Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Allison

With my eyes closed, I let my mind drift away, focusing only on the sound of the rain falling on the tin roof of the porch. For the first time in so very long, I felt completely at peace.

But as the realization slowly dawned that I was embarrassing myself, clinging to Jackson like he was mine, I slowly pulled away.

“Thanks,” I said, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “I guess I needed a hug with everything that’s been going on. It’s all been a lot, you know?”

“Anytime,” he said in that rich voice of his, which was becoming almost as familiar as the one he’d had as a kid. It was surreal in a way, connecting this Jackson standing in front of me—a man in every sense of the word—with the little boy who had been my childhood best friend.

And suddenly, I felt restless, itchy, and desperate to do something—anything—other than stand on this porch with him. If we stayed here, I might throw myself into his arms again, and that would be breaking our pact.

Friends.

That’s all we were and all we could be. He had made his position abundantly clear last night, and if I had hoped he would change his mind after Russell’s death, our afternoon at the creek had made me realize he wouldn’t. There was still too much pain there, too much blame, and too much worry that part of him came from that man.

Jackson needed a friend more than ever, and I needed to respect his boundaries and be that for him. But it was fine. It was just a hug. I had needed comfort after a cathartic day, and he had provided it, like any friend would.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes narrowed as he searched my face.

“Nothing.” I smiled brightly and turned my gaze away from him, looking again at the rain falling steadily on my gravel driveway. The low spots had already become dark puddles, and the sight of them brought back memories.

“Where’d you go?” Jackson asked softly. He reached out and rubbed my arm before dropping his hand again, shoving it into his pocket.

I moved my own hand up to the place where he had touched, trying somehow to keep the feeling there. “I was just remembering how, when we were kids, we’d run through the rain. It would be pouring cats and dogs and we’d both run outside into the yard, splashing in the puddles and catching raindrops on our tongues. Remember that? Mama would get so mad because I’d come back to the house wet and muddy, and she’d have to put me straight into a bath. Unless it was storming and she couldn’t, in which case I’d have to sit on the kitchen floor until the lightning stopped.” I laughed out loud. “We were silly, weren’t we? Entertaining ourselves that way.”

He grinned, his face relaxing again. “Entertainment options were slim, Allison. I’d say we did the best we could with what we had.”

“It was fun,” I admitted.

A devilish look came into his eyes. “Want to do it again?”

My jaw dropped, even as I felt the grin spread across my face. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re adults now. Adults don’t splash in mud puddles and dance in the rain.”

“Who says?” That devilish look grew, and I knew what was coming.

But I didn’t back away.

“It would be irresponsible,” I said, pointing my finger at him and mimicking my mother’s tone, even though I couldn’t keep a straight face.

“Exactly. Didn’t you just say something about remembering what it felt like to be free? This is freedom, Allison.” And with the same mischievous look on his face I remembered so well from our childhoods, Jackson grabbed my hand and took off down the porch stairs, pulling me behind him.

I shrieked, ducking when the raindrops hit the top of my head. But then something inside me shifted. I lifted my head to the sky and invited the rain to hit my face. Jackson let go of my hand—breaking my heart a bit in the process—and I stuck out my arms and slowly turned in a circle, just like I had as a kid. The rain pelted me so hard I couldn’t open my eyes, but it didn’t matter. It felt like a gift, a baptism of freedom, as the water washed away what felt like years of stress and striving.

Here, none of it mattered. Here on the mountain, I was loved just for who I was.

I finally lowered my head and opened my eyes. I saw Jackson standing in the pouring rain, watching me. The look on his face was something I wanted to hold in my heart forever.

Then he was moving toward me, and before I knew what had happened, I was in his arms again. He pulled me close and held me tight as he dipped his lips to mine. They were cold from the rain, yet somehow perfect, and our mouths fit together as if we had been made for each other. My hands went to his face as I sank into the feeling of his lips on mine.

