Timid (Lark Cove Book 2)

“What do you think?” I asked Dad.

Dad sighed. “I think you just need to be patient. I don’t agree with how he reacted, but I do understand.”

After Jackson had kicked me out of the bar last night, I’d come home only to toss and turn for hours. I hadn’t slept as I’d replayed things over and over. None of it made sense, so I’d come to Mom and Dad’s first thing this morning for some coffee and advice.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” I didn’t care what Jackson had said, I had not been flirting with that guy at the bar. I didn’t even know how to flirt.

“No, you didn’t.” Dad patted my knee. “But Jackson’s guarded, honey. Seeing his mother couldn’t have been easy on him, and I can see why he’d lash out. Give him a chance to realize he messed up.”

It didn’t surprise me that Dad’s advice was to cut Jackson some slack. Dad was the most understanding person on the planet.

We were sitting at the dining room table, staring out the big sliding glass door that went out to the back patio. Mom was in the kitchen doing the breakfast dishes. She’d escaped after we ate, leaving me and Dad alone to talk.

She’d always done that. She let Dad tackle the tough conversations because the outcome was always better. I loved Mom, but her forward approach usually just made me cry. I loved that she knew it too. When it was something really important, she’d always weigh in. She made sure Dad knew her position and opinion.

But she left the delivery up to him. She recognized that Dad and I were kindred spirits.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime.” He sipped his coffee, looking across our yard to the playground beyond.

Had Jackson walked home last night? Had he even cared at all when he’d passed this way? Had he hesitated, wanting to come apologize? Or was this the end?

My eyes filled with tears just thinking about it.

I was so angry at him. How could he accuse me of flirting with another man? Didn’t he see how much I cared? Didn’t he see that I only had eyes for him and had for years?

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to pound my fists on the table because it was so unfair.

But I didn’t. I silently took another sip of my coffee and stared blankly at the yard.

Jackson may have treated me badly last night, but it hadn’t changed my feelings toward him. If he knocked on my door right now, I’d forgive him instantly. Unless he did something truly nasty or spiteful, I’d always be there for him.

But I wasn’t going to chase him.

If he still wanted me, it was his move to make. I deserved an apology.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes dry and focused on the playground. It was cold this morning and the grass was covered in white crystals. I was studying the frozen blades just as a man came down the sidewalk on the far side of the playground.

A man wearing a green plaid shirt, faded jeans and black boots, the same thing he’d been wearing last night.

I sat up straighter, leaning forward as I watched Jackson walk.

Dad spotted him too because his posture matched my own.

Jackson was walking past the playground with his eyes aimed at the sidewalk. His hands were stuffed into his jeans pockets. His shoulders and neck were bunched.

It was as if he was trying not to look over at my house. He looked like he was forcing one foot in front of the other while his face pointed stoically to the cement.

Temptation must have gotten to him because about halfway down the sidewalk, he glanced over once. After two steps, he glanced over again.

My heart was pounding as I watched his indecision. Step. Glance. Another step. Another glance.

Would he stop? Would he go home and call me “tomorrow or something?”

Stop, Jackson. Just stop.

The tears came back as he kept walking. He wasn’t going to stop.

He’d almost reached the corner of the school, where he’d disappear from sight, when he slowed, his stride about half its normal distance. He took two more shuffled steps before his feet halted on the sidewalk. His chest heaved with a long sigh before he turned on a heel and stepped onto the grass.

I let out a little cry, the relief causing a tear to fall.

At my side, Dad put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Then without a word, he stood and left the dining room.

Jackson made the trek across the playground quickly. The closer he got, the faster he seemed to walk, and by the time he crossed into our backyard, he was jogging.

Before he reached the stairs to my apartment, I opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside. I closed it behind me, crossing my arms over my chest to tuck my hands in. The wood on the deck was freezing against my bare feet and the cold air gave me goose bumps, even under my bulky sweater and thick jeans.

“I’m over here,” I called.

Jackson’s face whirled from the garage to me and his feet immediately changed direction. He didn’t slow down as he ran over to the porch and bounded up the steps, coming right into my space.

