Chapter 28
Twenty-eight
Jameson
My head snaps up from where I’m slouched on the couch when I hear soft footsteps coming down the stairs. “How is she?” I ask, eyes locking on Kam, desperate to know even the tiniest sliver of information.
She stops and glares at me, hands on her hips. “Why should I tell you, Jameson? She’s in this mess because of you. She’s hurting because of you.”
“I know,” I bite out, standing, fists clenched at my sides, too restless to sit still. “I know she hates me right now, but I need something. Anything. If not, I’m going to bust through that door and make her talk to me. I’m hanging on by a fucking thread, Kam.” My voice cracks. “Please.”
She sighs, giving in. “She’s dealing the best she can, considering the A Bomb that was just dropped on her. She’s scared and she’s heartbroken. Just give her tonight, okay? You can talk to her in the morning.”
I give her a tight nod. “If you are hunting for snacks, there are some of those mint chocolate cookies Lane likes on the counter beside a bottle of wine. There is also peanut butter cup ice cream in the freezer.”
I didn’t know what to do with myself all day, so I went to the store to grab ingredients for beef stew, since cooking has always calmed me. I also grabbed some of Lane’s favorite snacks and, of course, wine.
Kam stares at me, her eyes assessing. “You love her. And I don’t mean you just love her. You’d burn the world to the ground for her, wouldn’t you?”
“Without a second thought.”
She gives me an approving nod. “Thanks for the snacks.” She disappears into the kitchen only to scurry up the stairs a few minutes later, arms full.
I fucking hate not being the one to comfort Lane right now, but Kam’s right. Her world just came crashing down, on top of finding out her boyfriend was sent to track her down.
I’ve really fucked things up.
Vic drops down beside me, setting two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey on the table in front of us, the glass clinking against the wood. The warm, smokey scent of whiskey hits me when he unscrews the cap and pours us both a generous two fingers.
He hands me one. “How are you doing, Son?”
I let out a breath, the tension coiled tight in my chest refusing to loosen. “I was just trying to keep her safe, trying to protect the life she’s built.” I admit, my gaze dropping to the amber liquid clutched in my hand.
“I know you were,” he says, leaning back, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch. “But let me ask you something. Do you think the outcome would have been any better if you had told her sooner? Or if you had called your client right away and told him to shove the job up his ass?”
I shake my head slowly, the weight of my own guilt pressing down.
“No. Lane would have run, and our client would have just sent someone else after her. But that still doesn’t make me feel any better about lying to her.
” I throw back the whiskey in one swallow, the burn trailing down my throat like fire.
“She’ll forgive you, just give her some time,” he tells me, taking a sip from his own glass.
“I’ve got to fly out early and meet a contact of mine.
Your Mom will be back sometime in the afternoon.
Try to get some sleep, Son. There’s nothing you can do tonight.
” He sets his empty glass down with a soft thud, then stands, stretching lightly before heading to bed himself.
The faint clatter of his footsteps fades, leaving the lingering warmth of whiskey and quiet that presses against my ears, heavy and endless.
I pour myself another generous two fingers and sink back into the couch cushion. Vic is right. No matter how I handled this situation, the outcome would have been the same, maybe even worse.
The warmth of the whiskey spreads through me, sharp and grounding, a small comfort against the storm of guilt twisting in my chest.
I just need to prove to her I’m still the same guy she was falling for. I throw back the rest of the whiskey, the burn trailing down my throat like fire and resolve, and set the glass down with a soft thump on the table.
Lane’s safe, under the same roof, and that has to be enough for tonight. Taking a deep breath, I push myself off the couch and head upstairs, letting Vic’s words guide me toward sleep and whatever comes next.
My eyes crack open, the undeniable smell of French Toast wafting through the house. Damn it. Mom’s back early.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my Mom more than life itself, but I was hoping to talk to Lane before I talked to her. She’s going to fire off a bunch of questions I don’t have the answers to yet.
I scrub a hand down my face, trying to wipe away the remnants of sleep, and now anxiety.
Pushing the covers off, I stumble out of bed, the plush carpet soft under my feet, and grab the first clean clothes I see at the top of my bag.
A shower will give me time to clear my head before I face my mom… and Lane.
I stop short when I see Miles leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, wearing a cocky smirk. “Lane and Kam are downstairs with your mom. Enjoy,” he smirks, before yelling, “Yeah, Jameson, I saw your Mom. She’s downstairs in the kitchen. She is really excited to see you.”
The fucker gives me a wink before shutting the door in my face.
“You’re gonna fucking pay for that, asshole. Just remember who tapped out first last time.” I shout through the door.
He cracks the door, scowling at me. “Yeah, only because you put Nair in my shampoo. I had to go to Junior Prom like that. Jessica Miller wouldn’t even take pictures with me.”
I glare back. “After you shaved my eyebrows and drew fake ones on with Sharpie before my date with Brandy Johnson, asshole.”
He flips me the finger before slamming the door in my face and locking it.
Fucking prank war.
