Chapter Sixteen #2
“I got in,” I whispered. Then louder: “I got in!” I screeched for joy and danced a weird little jig.
The neighbor’s hound exploded into frantic barking across the road, and I laughed so hard I almost fell in the ditch.
I tore up the porch steps, flung open the door, and nearly collided with my mom, who had come halfway down the hall at the noise.
“I got in!” I shout, waving the letter. “Mom, I got into UGA!”
Her face crumpled and she dropped the towel she was holding, pulling me into her arms, and for the first time in years, I let her. “Oh, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
I swallowed hard. I hadn’t heard that the day I told her what he did.
But maybe we were both learning. Because after everything…
her distance when I needed her most, the silence after the assault, all the ways she didn’t show up, I needed to hear that more than anything.
Getting into UGA wasn’t the bravest thing I’d ever done.
But maybe she was trying. Maybe we both were.
It wasn’t a long moment. Her phone rang in the kitchen and she hurried off towards it. But it was enough. A stitch in a seam that had been frayed for years.
I tucked the letter to my chest, my whole body vibrating. I couldn’t sit still. I needed to tell someone else—someone who would get it.
I fired off a text to Maria who confirmed she was still at the clubhouse, and so was Hannah.
Hannah Mills had shown up with casseroles and baby ointment and, somehow, with steel-backed belief in me. She’d taken me seriously when I said “shelter,” when everyone else just smiled politely. She’d told me to start now. And now—I had a brick. A foundation.
The clubhouse was five minutes away. My legs felt like springs as I grabbed Sally’s keys and ran out the door.
She roared to life, and I flew down the back road, heart hammering in time with the engine.
For once, I wasn’t the screw-up. I wasn’t the broken girl with sharp edges. I was a young woman with a future.
I don’t think my feet even touched the ground as I sprinted up the clubhouse steps. The letter crinkled in my fist, and Sally still ticked hot in the lot, but I didn’t care—I had news. The kind of news that made my chest feel too small for my ribs.
I shoved the door open and practically shouted it at the room. “I got in!” Heads turned. Conversations stopped. For one awful second, I wondered if maybe I’d overdone it. Then Maria shrieked, nearly toppling off her chair with Jewel in her arms, and Hannah beamed like she’d known all along.
“You did it!” Maria clapped and Jewel blew a spit bubble.
I waved the fat envelope over my head like it was a trophy. “Spring semester, baby! Athens is gonna have no idea what hit it.”
Hannah crossed the room with that purposeful stride of hers and pulled me into a hug so fierce I thought she might crack my spine. “I knew you could. Didn’t I say? Didn’t I tell you?”
“Yes, ma’am, you did,” I wheezed into her shoulder.
Dalton’s voice rang out from behind the bar, dripping with mischief. “Well, look at us—college buddies.”
I turned, narrowing my eyes. “College buddies?”
“Sure,” he said, grinning, arms spread like it was obvious. “I’m on a football scholarship, psychology major. Same campus. Same stomping grounds. I’ll even show you the best coffee spots so you don’t flunk out first semester.”
I snorted. “Oh please. If anything, I’ll be tutoring you.”
Dalton held a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Bold words from a late-start freshman. Guess we’ll see who’s carrying whose GPA.”
The room bubbled with laughter and congratulations. Someone shoved a soda into my hand. Someone else slapped me on the back hard enough to make me stumble. Even Mac gave me a rare, approving nod from his corner.
Maria’s eyes shone as she reached for me. “See? You were so worried, and look at you now.”
“I was two seconds away from bribing the mailman,” I admitted, flopping into the chair beside her. Jewel gurgled at me, fist jammed in her mouth.
“Your niece approves,” Maria added, tilting the baby toward me.
“I’ll forgive her for drooling on my shirt, then,” I said, tickling Jewel’s foot. My whole body hummed with adrenaline, joy fizzing through me like soda bubbles. For once, the future didn’t feel like a fog—it felt real. Concrete. Like something I could reach out and grab.