And suddenly I knew it was always meant to be this way. That no matter what we had said, what pact we had made, or any of the other reasons Jackson would come up with, it didn’t matter. Our souls had been connected our entire lives, and here, in this moment, the world finally made sense. I was always being led back to him, and he was always being led back to me. Our bodies melded together in this one, perfect moment of clarity, this moment of knowing who I was and who he was and who we could be together.

Until he broke away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You just… Standing there… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay,” I said, moving toward him again—until I realized he genuinely regretted it. What had been a perfect moment of clarity for me was a moment of regret for him. So I stopped.

“No, it’s not okay,” he said. “We had an understanding, and I broke that. I’m sorry, Allison.”

“Jackson,” I said, looking up at him, wishing I could get the connection we had just shared back somehow. “I’m not upset at you. Not at all.”

But it was clear by the look on his face that he was angry with himself. It was that look that made me step back yet again, away from the warmth of his embrace. I knew this was real, that it was more than just attraction. It was solid and true and something I’d never felt for anyone else. But something stopped me from telling him, because the last thing I wanted was for him to push me away. He had made it clear he still didn’t trust himself. I knew if he thought he might hurt me, he would just stop coming around.

It felt like part of me would die if I lost him again.

“Friends practice kissing each other sometimes, right?” I teased, attempting to lighten the mood. “At least that’s what Tommy Reynolds tried to tell me in third grade.”

His face changed to surprise, which was exactly my intention. “He did not.”

“He did,” I said, laughing. “I told him no, though.”

Jackson grinned. “Good. You were too good for him.” A look of pain quickly flashed across his face, so quickly I almost missed it.

I knew what he was thinking. He thought I was too good for him, too. And my heart ached to tell him all the things he needed to know—that he wasn’t his dad. That he was his own man, with a good heart. That he was strong, brave, and selfless. That, truth be told, he was probably too good for me .

But I knew if I said those things now, he wouldn’t believe me. Even if he wanted to.

So I just kept things light.

“You’re soaked,” I said, laughing again.

“You are too,” he said, grinning back at me.

“Come on in and get dry.” I grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the house. “I’m afraid I don’t have any clothes that will fit you, but you can borrow my robe if you want to throw your stuff in the dryer.”

But he held back, stopping me. “I think I better go home,” he said. “I’ll just make sure you get inside safely. Then I’ll head out.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do. It’s getting late and I already interrupted your sleep last night. I’m not going to do it again.” He kept his tone light, but I could tell he was still upset.

“Okay,” I said, not wanting to push. “See you soon?”

“Yeah. And if you need anything, you know you can call me. Anytime.”

“I know,” I said.

“Alright then. Let’s get you inside.”

I turned away, disappointed as I walked up the stairs. He followed me to the door and waited for me to go in.

“I’m going to wait to hear you lock up,” he said. His face was neutral, but he couldn’t fool me.

I saw the old pain in his eyes, the lies he still believed. Raindrops ran from his hair down his face, reminding me of tears. I was tempted to smooth them away, wishing somehow it could wipe away all the hurt he hid so well from the rest of the world. But I kept my hands to myself.

“Goodnight,” I said softly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always,” he said.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and closed the door between us. I stayed there, listening to his footsteps as he slowly walked away.

When his truck pulled out, I ran upstairs to get a towel to dry my hair. My clothes were so wet I had to peel them off of me before trading them for a dry pair of sweats. I had just changed when I heard a knock at my door.

He came back. I smiled, feeling hope bloom again. But when I opened my door, it wasn’t him on my steps.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Honey, I’m home,” Mike quipped, pulling a giant bouquet of roses from behind his back.

“That’s not funny,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t invite you to come.”

“Come on,” he said, dipping his head and giving me his most charming smile. “I drove all this way. The least you could do is let me in. I just want to talk, Allison. Hear me out. If you don’t like what I have to say, then we part as friends and I’ll never darken your doorstep again. But even if that’s the case, don’t I at least deserve some closure?”

My shoulders sagged. “Fine.” I opened the door wider, making room for him to enter. “But I hope you booked a room at the motel, because you’re not staying here tonight.”