Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
MEYER
In the morning, I wake up alone.
It isn’t out of the ordinary. Before, I would have said I preferred it that way. It was less complicated. But now I feel nothing but complications, and I thought, foolishly, that things were different now. That we were different.
Tears burn my eyes, still puffy from crying the night before. I push the heels of my hands into them, stifling them. It doesn’t work as well as I want it to.
I let out a frustrated huff. “Enough,” I scold myself. “I refuse to cry over that man.”
That infuriating, thoughtful man. Who left me to wake up alone.
More than anything, over the aches and pains from the accident, my mind hurts from the emotional whiplash. From cleaving my heart open and laying it bare for Jackson to see the inner workings. I thought he could handle it. That he could help stitch me back together .
But maybe I misjudged. Maybe this is too much— I am too much—for him. Wouldn’t be the first time.
What I said to him last night was true. Caring about me isn’t easy because I don’t let people. Because anything is better than feeling vulnerable like this.
Finally, I muster up the strength to leave my bedroom. I can already tell my hair is a mess, but I’m alone anyway, so what does it matter? I trudge into the bathroom, still not entirely awake, and fumble through my morning routine.
Seeing that stupid toothbrush I lent Jackson the night of the fire, just sitting there beside my own, rips the wound open anew. I don’t even feel a little bit bad when I throw it in the trash.
When I exit the bathroom, Fish darts past with an excited trill. I stand there, confused, until I hear movement in the kitchen. Pippa must be here already. Of anyone, Fish seems to tolerate her the most.
I hope she brought food. Because no way am I cooking this morning.
Rounding the corner from the hallway, I expect to find my best friend, ready to patch up my emotional wounds. What I don’t expect to find is Jackson Vaughan, feeding my cat.
Fish swishes between Jackson’s legs, purring, as he opens the can of cat food. Gone is the feline who hated his guts and in his place is a cat so enamoured by the thought of being fed, he throws away his principles.
Like mother, like son .
Jackson smiles when he spots me. “Morning,” he says. “How did you sleep? Are you in any pain? ”
I don’t respond as I cross the room. I shove at his shoulder, showing my frustration, and then I wrap my arms around his middle and burrow my face into his chest. It takes him a moment, but he cautiously slides his arms around my back, holding me to him.
I breathe in his familiar scent. “You left me,” I accuse, voice muffled.
“I did,” he says. “I’m sorry. I wanted to have breakfast ready for when you woke up.”
I tighten my grip on him, fisting the back of his shirt. “Don’t do that again.”
One of his hands trails up my spine and cups the back of my head. The way he holds me, like I’m strong and delicate all at once, is nearly my undoing.
“I won’t,” he promises.
He knows. He knows without my saying how hard all of this is for me. It’s not like I expect him to never wake up before me. I’m not that unreasonable. But after pouring my feelings out until I have nothing left inside me, I don’t want to be alone. I refuse to be alone.
After another moment, I pull back, pull myself together. “It looks like you managed to get into Fish’s good graces.”
“It’s a wonder what a little food can do.” He studies me for another moment, looking for signs of distress, maybe, but then he relaxes. “Come eat, it’s getting cold.”
Sitting on the island is more food than both of us will be able to eat. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausages, and home fries sit on plates. Beside them, a bowl of fruit salad.
I eye the spread as my stomach grumbles. “Did you make all this? ”
His smile is embarrassed. “I left a very generous tip for the employees at the diner.”
I grin. “That’s okay. I still like you, even if you are just a pretty face.”
I feel him near my back, crowding me against the island. I spin in the cage of his arms to face him.
“Are you calling me pretty, Ellison?” he taunts.
“Maybe,” I reply. I pat his chest. “Don’t let it get to your head, Hotshot.”
“Any compliment from you is a straight shot to my ego.”
“Duly noted. We can’t let that get too inflated.”
“I recall you offering to stroke that ego a couple months ago.”
I roll my eyes, and he laughs. Then he leans in, and my eyes flutter shut. But his lips never meet mine. Instead, they brush against the crown of my head, and then Jackson is urging me toward the food again.
Warmth, unfamiliar but not unpleasant, rolls through me. This feeling is entirely new, but I already don’t want it to leave.
Now that the worry of Jackson being gone has subsided, the soreness starts to make itself known. My whole body aches, a low thrum that reminds me of what happened yesterday. Not that I could easily forget.
I grimace as I take a seat at the island. But before I can say anything, a glass of water and a pain pill are set in front of me.
I look up at Jackson, words getting caught in my throat. “Thank you for breakfast,” I say. “For taking care of me. ”
His gaze is soft. Possibly even adoring. “Of course. Anything for you, baby.”
“How much longer?”
Jackson chuckles. “We’ve been in the car for two minutes.”
“I don’t like being unable to see!” He doesn’t respond. “I’m going to open my eyes,” I threaten.
“Baby, I promise we’re almost there. Keep them closed for a little while longer.”
I sigh as I settle against the back of the passenger seat in Jackson’s rental. The car was delivered from Calderville this morning. It isn’t as nice as his Audi, but it’s better than my piece of junk.
I heed Jackson’s plea and keep my eyes closed. True to his words, a few minutes later, I can feel the car come to a stop, and then the engine is being shut off. Jackson already told me to stay put until he could help me out, so I unbuckle my seatbelt and wait impatiently for him to round the hood.
“Here,” he says, “take my hand.”
I place my palm in his and let him guide me to wherever it is we’re going. We haven’t left Fraisier Creek, at least. Beyond that, I have no idea where we are.