Hannah settled beside me, her expression softer than I’d ever seen it. “You’ve taken the first step, Holly. And now we start building. We’ll make that shelter happen, one way or another.”
My throat tightened, and I nodded quickly before I embarrassed myself by crying in front of a room full of bikers.
I was mid-ramble about course catalogs and dorm options when the door opened and somehow the loud room got even louder. I peered over the shoulders of the people closest to me…and froze. Then slowly stood.
Because Jackson Morgan was home.
The quarterback. The Marine. The boy who grew up in this clubhouse, the kid Hannah practically raised. He was back from basic, taller, sharper, his smile sparking the room like a flare.
The Saints roared his name. Men clapped him on the back, dragging him into hugs. Hannah’s eyes shone, August beamed, and even Mac was smiling.
Thirteen weeks gone, and Jackson Morgan wasn’t the boy who’d left.
The buzzed haircut made his jaw look sharper, his shoulders broader.
The uniform clung in all the right places— dress blues and muscle, a clean edge to everything about him.
He filled the doorway like he owned it, sunlight haloing him from behind.
My brain short-circuited.
Holy hell.
He looked good. Too good. Unfair-to-humanity good. My stomach flipped in a way that made zero sense.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My acceptance letter crinkled in my fist as the whole room swirled around me, voices rising, laughter spilling. He was swallowed in embraces and slaps on the back, and still my feet stayed glued to the floor.
He laughed—deep, rougher than I remembered. Like the boy I’d sparred with had been sanded down into something steadier. A man.
And then his eyes found mine.
The sound around me dropped out. I was back on that porch thirteen weeks ago, his breath warm against my lips, his voice low and rough: Don’t. Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.
And then all the insanely confusing bullshit at the lake house.
He cut through the crowd, boots heavy on the clubhouse floor, shoulders filling every inch of that damn uniform. Everyone surged toward him like a tide—slaps on the back, shouts of “Semper fi!”—but his eyes stayed on me.
Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed: the human embodiment of unfinished business striding toward me like he owned the oxygen in the room.
I straightened, forcing my chin up. Defensive mode: on. “Well, well,” I said loudly, before my throat could betray me. “Look who survived boot camp.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the guys nearby. Jackson’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to grin. “Good to see you too, Malibu.”
Malibu. Damn him. The nickname hit its mark, same as always, a lazy little reminder of every fight and almost-kiss we’d ever had.
I folded my arms, letting the acceptance letter crinkle loudly in my fist. “You missed a lot while you were off getting screamed at by men in funny hats. Jewel was born. Dalton nearly killed me teaching me to ride. Oh, and I got into college.”
That landed—his smirk flickered, pride breaking through. “Yeah? Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I said, tilting my chin. “Guess I’ll be a Bulldog now too. You gonna be able to keep up with me?”
He cocked his head, watching me the way a cat watches a bird that thinks it’s safe on a branch. “You always did run a little ahead, Malibu.”
I glanced behind me, gauging the distance between the chair I had just vacated and where I now stood in case my legs were to give out.
Because beneath the banter, beneath the armor, there was a heat in his voice that said he hadn’t forgotten either—that night on the porch, that almost-kiss, that cut-short moment that had lived rent-free in my brain ever since.
So I did what I do best. My smile was sharp enough to draw blood. “Careful, Marine. Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”
The words hit him like a slap and a dare at once. His eyes darkened, his jaw ticked, and for one suspended beat I thought maybe he’d close the distance and prove me wrong.
But then Hannah’s voice cut in, proud and calm as ever, breaking the spell. “Boys, girls, simmer down. We celebrate Holly’s acceptance and Jackson’s return tonight. They’ve both earned it.”
The crowd cheered, the moment broke, and I tried to remember how my lungs worked. Dalton immediately climbed onto a chair like some kind of overgrown toddler, waving his soda can overhead. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present—our resident genius and our shiny new Marine!”
The room whooped, Maria laughing so hard Jewel startled in her arms. Even Mac cracked a grin, which around here was basically the equivalent of a standing ovation.
