Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
JACKSON
Jackson felt like hell the next morning, which shouldn’t have surprised him after how the night ended.
Dancing in the park with Zoe, walking her to her door, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek while Mrs. C.
pretended not to watch from her porch. He’d ridden his motorcycle home with the cool spring air snapping at his jacket, half-convinced that maybe, just maybe, he could keep playing the part without breaking.
For a few hours, he’d let himself believe it too.
As he crawled into bed, he found himself thinking that maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he was ready for a future with Zoe. Maybe he could stop fighting the pull between them.
And then he dreamed.
At first, it was harmless. He saw Zoe again. She was standing barefoot by the paddock fence, sunlight turning her hair to gold, her laughter meant just for him. But then the sound warped, hollowed out, and the world around him split, spinning until all that was left was Micah’s pale face.
Jackson jolted awake with a strangled sound in his throat, chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. It took him a moment to realize where he was and to remember that he was safe. The clock read 2:03 a.m.
He scrubbed a hand down his face and gave up on sleep altogether.
By the time the first light touched the barn windows, he was out with Xavier, halter in hand. The rhythmic clop of hooves on packed dirt, the steady pull of the reins, the faint snort of breath—it all grounded him. The barn smelled of hay and cedar shavings and life. Here, the world made sense.
But when he caught sight of himself in the tack room mirror, the truth stared back.
He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks.
He had gray smudges beneath his eyes, skin drawn tight, jaw clenched as if it had forgotten how to relax.
Normally, he could pass it off, keep to himself.
But tonight was family dinner, and Zoe was coming.
He thought about bailing. About calling his mom to say he’d caught a bug, or that something in the barn needed his attention. But he knew better. His parents weren’t blind.
They might not hear him in the night, not from the converted barn across the field, but they noticed when he was running on no sleep. When the lights in his apartment stayed on till morning. When he worked through breakfast and skipped lunch altogether.
They’d never said as much, but he saw it in the silent looks they shared. They knew when he was circling the edge again. And they were kind enough, merciful enough, not to ask. The ghost lived with him out there in the barn; everyone just pretended not to notice.
Besides, if he and Zoe were going to break up in three weeks after the Spring Fling, at least he could give his mom one happy family dinner memory.
An hour before Zoe was due, Jackson stepped under a cold shower until his skin prickled numb. He slammed an energy drink, hoping the jolt of caffeine would get him through dinner. After that, maybe he could crash hard enough to avoid dreaming.
The bottles of pills in his medicine cabinet had crossed his mind, too. How many SSRIs had he tried?
The last doc had thrown a pharmaceutical cocktail his way and made it seem like a one-size-fits-all solution.
Just swallow this handful of pills and wait for the world to right itself.
Except the world never had. The nightmares still came, the memories still gutted him raw, and the side effects left him feeling dead inside.
No highs, no lows, no fire in his chest when Zoe smiled at him. Just… flat.
That wasn’t the way he wanted to live his life.
Maybe someday he’d find the right doctor, the right combination. He knew he needed help. But tonight? Tonight he couldn’t show up dulled down and disconnected.
The smell of something buttery and savory filled the Hawthorne farmhouse as he walked in. It was the smell of home, of Sundays, of everything Jackson hadn’t realized he’d missed until he’d been halfway across the world.
“Oh my goodness, it smells amazing in here,” Zoe said, stepping inside soon after, her arms full of a bouquet of daisies. She didn’t bother knocking. She never had to. Not here.
Jackson’s chest tightened at the sight of her.
She wore a soft blue sweater that set off the color in her eyes, her hair swept into a loose braid that trailed over one shoulder.
A few tendrils had escaped, curling around her face in a way that made her look both completely put-together and utterly relaxed. She fit here so easily it hurt.
She crossed the kitchen in a few confident strides, set the flowers on the counter, and leaned in to hug his mom.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, though her eyes brightened as she took in the flowers. She’d already been bustling between the stove and the counter, a wooden spoon clutched in one hand.
Zoe waved her off with that effortless warmth of hers. “Jackson said I didn’t need to bring anything, but my mom said never come to a dinner empty-handed.”
Jackson’s mother’s laugh filled the kitchen, rich and fond. “I always knew Gertie raised you right.”
From the living room, Tom gave a wordless grunt of agreement, his attention never shifting from the baseball game flickering across the TV. The crack of the bat and the announcer’s voice carried faintly into the kitchen, blending with the clatter of silverware and low laughter.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, jerking her head toward the doorway. “He baked the bread this morning. Can’t have Sunday dinner without his famous rosemary loaf.”
Tom’s voice floated in from the next room. “She won’t let me near the ham, but the bread’s mine.”
Zoe laughed. “I knew I smelled something delicious the second I got out of the car.”
Cassidy and Liam arrived a moment later, Cassidy carrying a glass bowl that showed off her seven-layer salad.
Crisp romaine lined the bottom, followed by bright spring vegetables and a creamy dressing spread on top.
Above that, neat rows of peas, diced green onions, shredded cheddar, and a generous blanket of chopped bacon and parmesan.
If Liam married her—and Jackson was sure he would—it was fine by him. He loved that salad almost as much as he’d grown to love the woman who made it.
He hadn’t expected to, not at first. Cassidy was a firecracker.
