Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Allison

I went upstairs and began packing an overnight bag, somehow hurting and feeling numb at the same time. This was all becoming a nightmare.

Jackson had drawn a line in the sand. He meant what he had said before. Friends only. And I was having a really, really hard time accepting that.

Hard because he was wrong. Not just about himself—though he was definitely wrong there—but about us, too. He didn’t want to risk what we had, but he was risking it anyway by keeping our friendship platonic. If we never allowed ourselves to see what was between us, there would come a day when one of us fell for someone else. And the moment either of us began a relationship, the dynamic between us would change. It would have to. There was no way I could be in a relationship with another man and continue on the way I was with Jackson. It would be completely inappropriate. We would always be playing with fire.

There was an unknown expiration date on our friendship that would only be solved by promising each other forever. But that was a promise he had no intention of ever making.

Walking into Jackson’s apartment felt like walking into a refuge from the rest of the world. The whole place felt like him—friendly, welcoming, and oddly familiar. I immediately felt the weight of the day fall off my shoulders as I stepped through the door, knowing that tonight I would be safe.

Jackson locked up behind me, then stood there awkwardly. “I’ll just change the sheets on my bed. Then you can have it,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” I said, shaking my head at him. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“That doesn’t feel right at all.”

“I don’t care,” I said, feeling too tired to argue. “I’m not sleeping in your bed, Jackson.”

Something in my tone must have indicated that I meant it, and I did. Sleeping in his bed, even without him there, felt like crossing a boundary that I couldn’t come back from. If we could only ever be friends, I needed to put up some new walls between us in order to protect my own heart. Not to mention the fact that sleeping alone in his bed would be a cruel reminder that he didn’t want me there with him.

“Alright,” he said, defeated. “I’ll grab you a pillow and some blankets.”

“Thanks.” I moved to the couch and sank into it, suddenly feeling even more tired than before.

Maybe coming here was a bad idea after all. I felt safe here. But I also felt the acute pain of a change in our relationship that neither of us had seen coming. Admitting our feelings had destroyed the ease between us, and I wasn’t sure how to get it back.

I missed my best friend.

Jackson emerged minutes later, carrying a stack of blankets and a fresh pillow. “You sure you’ll be okay out here?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He handed me the linens, then turned to leave, but he paused in the doorway. “I feel like I let you down. That’s the one thing I didn’t want to do. I’m sorry, Allison.”

My shoulders sagged with instant remorse. “You didn’t let me down, Jackson. It’s not your fault I developed feelings for you. We had a pact. I’m sorry I let you down.”

“Think we can get back to being friends soon?”

“I hope so.”

“Me too.” He gave me a long look, then rapped his knuckles on the door frame and left me alone in his living room.

I sighed, feeling his absence in more ways than one. With nothing left to do or say, I slipped into the guest bathroom to change. Then I made up a bed on his couch and drifted into troubled sleep.

Hours later, I jerked awake, startled by loud cries.

“No! Stop! Please don’t hurt her.”

It took me a moment to realize the yells were coming from Jackson. I rolled off the couch and ran toward his bedroom.

I threw open the door and flipped on the light. Jackson immediately sat up in bed. He was sweating, but he was alone. My body sagged with relief as I realized his screams had been from a nightmare.

I clutched my heart. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair and ducked his head.

I crossed the room and sat beside him on the bed, squeezing his hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” He looked away.

“Jackson.” I repeated his name until he finally looked at me. Those eyes were full of grief—and humiliation. “It’s okay,” I said. “Everything’s okay.”

“I’m a grown-ass man—no, a grown-ass law enforcement officer— who has nightmares like a child. Nothing about that is okay.”

I ran my hand over his face, wishing I could wash away all the years of hurt. “Don’t even start with that. I know what you went through. Remember? I saw the way he beat you.” I stroked his hair, patting him much in the same way I had when he was a kid, when I would find him hiding down by the creek. I spoke softly, like I had then, trying to ease the pain in the only way I knew how. “I saw, Jackson. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I should be over this by now.”

“Over trauma?” I gave a small laugh and shook my head. “That’s not how it works. Your body remembers. And after working a child abuse case, it’s completely understandable that you were triggered. There’s nothing wrong with you. You just had a bad day.”