Dalton pointed his can at me, then at Jackson.
“Now, I’m not saying there’s a competition brewing, but…
one of you is gonna trip over your own ego first semester. ”
“Semester?” Diego drawled, smirking. “Pretty sure the Marines don’t hand out midterms. He’s got a few more months of getting yelled at ahead.”
Laughter rolled, and Jackson ducked his head with a grin, not denying it. He’d be gone again in days, off to Camp Geiger and infantry school, but tonight? Tonight he was here.
Dalton scowled like he’d been personally attacked. “Fine! Then Holly’s gonna have to carry the team GPA on her own, and Jackson’s just gonna flex in a uniform until people love him.”
Jackson ducked his head with a grin, and the Saints ate it up—clapping, ribbing, the kind of rowdy love that made your ribs ache.
Hannah didn’t even need to raise her voice.
She just fixed Dalton with the look, and he hopped off the chair so fast it was like gravity tripled just for him.
“Yes ma’am,” he muttered, and I leaned into Maria’s side, tickling Jewel’s bare toes.
The atmosphere was triumphant, and maybe I was basking in it.
Just a little. I laughed until my cheeks hurt, until Jewel’s spit bubbles felt like a crown on my shoulder, until for a second I let myself believe life could stay this loud and simple.
By the time the night wound down, the clubhouse had gone soft around the edges—guys drifting to cards in the back, Hannah herding stragglers toward the door, Maria rocking Jewel half-asleep against her chest. I tucked my acceptance letter back into my pocket, ready to head home before I crashed face-first on the couch.
That’s when Jackson found me by the door. Not with some grand gesture, not with that cocky swagger he’d perfected years ago—just standing there, uniform jacket unbuttoned, eyes steady like he’d been waiting.
“Congrats again,” he said quietly. “On Georgia.”
“Thanks.” My voice came out softer than I meant it to. “Congrats on…surviving boot camp without getting your head shaved all the way bald.”
His smile twitched. “Close call.”
For a second, neither of us moved. The noise of the clubhouse faded, and it was just the two of us, thirteen weeks stretched tight between us.
“You look…” He stopped, cleared his throat, tried again. “Different. In a good way.”
My stupid heart tripped. “So do you. Guess getting screamed at by grown adults every day for three months works wonders.”
That earned me a laugh—low, warmer than I wanted it to be. His eyes flicked down, then back. I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder, needing armor. “Don’t get used to me saying this, but…it’s good you’re back, Jackson.”
His jaw tightened like he was holding something back. I tried—and failed—not to notice the way his eyes dipped to my mouth. My pulse tripped. Then his hand came up, rough palm grazing my cheek.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s good to see you too, Malibu.”
It wasn’t a confession, but it landed heavy in my chest all the same. I didn’t mean to lean into his touch, but I did. Didn’t mean to hold my breath when his thumb dragged lightly across my bottom lip, either.
A crash from inside shattered the spell. The look in Jackson’s eyes as he glanced towards the noise made me want to find the guy who had made the sound and suggest he find a place to hide. I took the opportunity to slink off into the night, hurrying home before we crossed a line.
Back in my room, I slid the acceptance letter under my pillow like a secret and lay flat, staring at the ceiling fan cutting lazy circles in the dark.
I should’ve been high on adrenaline—college, a future, Hannah’s belief tucked in my pocket.
But all I could hear was his voice again, that last night before he left.
Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.
He’d meant it as caution. Maybe even care.
But it had felt like rejection, and I’d spent thirteen weeks pretending it didn’t matter.
Pretending I didn’t want him anyway. Tonight blew all that to pieces.
The way he looked at me, like he’d been holding his breath just as long.
The way neither of us could quite say it, but both of us knew.
I rolled onto my side, pressing my fist against my mouth to keep from groaning at myself. I had UGA. I had a plan. I had a future. So why did one stupid almost-kiss and one stupid Marine still have the power to undo me?