I hear a door creak open, and then a familiar voice shouts, “Auntie M&M!”
My eyes pop open just in time to brace myself as Atticus comes barrelling toward me. Jackson reaches out, trying to slow him down so he doesn’t hurt me, but Atticus dodges him easily. I suck in a breath as he knocks into my legs, wrapping his little arms around me. I return the hug as I look, surprised, at Pippa and Declan standing in the doorway of their house.
Once Atticus lets me out of his embrace, he takes my hand—the one Jackson was forced to drop—and drags me inside. Jackson trails after us.
Pippa waits for me in the entryway.
“You said Attie was sick,” I say. Her text came in just as Jackson and I were finishing up breakfast, saying she couldn’t make it this morning.
She shrugs, a small smile on her lips. “I lied.” She gingerly wraps her arms around me, cautious of my sore ribs. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispers.
I squeeze her tighter, uncaring that it hurts. “Me, too.”
When Pippa eventually lets me go, Declan swoops in for his own hug. “Good to see you, kid,” he says.
I laugh. “Hey, you’re the kid, not me.”
He releases me and grins.
A knock at the door has me spinning on my heels. Declan reaches over and opens it, revealing Wells standing on the porch.
I shake my head. “You did not come all the way here for this.”
Whatever this is. I still don’t really know what’s going on, but it feels good to have all my people in one place.
He grins. “Oh, I definitely did.”
I look at all of them, my friends, my family, in disbelief. “You guys really didn’t have to do this. ”
“We did,” Pippa says firmly. “In case you haven’t noticed, we kind of love you.”
Declan throws an arm over my shoulder, tugging me against his side. “Had to make sure our Meyer was okay. We all deserve a sick day anyway.” He reaches out and ruffles Atticus’s hair. “Gotta teach him the art of playing hooky.”
“I wanna play!” Atticus says. “Show me!”
With a laugh, Declan leads his nephew away, explaining what he meant.
“Come sit,” Pippa urges me. “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”
“My ribs are bruised, Pip. I don’t have one foot in the grave.”
She crosses her arms. “ Sit .”
I’m tempted to roll my eyes at the babying, but I know she’s just showing that she cares in the only way she can. A lot of this situation is out of her control—out of my control—so if doting on me makes her feel better, then I’ll let her.
Pippa follows me over to the couch while the guys all crowd around the kitchen. I’m not sure what they’re doing, but if Jackson is involved, I don’t think I want to know.
“Hey, Sunny,” Wells calls. “Where are your mixing bowls?”
“They’re in the bottom cupboard beside the stove,” she says.
Wells smiles and returns to his task, and I don’t miss Pippa’s blush. When her attention falls back to me, I raise a brow.
“What?”
“You know what.” I poke her arm as I lower my voice. “ Someone has a crush,” I tease. “And a new nickname, Sunny .”
She scoffs. “I do not!” she hisses. “Besides, I’m with Shawn.”
“Barely,” I mutter.
Her sorry excuse for a boyfriend barely comes around, let alone talks to her. I truly don’t know if there’s anything going on with Wells, but it would be much better for her than how she’s being treated now.
Pippa gives me a flat look. “Meyer.”
I throw my arms up in surrender. “Fine, I’ll keep my observations to myself.”
“Thank you.” Pippa takes a strawberry from the bowl on the coffee table and pops it in her mouth. “Speaking of relationships, though, something you want to tell me about you and Jackson?”
Now it’s my turn to look across the room at the other man standing in Pippa’s kitchen. Jackson laughs at something Wells says, and then he picks Atticus up when he begs to help. Watching him with my pseudo nephew sends warmth flowing through me.
My gaze returns to my friend. “So you’re allowed to voice your observations, but I can’t?”
“Mine actually has the potential to go somewhere, so yes.”
Does it have potential?
I’ve spent so long being wary of relationships. The only semblance of a real one I’ve had was with Rudy, and even that was almost a decade ago. I’m out of practice. But suddenly, the reasons I had for keeping my distance don’t make much sense anymore.
Jackson has already seen parts of me I’ve never shown anyone else. Has already broken in and staked his claim, whether he knows it or not.
Now it’s up to me whether I can be brave enough to take that leap, not knowing if he’ll fall with me. But I have a feeling he’s already there. I was just too scared to see that.
“It might break your brother’s heart.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. He knows he never had a real chance with you. He’s just a shameless flirt.”
I grin. “As of right now, I have nothing official to report,” I say. “But I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
She points a finger at me. “You better.”
“And you have to do the same.” When she goes to protest, I hold up a hand. “I know, I know. You’re with Shawn. I’m just saying.”
“Uncle Dec, you’re burning it!” Atticus shouts, followed shortly by the sound of the smoke detector.
“I’m pretty sure pie crusts aren’t supposed to smoke like that,” Wells muses.
“Don’t look at me,” Jackson says. “Meyer has already banned me from baking in her kitchen.”
Declan groans. “I swear I followed the stupid recipe!”
With a sigh, Pippa pushes off the couch. “I better go help them.”
Laughing, I nod. “Good idea. We don’t need another fire.”
The half-burnt pie shell gets thrown in the garbage, and we settle for eating strawberries and ice cream instead. But the fact that they tried to make a pie for me heals some part of me I didn’t know needed mending.
I spend the rest of the day with my friends, not thinking about the car accident or what happens next. For once, I set my worries aside and focus on the people I love.
Every so often, I catch Jackson’s eye, and the overwhelming warmth in his gaze solidifies something in me. These feelings I have aren’t going anywhere. They’re here to stay.
Now I just have to figure out what I want to do with them.