His chest crashed into mine and his arms closed around me tight to keep me from falling.

The moment I was in his embrace, the tears came back.

Jackson didn’t speak as I cried into his shirt; he just held me, resting his cheek against my hair. I felt his apology in his strong arms and racing heart. I felt it as each one of his breaths got easier and the tension left his back.

It was the best sorry I’d ever had, even better than the one he’d written me on a Post-it.

I burrowed into his shirt, wrapping my arms around his waist. My hands, still cold, slipped beneath the loose hem of his plaid shirt and into the back pockets of his jeans.

We stood there, holding each other, for a long while until behind me the door slid open and Dad’s voice broke through the silence.

“Come on inside, you two. It’s cold. Jackson, would you like coffee?”

“That would be great,” Jackson said over my head. “Thanks, Nate.”

I kept my arms tight around Jackson even as Dad moved back inside the house. But the door was still open, letting the cold into the house, so I reluctantly let him go.

“I’m sorry.” Jackson’s hands came to my shoulders, holding me captive. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up and acted like a dick.”

“Yes, you did.” I sighed. “But I get it. You had a lot on your mind.”

“I’m still sorry.” Jackson let me go and looked me up and down. When his gaze landed on my bare feet, he frowned. “Shit. You’re probably freezing. Come on.”

I wasn’t cold, not in Jackson’s arms, but I didn’t argue as he grabbed one of my hands to drag me inside. Just as he was closing the door behind us, Mom and Dad came back to the dining room, each with two coffee cups.

Dad handed one over to Jackson as Mom gave me mine, then Dad motioned to the table. “Sit down. We need to have a discussion.”

Jackson gave me a sideways look, hesitantly pulling out a chair. His eyes were bloodshot. He smelled like the bar and a bottle of tequila. As he sat, he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work out a kink.

The only explanation for him being in the same clothes and walking home this morning was that he’d slept at the bar.

I might not be mad at him anymore, but I didn’t feel bad for him either. He could have slept in my warm, soft bed but he’d chosen not to. If his solution was to get drunk instead of talking through his problems, then he deserved this hangover.

Though I’d still massage his neck later.

“So we might as well not beat around the bush,” Mom said. “Willa told us about what happened with your mother yesterday.”

Jackson shot me a look. “Did she?”

Whoopsie. I probably should have gotten permission before spilling his life story to my parents. I’d only told them because I’d needed them to understand the entire story before asking their advice. Still, it wasn’t my story to share.

Before I could apologize to Jackson, Dad spoke up. “We don’t keep secrets in this family.”

“No offense, Nate,” Jackson shot back, “but we’re not family.”

Dad’s face hardened. “Do you have feelings for my daughter?”

“Yes,” Jackson replied immediately.

“Then you’re a part of this family, and when one of us is having a hard time, we talk it through.”

Jackson slumped, knowing that Dad was talking about me. His shoulders hunched forward as the guilt from last night weighed them down.

“I think you need to confront your mother,” Mom declared. “Get it out and over with. Find out why she’s here, then you can dictate what will happen next. Right now, she has the power because she surprised you. You need to take it back.”

Mom’s direct approach might not always work when giving me advice, but it seemed right up Jackson’s alley. She was a younger version of Hazel and she was going to go all mama bear for him.

After Hazel had her five minutes with Jackson’s mother, my mom would be next in line.

“I don’t know if I should see her or not,” Jackson confessed. “Nothing good can come from her being here.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Dad shrugged. “But I wouldn’t see her because she has something to say. I’d see her because you do. This could be your chance to get some closure. You deserve that much.”

“Maybe,” Jackson mumbled. “I’ll think on it.”

“Do you think she left town?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Thea texted me this morning and said she saw her car at the motel.”

“She probably wants something,” Mom muttered. “Any idea what it could be?”

“Money?” Jackson guessed. “Maybe she thinks I have some.”

“Is there any chance she wants to make amends?” Dad asked.

Jackson stared at his coffee mug. It took him a few moments, but he murmured, “No.”

