Chapter 14 #2
“Because you think he’s talented enough to make it?” I asked. “Or because of his sister and his family?”
“Both,” Jackson said. “He shouldn’t stay here.
He should try, see what’s out there for himself.
But he won’t. And no matter how much I try to save him, give him every chance, there will always be something that will keep him trapped.
Because he won’t leave her, and she won’t leave that asshole. He’s stuck.”
My heart ached for Luke, and for Jackson because I knew what that felt like. Knew it all too well. I had been there with Lila and my family.
I looked at Luke. Even under the cover of night, I could still make out his newly reddened knuckles. His face had healed faster. “I can’t believe it.” I shook my head. “You can’t even tell that something happened.”
“It has taken Luke a long time to do that. He hasn’t always been this way.
It was hard in the beginning. He had so much hate for his stepfather.
I just knew Luke would kill him one day.
He came to live here and he’s fine for a while.
Then his sister meets this asshole, and it starts all over again.
But Luke has learned one important thing. ”
“What’s that?”
“You can be sad and also allow yourself to enjoy the little things. He’s a great singer and guitar player. And he’s leaned in to those things for his joy while dealing with his anger and his trauma. His wounds are there, but he’s holding his joy higher than his grief at the moment.”
“But I thought he was healed. I thought you all were.”
Jackson smiled. “You will never be fully healed from something that hurt you. You can be like Luke and be fine like he is now, and then suddenly be transported to a different time and place. It never goes away. There will always be evidence of it. If you cut your hand and it heals, it still leaves a scar that you will be able to see forever.”
I considered this just as Luke stopped playing. Two men, one with another guitar and the other with a keyboard, joined him. The air filled with whistles and cheers.
“This is really nice,” I said, looking around. “The locals all coming together. How did it start?”
“By accident. Mostly because none of us were allowed in the local bar, and we needed a place to relax after a week of work. Then one day, we were burning some brush and kindling and it got out of hand. Pyro Luke. Someone down the road saw the smoke and came. Then a couple more people came. We threw a few things on the grill. Luke got his guitar and started playing. We liked it so much that we decided to do it again the next week. More people came. Started bringing food and shine. Luke met Gus and Edgar, and then we had a band.”
I surveyed the crowd. It was an interesting mix of people—young and old, Black and white. All coming together.
“I like this,” I whispered to myself.
“What did you say?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“Say what?”
I pulled at a strand of hair, looping a curl around my finger. “That I like this.”
“You can say that out loud. I like a compliment.” He bumped my shoulder, teasing.
“Well, it’s more than that…” I plunged onward. “It’s just this stupid thing I’ve started doing.”
“What’s that?”
“Making a list of everything I like.”
Jackson nodded. This wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, me making a list of things I liked, but it did to him. “Tell me…what’s on this list?”
“Oh no…I’m not telling you that. You’re going to laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
Jackson crossed his heart. “I promise.”
I took a deep breath. “Well…I like the sound of Luke’s singing voice. I like the way the dirt feels on my fingers. I like the hero stretch—but don’t tell Tibb.”
Jackson laughed but quickly muffled it. “That laugh doesn’t count! Is that it?”
“There’s more, but…some of them are really stupid.”
“None of them have been stupid so far. Tell me one more.”
I looked away, then back at him. I almost didn’t trust myself to answer, but I saw a spark in his eyes. “I like the sound of your smile.”
Jackson’s grin spread wide, and the sound sent ripples across my skin.
“See? That. You heard it too. I like that sound.”
Jackson erupted, his deep chuckle rolling. I joined in, our amusement cresting and falling. As our laughter faded, he looked at me, and I tucked a curl behind my ear and when my eyes roamed up, they collided with his. The intensity of his stare warmed my face.
“What?” I said, a nervous smile blooming.
“You look nice,” he said. His eyes remained locked on me, as if he wanted to plant the compliment deep within me and watch its effect. “I like your hair like that.”
My smile faded as my fingers instinctively reached up to touch a strand of my hair, feeling the softness of my curls.
