Chapter Seventeen
? Jackson ?
The first thing that hit me when I rolled back into town on boot leave wasn’t the smell of motor oil or the sight of bikes lined up outside the clubhouse—it was her.
Holly.
She wasn’t the sharp-tongued girl I remembered spitting fire at me in the school parking lot.
She was standing there, evening sun coming through the window and catching in her hair, laughing at something Maria said.
I barely registered the baby Maria was holding.
She damn near knocked the wind out of me.
Like she always did. But this wasn’t like last time.
Not just because she was beautiful—though God help me, she was—but because she was different.
Stronger. Softer around the edges but also… unshakable.
I’d left her three months ago on the edge of something—anger, pain, maybe even hope.
I came back to find her carrying herself like someone who knew her own worth, even if she didn’t believe it all the way yet.
A lot had changed in three months. And I didn’t know what the hell to do with the feeling in my chest when I saw that change. Pride. Fear. Want.
Basic had beaten a lot into me—discipline, grit, the ability to hold my tongue when some guy twice my size screamed in my face. I thought I’d come out of it sharper, better, and maybe I had. But standing here, all I could think was how unprepared I still felt. Not for the Corps. For her. For this.
After the party, I had watched her drive away then I went inside and found Dalton sitting on the couch. “Do me a favor,” I said, dropping on the couch next to him, trying to sound casual. “Keep an eye on Holly when she’s at UGA.”
Dalton raised an eyebrow. “Keep an eye on her, huh? You mean like bodyguard duty, or more like babysitting Malibu before she verbally eviscerates some poor bastard who looks at her wrong?”
I clenched my jaw. “She doesn’t need babysitting. I just…I don’t go there. You do. So just…watch her back.”
Dalton smirked, taking a pull from his beer. “Sure. But I expect hazard pay. That girl’s got a mouth like a buzzsaw. One wrong move and I’m gonna need worker’s comp.”
I glared at him but couldn’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching. “You’ll survive.”
“Yeah,” Dalton said, grin widening. “But I ain’t makin’ any promises about my sanity.”
I only had a few days before Camp Geiger and infantry school, but it mattered knowing someone would have her back while I was gone again.
Clapping him on the shoulder, I gave Hannah a kiss on the cheek and headed outside where Diego was waiting to give me a ride home.
In front of the familiar trailer, I paused before going inside, and headed for the ramshackle shed to check on the other girl I had missed.
My Harley sat under the dust cover, and I ran my hands over it before covering it back up. Resigned to my fate, I headed inside.
I wanted to be surprised when I found my mother sitting half-drunk on the couch, TV glow flickering against her face. I wasn’t. She barely stirred when I came in. Had she even noticed my absence?
I’d left Atlanta thinking I was tough. I came back realizing I’d only been half-built before.
Now I could run until my lungs gave out, push through pain until it blurred into background noise, fire a rifle until the stock bruised me raw and still hold it steady.
But there are some things they don’t teach you how to fight.
Like the silence of a house where your mother lives but never really is.
“Jackson,” she slurred, eyes glassy, trying to push herself upright before giving up and slumping back.
“Yeah, Ma. It’s me.”
“You look….Different.” Her brow furrowed in confusion as she took in my uniform and she tried to stand before falling back.
“I graduated Basic, Ma. I did it. I’m a Marine now.
” She didn’t respond. Her blanket had slid to the floor, and I picked it up, tucking it back around her shoulders.
I hated myself for the tenderness—hated how I still craved something she couldn’t give.
She smelled like whiskey and the cheap perfume she never stopped wearing.
I pressed my lips tight and sat with her for a minute, staring at the ceiling fan turning lazy circles above us.
I’d faced drill instructors who made it their mission to grind me down to nothing.
I’d pushed through twenty-mile humps with blisters bleeding through my boots.
But none of it scared me the way leaving again in a few days did.
Back to Camp Geiger. Away from my mother.
Away from the Saints. The thought of some far-off battlefield didn’t gut me half as much as the idea of saying goodbye again—especially to her.
Her flame. Her heat. The pull I couldn’t shake.
And maybe that was the real problem. I didn’t want distance. I wanted more of it. More of her.
I hadn’t planned on stopping by. Hell, I told myself I wouldn’t.