My heart broke for him, but he was right. If that woman had wanted to apologize for dumping her son in the middle of New York City to fend for himself, that would have been the first thing out of her mouth yesterday.

“I hate her,” I whispered.

The entire table’s eyes were on me, probably because I hadn’t ever said those words in my life about another person. Mom and Dad had taught me not to hate. Dislike, sure, but not hate.

I did though. I hated Jackson’s mother and I didn’t even know her name.

“What’s her name?” I asked Jackson.

“Melissa.”

“Melissa,” I repeated. “I hate her.”

I hated her for all that she’d done to break Jackson’s spirit. I hated her for abandoning him. I hated that because of her, he didn’t trust anyone. It was her fault that he’d closed off his heart.

Jackson’s hand came to my knee. “Maybe your mom is right. Maybe I should confront her. Find out what she wants. Then we can all let her go. For good.”

The concern in his eyes wasn’t for himself, but for me, because he didn’t want his burden to bring me down.

“Okay. It’s settled.” Mom stood from her chair. “Jackson, have you had breakfast? You look like you need some greasy food. I’ll make you an omelet.”

“Thanks, Betty.”

Dad stood too, grabbing Jackson’s coffee mug. “I’ll get you a refill.”

As they disappeared into the kitchen, Jackson spun in his chair. He took my face in his hands and gently kissed my forehead. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not staying mad at me even though I deserve it. For getting so worked up over my mother that you’d throw down right beside Hazel.”

“I’ve never thrown down before, but I think I could win.”

He chuckled. “I’d put my money on you.”

We both knew that was total crap. I’d never gotten violent before in my life. But I wouldn’t turn down the chance to punch Jackson’s mother in the face—or at least nod along as Hazel said some not-so-nice things.

“I’m sorry for spilling everything to my parents without asking,” I told him.

“I get it. You were upset and needed to talk. I’m just not used to sharing.”

“I know.”

“But I’m glad you did.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “Feels kind of good to have the Doon family in my corner. And I think your mom is right. I need to do this on my terms. I don’t want to keep waiting for her to show back up again.”

“Do you, um . . . want me to go with you?” I wanted to be there for him, but I also understood if this was something he had to do alone.

“Would you?”

I nodded. “I’m there.”

“Thanks, babe.” He kissed my forehead again. “Maybe we can go down this afternoon. I need a nap first. I feel like shit.”

“I could use a nap too. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“That’s my fault. Sorry.”

I patted his leg. “It’s done. After breakfast, we’ll crash for a while, then wake up and start the day fresh.”

“Sounds like a plan. Though I need to work in a shower somewhere in there.”

I winked. “I’m sure we could arrange that.”

A spark of heat hit his eyes. “I want to kiss you so fucking bad right now.”

“Then do.”

“Not until I find a toothbrush,” he grumbled.

I giggled. “Did you know I’ve only been drunk once?”

“No shit?” he asked.

“My friends always told me that when you wake up with a hangover, you feel like a cat took a crap in your mouth. I didn’t understand that until I had too many drinks at a party my freshman year and blacked out.”

“Blacked out?” His mouth turned down. “I don’t like the idea of you drinking so much you blacked out.”

“Me neither.”

Because the night I had gotten drunk had been the night Leighton had been assaulted. Maybe I could have prevented it if I hadn’t guzzled jungle juice for an hour. Maybe it would have been me instead. The two of us had gone over that night time and time again without answers. Finally, we’d agreed to leave it in the past and neither of us had had the desire to drink heavily again.

“It was my one and only party,” I told Jackson. “I haven’t been drunk since.”

“I think you’re on to something. I feel like death,” he moaned.

I cupped his stubbled cheek. “I’ll make you feel better.”

“You already did.” With a quick grab, he yanked me out of my chair and into his lap. Then he buried his face in my neck as his arms held me tight.

I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder as he breathed into my hair. I don’t know how long we sat like that, but I’d almost fallen asleep in his arms when I heard my parents.

“Just let them be,” Dad whispered.

“What about his breakfast?” Mom whispered back.

“Willa will take care of him.”

And I would.