Chapter Twenty #2
I blinked, trying to find a response. He turned away and started pulling things out of his saddlebag. First came a pack of Oreos. Then a family-sized bag of Doritos and a six-pack of Coke.
I blinked. “Wow. Real nutritious, Marine. You trying to give me a heart attack and a sugar crash in the same night?”
He shot me a look as he popped a soda tab. “Yeah, because your diet is the gold standard of health. You basically lived on junk food through finals week. And don’t get me started on your caffeine addiction.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Dalton is such a snitch.”
He just shook his head, settled onto the grass like he had all the time in the world, and leaned back on his hands, watching the water. He didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence. Just sat there, steady as the moonlight.
I sat cross-legged in the grass beside him, staring at the soda in my hands as the condensation slid down the side. Jackson leaned back on his elbows, casual as ever, like the entire world wasn’t tilting on its axis around him.
The question burned a hole in my chest until I couldn’t keep it in. “What changed?”
His head turned, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
I laughed, sharp and shaky, eyes on the water.
“Don’t do that. Don’t act like you don’t know.
It’s been a year since that night after prom.
You told me not to look at you like that.
” My voice cracked, the memory still a raw scrape in my chest. “I thought it was because you didn’t want me.
But all this—” I waved my hand in the air like I was trying to get rid of a fly, “This back and forth. All the little touches and the flirting. I want you, I don’t.
Oh, wait, maybe I do. It’s driving me nuts. ”
He sat up, elbows on his knees, jaw tight. “Holly…” His voice was rough, careful, like he was picking his way through broken glass. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want you. Hell, that was the problem—I wanted you too much.”
I froze.
He raked a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.
“But you’d just gone through hell. You’d barely gotten out of California with your skin intact.
I knew what had happened, what he’d done to you.
And I was leaving for basic in a matter of weeks.
I couldn’t be the guy who lit a fuse in you and then disappeared.
I couldn’t put that weight on you—not when you were still fighting to breathe. ”
The words hit me like a punch, dredging up shadows I tried so hard to outrun.
“I didn’t want you thinking you were just…another mess for me to walk away from,” he said softly. “We were both too wrecked. And you deserved more than half of me before I left.”
My throat burned. “So what changed? Was it the cabin? That night in your room? You’re just going to leave again.”
He looked at me then—really looked—like I was the one thing keeping him tied to this earth, steady and unflinching.
“Because now I’m here. For however long I get, I’m here.
And if all I’ve got is a few weeks and the chance to sit beside you, I’m not wasting it pretending I don’t care.
I just—I didn’t know how to make you mine without hurting you.
Or both of us. So, I just tried to push you away.
I shouldn’t have. And for me, everything since then has been to make up for that. ”
My heart wanted to believe him. God, it wanted to throw confetti and scream yes and sprint straight into whatever this was. But my brain? My brain was screaming bloody murder. He’ll leave. They always leave. He’ll hurt you without even meaning to, and you’ll be the idiot who let it happen.
Healing wasn’t linear. It was jagged, messy.
One step forward, three steps back. Some days I could almost trick myself into thinking I was fine, normal even.
Other days, the ghosts crawled under my skin and reminded me exactly how breakable I was.
Sitting here beside him, the two halves of me—heart and head—were clawing at each other like alley cats.
I hated that part of me still waited for people to prove me right.
To prove that deep down, everyone leaves. Everyone takes. Everyone hurts.
So, while my heart wanted to leap at his words, I couldn’t fully resist the urge to yank it back down where it belonged.
Because wanting was dangerous. Wanting blurred the lines.
What if I gave in, and it turned out I couldn’t tell the difference between love and manipulation?
What if I let him close enough, and he ended up just like the others—just another man who hurt me, even if he didn’t mean to?
It was easier to believe in my scars than to believe in him—this storm-gray-eyed boy who didn’t fawn, didn’t flirt, didn’t look at me like some broken doll or beauty queen on a shelf.
He never tiptoed around me, never softened his edges to make me feel safe.
He pushed back. He matched me jab for jab.
And maybe that was why he scared me most of all—because he was real.
Because he saw me, sharp tongue, jagged edges, mess and all, and didn’t flinch.
I looked back over at him to find him still watching me.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t press me for answers or a response.
But there was a look in his eyes I didn’t yet fully understand.
My heart thudded so hard it felt like it might bruise my ribs.
Because for the first time, I realized he hadn’t been rejecting me a year ago.
He’d been protecting me. And everything since then…
it might have actually been real. A little voice whispered that maybe this was ok, after all.
The world tilted again—only this time it felt less like falling and more like flying.
? Jackson ?
She didn’t even notice how stiff she’d gone, but I did. Shoulders locked, knuckles white around her Coke can, lips pressed tight. I’d just told her the truth, told her I’d wanted her a year ago, wanted her now, and it spooked her worse than the bike ride over here.
Couldn’t blame her. She was all fire on the outside, sharp tongue and quick wit, but underneath she was stitched together with scars and nerves. I’d dropped a live grenade in her lap, and she didn’t know whether to hold it or run.
