Derek! You owe me five dollars!”
I groan. “I’m never telling you shit again.”
“No, no, don’t ruin this. This is the happiest I’ve been in weeks, and I have you brother on dem?—”
“Indyyyy,” I whine, while rubbing my eyes.
“Okay, okay…what’s the plan?”
I scrub a hand down my face. “Well, I was gonna do a picnic—nothing crazy. Just somethin’ low-key. Thought I’d drag the old table outta storage and?—”
“ Oh. My. God. ”
“—do it behind the house in the yard?—”
“ Jackson Rowe. ” She cuts in like I just threatened to serve Ozzy roadkill. “If you subject my friend to that crap, I will personally revoke your dating privileges.”
“It’s not crap ?—”
“Is the table broken?”
I have to think before I respond, “No.”
“Is it covered in cobwebs?”
“…Maybe.”
“Did you just say behind the house like you’re seventeen years old and can’t go out of sight of parental view?”
“Listen, I didn’t call to get shamed.”
“Oh, you absolutely did. This is tough love. Now, you’re going to stay on the phone with me while you shop, and you are going to buy everything I say. We are going to give this woman the best picnic date she has ever had in her entire tragic, chaos-riddled life. Got it?”
“…Got it.”
“Good. Now go inside and find the fancy crackers.”
“Indy, this is Virginia, I don’t think we have somethin’ call fancy crack ?—”
“Find. The. Crackers.”
I push the truck door open with a sigh, grab a buggy, and roll it into the store—already regretting every decision I’ve made today. But when I picture Ozzy’s smile—soft and wide and real—I know I’ll buy whatever damn cheese this woman tells me to.
Because Ozzy deserves more than peanut butter and chips.
She deserves something good.
And I’m gonna try like hell to be that something.