To be fair, he started it by putting hot sauce in my soda when we were thirteen. I retaliated by replacing his bodywash with maple syrup. It escalated until we were seventeen, and our moms put an end to it after the prom incident.
We listened. Mostly.
We still fuck with each other and play small pranks, but we’ve toned it down. Neither of us wanted to be hairless again.
I glance between the stairs and my bedroom door, debating if I could get away with hiding out a little longer. It’s too late, Miles already threw me under the bus. Mom’s bound to come looking for me soon. Squaring my shoulders, I head downstairs to face the two women in my life.
I come up behind my Mom and wrap my arms around her, resting my chin on her head. “Hey, Mom. Miss me?”
“If you think you can butter me up, you are very much mistaken, Jameson Andrew Crowe.” I wince at her using my full name.
She turns, wrapping her arms around me, her warmth instantly calming me, like it has since I was a boy.
“Give me a hug anyway. But you and I will be having a conversation, son,” she scolds, her eyes narrowed.
“Yes, ma'am," I say, kissing the top of her head and hugging her back.
I release my Mom, turning my attention to Lane and mentally cross my fingers. “Can we talk?” I ask, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I just need her to hear me out.
She nods. “Yeah, just let me go grab a hoodie and I’ll meet you on the porch.”
The porch swing sways gently beneath me as I listen to the birds chirping in the background, letting their song settle over me, hoping it will sooth my nerves as I wait for Lane.
I know she isn’t going to forgive me right away. I don’t blame her.
All I want is a chance, just one. A chance to show her how much she means to me, how every choice I make now starts and ends with her. A chance to prove that I’d burn the world to the ground if it meant keeping her safe. And most of all, a chance to earn back the trust I shattered.
I’ll never lie to her again. Not about the big things, not about the small ones, not even about the things that seem too insignificant to matter; because they do matter. She matters. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if she lets me.
The screen door creaks open and I look up, my breath catching when I see her. She’s wearing a gray sweatshirt and leggings, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, with a few rogue strands framing her face. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“You’re mom is amazing,” she says, offering a small smile as the door clicks shut behind her.
I manage a faint one in return, motioning to the spot beside me. “Sit with me?”
She lowers onto the swing beside me, but doesn’t speak. She just stares out into the yard, watching the birds dart between the trees as their leaves rustle in the cool morning breeze.
“I need to know everything, Jameson. No more secrets or keeping things from me.” she says, without looking my way.
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe. I hope she doesn’t hate me more once she knows it all. I hope she can understand why I kept the truth from her…even if I don’t deserve her understanding.
So I tell her. Everything. From the moment the client reached out to us, to every choice I made after. I don’t soften the edges or leave anything out. I lay it all bare between us, piece by piece, praying that it’s not too late.
She’s quiet for just a beat before she finally turns her head, her eyes burning into me. “You should have told me,” she says, each word deliberate and heavy. “I deserved to know my life was in danger. I deserved to know the man I let into my bed and my heart was actually sent to track me down.”
Her voice waivers and she looks away, her shoulders slumping. “But you are right. I would have run. So, while I don’t like that you kept it from me. I get it. And I can’t completely fault you for it.”
The words almost get caught in my throat, but I push them out, needing to know. “Where does that leave us?”
She stands and crosses the porch, her shoes softly echoing with each step. She leans against the rail, facing me, arms crossed over her chest. “There is no us, Jameson. There never really was. Our relationship was based on lies.”
Her words are like a punch to the gut. I push off the swing, taking a step toward her.
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I snap, my voice rising slightly.
“Don’t you dare belittle what we have. I know I fucked up by not telling you from the beginning.
I’m sorry for that. But everything I felt, everything I said was real, Lane. Don’t you dare doubt that.”
“You wouldn’t have ever even known I existed if you weren’t paid to track me down because I killed my ex-husband and disappeared.” Her voice shakes, tears brim her eyes. “You hear how fucked up that is, right? What kind of relationship can we have after that?”
I close the space between us and brace my hands on either side of the railing, caging her in without touching her. “I don’t care how or why I found you, just that I did.”
I lean in, just a fraction, my voice low and rough. “From the moment I laid my eyes on you, you are all I saw. If you need time, I’ll give it to you. If you need space, I'll take a step back.” My fingers tighten on the railing. “But don’t mistake that for me walking away.”
Her gaze flickers, softening for the faintest heartbeat before hardening again. “We shouldn't talk about 'us’ until this is over. For all we know, I could be dead or in prison by next week.”
“First of all, I’ll never let either of those things happen.
” My voice is steady, unflinching. I cup the side of her face, letting my thumb trace along her cheekbone, needing that one last connection before I give her the distance she’s asking for.
“I’ll back off until this is over, but know this, Lane, I’m not done fighting for you. For us.”
I let my hand fall and turn, forcing myself to walk away. I feel the weight of her gaze on my back as I walk toward the barn, and the heavy bag. I need to hit something, anything, because it’s the only way I know to silence the storm that’s tearing through my chest.