But the deflection didn’t work to shield me from his comment; his words pierced through anyway, and the impact spread a warm flush across my cheeks. “Yeah…but it can get hard to tame.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t try,” Jackson said, the bass in his voice vibrating his words.
“Then it would be so wild.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“It would be hard to control.”
“There’s nothing tame about you. And there’s nothing wrong with that either.”
I looked down, my heart racing, and when I glanced up at him beneath my lashes, there was an undeniable knowledge, a heat, in those dark eyes.
A recognition. An awareness. That same pull from the farmers market, from so many moments before, surged back.
I didn’t look away, not this time, and neither did he.
We drank each other, savoring, and we might as well have been out there alone.
If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was flirting with me. That casual compliment and smile could easily be misread as something else. What could Jackson see in me?
That was the problem with a life like mine, being so used to the bad you couldn’t recognize the good.
My experience with Deacon Ridley had taught me to distrust pretty words.
But I knew Jackson better now, and the authenticity that defined him.
He was being nice. Because this was who Jackson was—a nice guy.
I imagined that he often said such things to women, his compliments flowing from a well of genuine warmth.
He had that way, that charm, about him, I knew, and I felt foolish for allowing a simple statement to move me in such a way.
Jackson reached around and pulled out a small bag, handed it to me with a smile. “Happy birthday, Leigh.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “How did you know?”
“You told me. You said…” Jackson paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Your birth date said a lot about you. December twenty-first, the day with the least amount of sunlight. The winter solstice.”
I stared at him. “You remembered?”
“I told you. I’m listening.”
Words caught in my throat. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. Just open it.”
With shaky hands, I lifted the lid off the box. A glass candleholder sat inside, simple but beautiful, and the wax of the candle it held was a gorgeous shade of midnight blue.
“You said you were a little dark. A little light. If you ever feel like you’re losing the light…just burn this. To remember you are light.”
I didn’t have time to respond before Luke began singing “Happy Birthday” and the entire crowd joined in. Tibb appeared, carrying a crooked chocolate cake with candles flickering atop it. I stood as he approached me.
“Happy birthday, Leigh,” Luke said, finishing the song with a grin. “I hope you like the cake.”
I looked at Jackson, who had stood too, then at Tibb and whispered, “You let him bake the cake?”
“I supervised,” Tibb said with mock seriousness, placing the cake on a nearby table. “Don’t let its looks fool you; it’s good.”
I stared at the cake—its slightly askew layers, the flickering candles that were already so stubby that I suspected they were being reused, the frosting unevenly spread. It was perfect in its imperfection.
Jackson’s voice cut through the moment. “Make a wish, Leigh.”
I did, closing my eyes and allowing the moment to stretch a little longer. I opened them again and blew out the candles, the soft puff of air carrying my wish.
An overwhelming rush of gratitude filled me, an emotion so large it left me almost breathless. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, or how to process such an emotion. Instead, I absorbed it, allowing the feeling to settle inside me, quiet but heavy.
Without thinking, I took a step toward Jackson.
His arms were there before I could second-guess it, wrapping around me and pulling me.
I pressed my cheek into his chest, breathing him in—his warmth, his familiar scent.
My body melted into his, a momentary surrender I couldn’t have stopped even if I’d wanted to.
In that moment, nothing else existed. No past, no future, just this, the steady thump of his chest beneath my cheek, his arms holding me, and the softness in the space between us.
We stayed like that for a moment, neither of us letting go right away.
His breath tickled the top of my head, and I felt the steady rise and fall of it, a slow exhale that matched my own.
My fingers curled into his shirt, and his hands slid down my back, a motion that made my breath catch.
It wasn’t just the touch but the intent behind it, pressing me into him, like he needed me there, like he never wanted to let me go.
Finally, I pulled back, feeling the shift as reality slid back into focus. The crowd, the buzz of voices, the cake on the table returned in a rush.
“Okay, okay,” Tibb said with exaggerated exasperation, pulling me into a hug of his own. “I mean…I did help Luke.”
His joke lightened the mood, drawing a chuckle from me, but didn’t break the tension churning around me and Jackson.