But Sally was parked in her driveway like a taunt.
I almost kept driving. Almost. Then I noticed her sitting on her porch, head tilted towards the sky and bathed in moonlight.
Next thing I know, I was parking next to her car.
She didn’t look at me, seemingly intent on the stars above her.
She sat there, hood up on some oversized sweatshirt, hair spilling over her shoulders. Bare feet, blue nail polish, that soft hum in her throat she probably didn’t realize she was making. She looked…peaceful. Which somehow made my chest hurt worse.
“You stalking me, Marine?”
“No. Just making sure you’re real.”
She looked over then, a half-smile ghosting her lips. “Careful. Reality’s overrated.”
Her eyes were that impossible kind of hazel—sunlight trapped in green glass. They never just looked at you; they searched. And when they landed on me, I swear the air changed temperature. I stopped in front of her. “Mind if I sit?”
She shrugged. “Free country.”
For a minute we just sat there, legs dangling, the night humming around us. It was stupidly perfect—summer air, crickets, that faint smell of motor oil and lilacs.
“You leave tomorrow?” she asked finally.
“Yeah.”
She nodded, eyes fixed ahead. “You just got back.”
“Didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.”
“You could’ve texted.”
“Would’ve,” I said. “But maybe I wanted to see you smile.”
She turned then, lips parted like she might say something smart, but no words came. I reached for her hand before I could think better of it. “Holly—”
“Don’t,” she said softly. “If you say something real, I might believe it.”
“Maybe I want you to.”
The air between us snapped tight. She didn’t move when I leaned in, just breathed, slow, shallow, like she was trying to decide if this was a bad idea.
Our noses brushed first. A tiny static crack in the dark.
Then her lips grazed mine—quick, uncertain.
Just enough for me to get a taste of coffee and something sweet.
She started to pull back, but I followed, deepening it just enough to make the world tilt.
It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t smooth. It was the kind of kiss that happened when both people were terrified and too far gone to stop.
Her fingers found the front of my jacket; mine slid up the back of her neck, holding her there like something sacred.
A quiet sound escaped her, half sigh, half surprise, and I swear I felt it down to my bones.
I knew right then and there I was hooked.
I threaded her soft hair between my fingers, determined to memorize everything about her.
When we finally broke apart, neither of us spoke. Just stared, breathing hard, hearts doing their own drum solo.
“Well,” she whispered, voice shaky but laced with humor. “Guess you’re bad at following your own advice.”
“Yeah,” I managed. “Guess I am.”
She smiled and kissed me again.
This one was slower, surer. The kind that says, we’ll deal with the consequences later.
Then she pulled back, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “Don’t make me regret that.”
“Wouldn’t dare.”
She got up, and I let her pull me with her.
I wrapped my hands around her waist, pulling her body into mine.
Trying to memorize every curve. Then the porch light started flickering frantically.
It stopped, and then when neither of us moved, it began to disco the porch.
She groaned and stepped away from me. I hated to let her go.
She looked back once before opening her door and stepping inside.
“Maybe while you’re away, you can read a book on communication.
These mixed signals really make a girl’s head spin. ”
I grinned at her. “What was mixed about that kiss?”
She rolled her eyes, and when she shut the door behind her, I had to practically drag myself off that porch.
I got home, checked on Mom—still asleep, still curled on her side like she was waiting for someone to wake her who never would—and finally stumbled to my room.
I dropped onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of that kiss like my brain was stuck on a loop.
Her lips. Her hands in my jacket. I must’ve drifted halfway to sleep, because the knock on the door nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. Three taps. Soft. Hesitant.
I ran a hand over my face, stood, and padded down the hall.
The TV flickered on the couch where Mom slept, dust motes drifting through the blue glow.
When I cracked the door open Holly stood there.
Barefaced. Hair down. Hands shoved into the sleeves of a massive sweatshirt like she was holding herself together by the threads. My heart did something stupid.
“Can I—?” she started, swallowing hard. “Can I come in?”
I stepped aside so fast I nearly tripped. She slipped past me, eyes adjusting to the dim, taking in the mismatched furniture, the sagging couch, my mom asleep two feet away. Embarrassment crawled up my neck. “It’s not—” I started.