I wasn’t going to push. She’d had enough people in her life take without asking.
So I leaned back on my hands, let the silence stretch, and said casually, “The guys and I used to come here a lot. Back before life got complicated. Before football, before the Saints.”
Her head tipped, curious despite herself.
“This riverbank we’re sitting on?” I nodded at the slope. “Dalton and I rolled down it once, wrestling. He thought he could take me. Spoiler—he couldn’t. I tossed his ass straight into the river. Clothes, shoes, everything. Hannah nearly skinned us when we came home dripping like swamp rats.”
Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile. But close.
I was determined to see that tension in her shoulders ease so I kept going.
“Couple years later, Diego bet Dalton he could climb the sycamore over there faster than him. Loser had to buy milkshakes for a week. Dalton made it halfway before the branch snapped. Landed flat on his back in the mud. Didn’t just lose the bet—knocked the wind out of himself so bad we thought he was dying.
Diego laughed so hard he fell out of the tree too. ”
A ghost of a smile curved her mouth. She tried to hide it by taking a sip of Coke.
Better. But not enough.
“You’d have liked seeing Mac back in the day,” I said, smirking. “We thought he was untouchable. Cool, collected, always had the answers. Until one night we snuck back into the clubhouse around two in the morning.”
That earned me a raised brow.
“We’d ‘borrowed’ some weed from a friend who didn’t deserve it anyway.
Came creeping in smelling like smoke, trying to act sober.
Mac was the first through the door, thinking he could bluff his way past.” I shook my head, laughing.
“Hannah was sitting at the kitchen table waiting. Arms crossed. Didn’t say a word at first. Just…
stared. For such a little woman, she’s scarier than any drill sergeant I’ve met. ”
Holly’s lips twitched again.
“I swear, I thought she was gonna flay us alive. When she finally spoke, it was just: ‘Do you three want to dig your own graves now or after breakfast?’ Mac turned white as a sheet. Tried to stammer out some excuse about practicing ‘field medicine,’ which made no damn sense. Hannah just stared at him like she was shocked her firstborn could be so damn stupid.”
That did it. Holly barked out a laugh, sharp and surprised, like she couldn’t believe the sound came from her. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide.
I grinned. “Yeah, you can laugh now. But you’ve never seen Hannah Mills coming at you in a dark kitchen with a wooden spatula in her hand.”
She dropped her hand, shaking her head. And suddenly the laughter came easier, rolling out of her in waves.
“Field medicine,” she gasped. “That’s the best he could come up with? What was he treating, his ego?”
“Yep. And he stuck to it. Even when she grounded us from our bikes for a month. Dalton swore she had the hides she flayed off us hanging in her closet.”
Now she was doubled over, Coke can rattling in her grip, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. And damn, if it wasn’t the best thing I’d ever seen.
I wasn’t done yet. I was like a starved man, and her laughter was my salvation. “Did I ever tell you about Dalton trying to impress a girl by jumping his dirt bike across a drainage ditch?”
Her eyes went wide. “Please tell me he didn’t.”
“Oh, he did. Swore he had it in the bag. We told him it was a bad idea, but you know Dalton. Stubborn as hell. Made it halfway, clipped the far edge, and bam.” I clapped my hands together. “Straight into the ditch. Broke his wrist clean through.”
She threw her head back, laughter echoing over the water. “Oh damn…Was she at least impressed?”
“Sure,” I deadpanned. “Impressed with how fast the ambulance showed up.”
She laughed so hard she nearly toppled over, catching herself on my arm. And my chest tightened, because I’d fight ten wars if it meant I could keep that sound alive.
I let her settle, then threw in the last round. “Diego once swore he’d wrestled a wild hog when we were all like ten.”
She was already smiling. “Oh, this has to be good.”
“Yeah. Claimed he pinned it down with his bare hands. Took us two days to figure out it wasn’t a hog at all. It was Mrs. Calder’s fat Labrador that had wandered out of her yard.”
Her laugh cracked sharp, and she smacked my shoulder. “No way!”
“Swear on my life. Dog just rolled over for belly scratches, and Diego strutted home like he’d bagged a prize boar.”
She was breathless now, cheeks pink, eyes shining in the moonlight.
“And me,” I added, leaning in like I was sharing state secrets, “I was the picture of innocence. Scout’s honor. If you don’t count all the times I instigated shit or let my temper get the best of me.”
Holly eyed me, gifting me with one of those rare smiles, before lying back in the grass and stretching with a sigh. She tucked her hands under her head and stared up at the night sky.
We sat there for a while. Eventually she rolled on her side, propped on one elbow, eyes still dancing. For once, she didn’t look guarded. Didn’t look like she was waiting for the next blow to land.
That was when it hit me: I’d bleed my throat raw, talk myself hoarse, spin every dumb story from our past twice over if it meant keeping her like this—unguarded, easy, alive. Her laugh was my new favorite sound. Not engines, not cheers at a game, not even the hum of conversation at the clubhouse.
If all I got before I left again was this night by the river, her laughter tangled in the cicadas, I’d guard it like treasure.