11. Jackson

CHAPTER 11

JACKSON

TWO WEEKS LATER

O ne of the best things about Freya is that she's predictable. Now that I've figured out her schedule at work, it's almost comically easy to predict when she's going to show up at my house. Usually, I'd be kind of annoyed about it because, you know, that's someone in my personal space. I'm not usually so hot on speaking to other human beings, especially one who tried singlehandedly to ruin my career.

Okay, fine, that's not really true. I can be honest with myself.

I can even be honest enough to admit to a painful truth. I don't think I hate Freya at all.

No matter how hard I want to pretend to, she has made my life better already. I've barely known her a whole month, but it feels hard to remember a time without her. God, I'd even miss her if she left.

Maybe it's being trapped inside all day, every day, but days when Freya doesn't swing by suck. And the days when she can stay for a while are awesome. I've never watched so much TV with anyone, not since John and I were kids.

I think we used to be close, once. But we were never anything like Freya and Matt seem to be. They trust each other in a way that I barely thought was possible. Not that I don't trust people. I trust my teammates to help me win. I trust my coach to know what's good for me.

I trust my mother to make the world's most inconvenient decisions possible about me and my life.

But with Freya and Matt, it's like an easy sort of togetherness, a way of existing that's full of shorthand and codes and not even needing to speak to know what the other means or is thinking. They just get on. And Freya has been doing this all alone for years .

I couldn't do all that on top of having her job too. I have no idea how she can have that much patience for other people at work and come home and have anything left.

It's not that I want all of this with John, but once upon a time, I wanted something more than what we have now. Which is nothing. In fact, I barely ever think about him or his family at all these days. And he's too busy with his perfect wife and perfect kids in their perfect lives to pay any attention to me.

We weren't ever that close, but it's been getting worse as we get older. And yet, seeing Freya and Matt almost makes me want it. Almost.

More than anything, it makes me want to look after her, I realize. Not because I think she can't do it alone, but because all she does is do it alone.

Anyway, Freya, as predictable as ever, knocks on my door exactly at the time I expected her to. I walk slowly to make it look less like I was lying in wait for her, then open the door and feign surprise, which quickly turns real as I notice she's brought another box of gifts.

"What's this?" I ask, gesturing at it before ushering her inside.

Little does she know, today I've got a surprise for her. She's been working so hard for me, and it's time I gave her a little something back.

"It's nothing," she says, handing me the box, a pink flush rising on her cheeks. "I just made cookies for Matt and thought I'd bring you some spares."

"Thanks." I push her through to the living room and sit her down, my stomach churning. She really is the best. Like, she bakes and cooks and does all this stuff for Matt on top of her full-time job, and then brings it to me too. I wonder if the girl ever sleeps, because I can't figure out where she gets all the time from.

I also wonder why she decided to care about me. I don't exactly make it easy for her.

She takes a seat, and I give her the best smile I can manage. "Oh, no," she says, her face falling.

"What?" My face immediately snaps back into its usual neutral, which feels much better. This kind of caring thing does not come at all naturally to me.

"Why are you smiling ? It's weird. Are you ill? Are you dying?"

"No," I scoff. "Just do what you're told and sit there, okay?"

She throws up both hands, her face twisting into an expression that draws all my attention to the two creases above her nose and down into her bright green eyes. I have to not think about her eyes right now. I can't be distracted by my own thoughts about her being attractive or whatever. That's not what any of this is about.

Even if she is kind of cute.

She stares expectantly at me, and I set her box down on the table and take a deep breath. Somehow this plan seemed so much better when I thought of it last night. But I've committed now, and I'm not a coward. Not usually, anyway.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hands," I say, glancing over my shoulder to make sure she obeys. She gives me an even harder look, but obeys.

Quickly, I rush over to the hidden bunch of flowers I bought earlier and pick them up. "Okay, open," I say, positioning myself in front of her, holding the bouquet out.

Freya blinks her eyes open, frowns hard, then realizes that none of this is a joke as I keep holding the flowers out. Hesitantly, she takes them, looking down into the blooms. "What's this?"

"Flowers," I say like it's obvious, because it is, and because I don't want to answer the real question she's asking.

"Why?"

I scoff. "What do you mean, why ? Why do you think? You've come to my house almost every single day these past few weeks, like your own life doesn't even matter. I'm not even that nice to you. I'm not that nice to anyone. I don't understand why you bother. I'm barely worth it."

I kind of wish I hadn't just said so much, but by the time I realize I'm doing it, it's too late.

Still, it doesn't put her off even when it should. "And so you got me flowers?" she says, grinning like she's trying not to, her eyes flashing with a kind of light that makes me want to back out of doing this altogether.

I purse my lips tightly as I frown to prove that I disapprove of her happiness. "Yes. Yes, I did. You're welcome."

She looks down at the flowers and smiles, and I feel that really weird warm rush spread through me, the one she keeps giving me, where all my nerves tingle. Like I never want her to stop giving me attention and liking me.

I guess this must be the feeling of delight… or something.

"Right, come on," I say, not wanting to linger in feelings anymore. "We have plans today."

"We do?" She blinks up at me, her lips falling ever so slightly open in shock. Not that I'm paying attention to her lips.