At first she seemed too chatty, too curious, too much everything when she’d blown into Liam’s life last year.
But over time, she’d earned her place here, not by forcing it, but by sheer kindness and the kind of unshakable joy that even Jackson couldn’t resist. She made his brother lighter, brighter, at a time of year that was always the most painful to him.
Jackson hadn’t thought that would ever be possible, but Cassidy had done it.
Jackson was happy for them. He really was. Still, a quiet ache crept in as he watched Liam slip an arm around her waist, stealing a quick kiss before she laughed and nudged him toward the stove.
Cassidy fell into the rhythm of the kitchen as naturally as Zoe had. She worked on taking out the appetizers, uncovering the cheese and cracker tray, before arranging the relish platter with a selection of pickles, olives, spiced apple rings, and fresh vegetables.
Zoe had already rolled up her sleeves. She crushed cornflakes in her hands over a mixing bowl, sprinkling them across the top of the cheesy potatoes before sliding the dish back toward the oven to wait out its last fifteen minutes.
Liam moved to carve the ham under his mom’s watchful eye, while Tom joined them in the kitchen, ready to slice his bread.
“And you can set the table,” Beth started to say to Jackson.
“Already on it,” he replied, reaching for the plates.
He laid the plates along the worn farmhouse table, straightening the silverware as the warm scent of butter and rosemary filled the room.
When he glanced back, Zoe was laughing at something his mother had said, the sound wrapping around the kitchen like sunlight. She fit into his family’s rhythm as if she’d always belonged there.
For a second, Jackson let himself imagine this wasn’t fake. That Zoe was really his. That this wasn’t a lie waiting to unravel.
It was so easy to picture. And terrifying to think of letting it go.
The meal wound down with the easy clatter of forks and soft hum of conversation, the ham carved down to its bone, the cheesy potatoes scraped nearly clean, Cassidy’s seven-layer salad reduced to scattered peas and crumbs of bacon. Jackson’s mom reached for plates, but Zoe was quicker.
“We’ve got it,” Zoe said, already stacking dishes with the same ease she’d slipped into with everything else that evening. Jackson found himself nodding before his mother could protest.
Beth pursed her lips like she wanted to argue, but her eyes softened, pride tucked in the corners. She let them go.
The kitchen was quiet, leaving only the scrape of dessert plates and the low hush of the baseball aftershow still murmuring from the living room.
Steam curled up from the sink as Jackson rolled up his sleeves and rinsed while Zoe dried.
Their shoulders brushed in the small space, sending sparks down his arm each time.
“Wednesday,” Zoe said.
“Wednesday?” he replied, trying to follow her train of thought.
“Eleanor comes to town.”
“Right.” He nodded, remembering. “I think we’re ready. Don’t you?”
“I hope so.” She passed him a plate, her smile faint but hopeful. “I’m trying not to put too much pressure on the meeting, but…”
“It’s important,” he finished softly.
“It is.”
After another beat of silence, Zoe added, “This was nice.” She glanced over, towel in hand, her grin small but genuine. “Your family’s wonderful.”
He didn’t answer right away. He was too busy watching the way the light hit her cheekbones, the faint flush from wine and laughter still coloring her skin.
The kitchen window framed the last traces of twilight, streaks of purple and rose fading into the night, and for a second, Jackson wanted this one moment to stretch out forever.
“They like you,” he said simply. “Always have.”
She smiled down at the towel, folding it between her fingers. “That’s kind of them.”
“Not kindness,” Jackson said before he could stop himself. “Truth.”
The words landed between them, heavier than he intended. She stilled, her lashes lowering as though she wasn’t sure she wanted him to see what flickered across her face. The silence stretched, filled with the steady drip of water from the faucet and the faint hum of the refrigerator.
He turned to hand her a dish, but as her fingers curled around the plate, he didn’t let go. For a suspended heartbeat, their hands were locked together, neither of them moving, as if the plate held them in place.
Her gaze lifted, hesitantly at first, then with a kind of quiet courage. Their eyes met, and something passed between them—something he couldn’t name but felt all the way down to his bones.
His throat went dry. He could have said a thousand things in that moment, could have let the truth tumble out. Instead, he held on just a breath too long, waiting to see what would unfold in the next moment.
“Don’t let us stop you,” Liam said as he passed through the kitchen, Cassidy’s hand tucked in his. His tone was easy, but the wink he shot Jackson was anything but subtle. “Thought we’d head out and say hi to the crew,” he added, meaning the animals.
Zoe’s smile was warm and practiced. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“Or,” Cassidy chimed in with a sly little wink over her shoulder, “you could take your time.”
Zoe turned back to the sink, her laugh soft and self-conscious. “They think they’re so funny.”
“Maybe they just see what we’re trying to ignore,” Jackson said before he could stop himself.
Her hand stilled on the dish towel. When she looked up at him again, there was something fragile flickering in her eyes—hope, maybe.
Jackson’s chest tightened. He wanted to tell her how easy it felt, working side by side at home like this. How much he wanted it to last forever. Instead, he rinsed the plate, passed it to her, let his fingers brush hers just a beat longer than necessary.
But if they hadn’t been standing in his parents’ kitchen, with the sound of laughter drifting in from the barn, he might’ve kissed her right then.
Because in that moment, he knew the truth—nothing between them was pretend anymore, and soon he’d show her just how real it was.