“You have no idea.” He covered his face with his hands and fell backward on the bed, groaning. “Allison, I need to tell you something. And you might not forgive me for it.”

“What?”

He uncovered his face and looked at me. “I don’t even know how to tell you this, but…I think Russell is the one breaking into your house.”

“Russell?” The thought shocked—and terrified—me. I knew what that man could do.

Jackson nodded slowly.

“But why? Why me?”

He closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low. “Because he knows what you mean to me. And he wants to use you to hurt me.”

I stared at him, processing it all. If he was right, that was scary. Scarier even than an opioid-deprived patient breaking into my house. Russell Sharp was someone I didn’t want to cross paths with, much less be targeted by.

“We found a cigarette butt in your backyard, the same kind he smokes,” Jackson continued, his eyes still closed like he couldn’t bear looking at me. “There was a boot print out back tonight. I checked when you were packing your bag. It looks to be the same size as his. And he’s been threatening me. Following me. He knows we’ve been spending time together. He’s seen us.”

“No wonder you had a nightmare,” I said weakly. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t think we can hang out anymore,” Jackson said, his eyes still closed, his voice still low and full of pain. “It’s not safe for you.”

I kept staring at him—at this man who had lived through an unspeakable childhood and come out on the other side dedicated to keeping everyone else safe. This man who cared about me—probably more than he would admit—but wanted to walk away to keep me safe.

“Well, I’m here tonight,” I said, making a decision. “So there’s that. And I’m not going back to the couch. I’m sleeping in here with you.”

“You shouldn’t—” he started to say, but I cut him off.

“It’s purely selfish on my part,” I said. “I don’t want to sleep in there, where I’d be the first thing Russell sees if he breaks down the door. I’m sleeping in here, where you can protect me.” And where I can protect you, too.

Jackson might have been pushing me away, but I wasn’t going anywhere—not when it was clear he needed me, whether he realized it or not.

He opened his eyes and looked at me, then gave a begrudging nod.

“It’s settled, then.” I climbed to the top of the bed and wiggled down underneath the covers. “Goodnight, Jackson.”

“Goodnight, Allison.”

He reached over and took my hand in his. It was the first time I could remember him reaching for me like that. Usually, it was the other way around. I was the one always reaching out, needing to comfort and show I was there. Jackson usually kept his hands to himself.

But he reached for me, and we fell asleep that way, hand in hand—and neither of us had any more nightmares that night.

Warm sunlight wrapped the room in a buttery glow when I woke the next morning, curled up in Jackson’s arms. He was sound asleep with a little smile on his face. He looked so full of peace that I hated to wake him. But even though it was a Saturday and I knew neither of us had to work, we couldn’t exactly stay in bed all day. Being in his bed was crossing a line. I couldn’t regret it though, if it meant him getting a peaceful night’s sleep.

It killed me that he was so haunted by the past. All these years later, Russell could still inflict pain without touching him at all. It wasn’t fair. Worse, there was nothing I could do about it.

Jackson’s words from the night before came back to me, stealing the smile from my face. He wanted to keep his distance so Russell would leave me alone and stop trying to hurt him through me. I understood that.

But I hated it.

Full of regret, I slipped out of his arms.

I padded into his kitchen, found the coffee pot, and started a strong pot to get us going for the day. We both had a lot to face, but there was no need to face it without coffee.

When Jackson came into the room, looking sleepy-eyed, with mussed-up hair and flannel pajama pants riding low on his waist, I didn’t really want coffee anymore. I wanted something else entirely, something I wasn’t allowed to have.

“Morning,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Good morning.” His eyes searched my face like he was looking for a sign that I was okay—that we were okay—after last night.

“I made coffee. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I could never mind that,” he said, giving me a small smile. “Listen, about last night. I’m sorry. About the nightmare, I mean. Sorry you had to see that.”

I reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m glad I was here. And I hope you slept better after.

“I did,” he said, appearing to choose his words carefully. “Allison, I—”

But he was cut off by his cell phone, which buzzed on the counter.

He looked at it and frowned. “It’s Greg.”