"Yes. I made plans."

"I thought we were going to go for a walk." She folds her arms, challenging me, but I refuse to be drawn. I've decided this is going to be a surprise for her, so a surprise it is going to be.

"I've got better plans than that."

"O-kay…" She draws out the word as if suspicious, narrowing her eyes at me. "I'll trust you this time."

"You can trust me every time." I wince at how corny that sounds, and she laughs, a sound that's musical to my ear.

Am I in too deep?

"I'll drive," I say, beckoning her to follow.

"You drive?" she asks, surprised, as she jumps to her feet. "I thought you would have had a chauffeur or something."

"That's what you're for," I say without thinking, then quickly correct myself by adding, "I can do some things for myself, you know."

"All right, I'll believe it. You're sure your arm is up to it?"

She gestures to my sling, and I shoot her a poison look. I'm only wearing this thing because she's still making me. "How many times do I have to say that I don't really need this?"

"At least another hundred. So, where are we going?"

"Surprise. Come on." I lead her through the house and into the garage, Freya pestering me for details the whole time. But I stand strong and silent. It is a surprise, and she will like it. After all, when was the last time someone took her out to a fancy restaurant?

I hesitate at the doorway for a second when we get into the garage, contemplating which car to use. I don't want to use anything too flashy in case she thinks I'm even lamer than she already does.

I settle on one of my hatchbacks. We slide in, I start the engine, and the radio comes blaring through. As I scramble to turn down the volume, Freya raises an eyebrow at me. "Country?"

"What's wrong with country music?" I say defensively.

"No, nothing. I just wouldn't have thought you were the cowboy-boot type." She giggles at that, and I press my lips together to try and stop myself from smiling too.

I haven't wanted to smile this much, this often in years. But there's something about Freya, about her relentless optimism, her generosity, the way she's refusing to give up on me. It's doing something strange to me. It's making me into a nice person.

We hit the road, and I mutter to her, "We've got to take a quick detour first. To my mom's."

"I thought you didn't speak to your family…" Freya says.

I can feel the questions bubbling under her words, but I choose not to answer any of them. "Yeah, well. We're not all perfect. I'm taking her some flowers, that's all. Just to say hi."

"Okay, sure. Then where are we going?"

With a sigh, I give in. "I made lunch reservations. Don't argue and don't complain, because it's all on me and I'm not listening to any of your arguments."

"I wouldn't dare," she says, though she doesn't stop grinning. Damn her.

We rock up at my mom's house, and as I pull up her drive, I glance nervously at Freya out of the corner of my eye to try and gauge her reaction. The house isn't as big as mine, but it's not small either, and it's got everything she could ever need. We might not be close exactly, but I wouldn't let her struggle either. No matter what, she's still my mom.

"Nice place," is all Freya says.

I've started to learn her smiles as I've gotten to know her, and this is not one of her genuine ones. It doesn't quite reach her eyes all the way.

"You can stay here if you want," I say. "I'll only be two minutes. I'm just going to give her these."

I gesture to the flowers on the back seat then go to open my door, only to be interrupted by Freya. "I can come too. If it's okay with you. I'd like that."

We don't get to discuss it any further, though, because a second later, before I can even think about how to persuade Freya not to come, my mother bursts out the front door and comes barreling towards us like she hasn't seen me in years. I guess it has been a couple of months since I spoke to her.

That thought is a stab of guilt right in the stomach. "Hi, Mom," I say with a grimace.

"Hi, sweetie," she says planting a kiss on my cheek as she wraps me in her arms. "What are you doing here?"

Feeling awkward, I wrap my arms around her and throw Freya a grumpy face over her shoulder. But I can't make myself mean it, because after the month I've had, being enveloped in my mother's arms is kind of nice after all. "Present," is all I can manage, grabbing the flowers for her.

"Baby, these are gorgeous," she grins. It takes all I've got not to react. "And who's your friend?"

As my mom looks her up and down, discomfort washes from Freya in waves, and I feel bad about even deciding to do this at all. I should have known that my mother would react like this. She's so embarrassing. "This is Freya, my nurse," I say quickly to try and dissipate any sorts of ideas in my mom's mind about what we could be.

"Your nurse ? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Nearly broke my arm — that's all."

"Oh, honey. Are you going to be better in time for the playoffs?"

"Yes," I snap, not in any way needing to be reminded about that disaster looming. "That's why I'm taking it easy now. There's no way I'm going to give myself a permanent injury and miss out on the rest of my career."

Mom takes me in her arms again. "That's my boy. You always were too sensible. I'm sure you don't need to be kept in line. Always got a mind on work." Then to Freya, she says, "My Jackie's never had reason smile about anything."

I grimace hard at that, because of course what she's really saying is that I don't make enough time for her, and I've never been a team player, and I'm a disappointment to the family. It's what she's thinking, even if she won't say it.

"Come on in, both of you. You must be hungry; it's lunchtime."

"No, we're okay," I start, but at the same time Freya says, "That would be great. Thanks."

We share a confused look, but an inch is all my mother needs, and before we know it, we're being herded inside to face whatever Mom is going to throw at us next.