Chapter 13

13

HARPER

L ike I’ve always said, when things are too good, they always promptly go to shit. Thanksgiving was amazing. Jackson’s parents are kind and sweet, just like him. Of course, my parents were less than thrilled that I went on a week-long holiday, which made them miss their annual chance to grill me during a turkey dinner.

Hence why my mother now stands in my living room in the early morning of Wednesday. Dressed in a pencil skirt, flowy blouse, and heels, she’s the picture of a successful businesswoman. Even the pinched line of her mouth radiates I’ve got shit to do, and I’m not even remotely on her list.

“I just don’t get why you didn’t want to tell us,” she complains, arms crossing over her chest.

“Maybe I wanted something for myself for once.”

The microwave beeps to alert me that the water for my tea is done. I quietly fill a mug with the water and plop the peppermint tea bag into it so that it can steep as I argue with my mother. She looks on, unamused with my avoidance tactics after all these years.

“Please let me take you to your scan at the end of the week. We can…” Mother trails off, looking awkward for a moment, eyes avoiding mine. “I can take you out to lunch after.”

“You hate having to explain Honey,” I point out because it’s true.

Her fingers tangle together as she lets out a little sigh. “I will get over it. Also, your father would really like to meet your boyfriend as well. Can’t we all get together for dinner soon?”

“You’ll have time for that sort of thing?”

Mother groans and tosses up her hands. “Harper, we’ll make time. We’re not as evil as you think. We do love you; you’re our son.”

“I’m your adopted son.”

Her nostrils flare at my words, as they usually do. The adoption is a sore spot and one that I know will easily end an argument. It’s like pushing on a nasty, barely healed bruise. I think they wanted a healthy kid without embarrassing seizures, and they know that’s what I think, no matter how often they argue against my supposedly irrational thought. As predicted, my painful jab ends the argument, and she promptly spins toward the front door.

Hand on the knob, she turns back to fix me with a hard stare. “I will pick you up Friday morning for your scan.”

“Fine.”

And then she’s gone.

Jackson texts me good morning, but I ignore it. My mood is sour, and I don’t want to pass it on to him. I easily distract myself with work, almost forgetting about the argument with my mother.

I keep Jackson at a careful distance through the week, only answering him enough to stop him from storming my house. I’m used to this by now. Keep people held carefully at arm's length, telling them just enough so they know I’m not dead or have run off to become a bookkeeper in a small beach town in South Carolina.

The ride downtown to the imaging center with my mother is silent and stilted. The normal order of things. Honey pants in the back seat of the Beemer, and I pray to God she doesn’t accidentally rip the leather seats with a nail. A worry that I’ve never once had with Jackson because even if Honey did that accidentally, he wouldn’t care. No matter how much he loves that damn car, he loves Honey more.

Suddenly, I wish I was in the car with him, heading to my appointment. I wish he was holding my hand as the nerves wash over me. I wish he was waiting right outside the door when the scan was over to hug me and take me out to lunch with teasing smiles. I wish, and I wish, and I wish .

“Honey could’ve stayed back at your house; she can’t go into the scan with you,” Mother reminds me.

I push open the car door with a huff. “Please just stay in the car with her. I’ll be out in an hour. Maybe sooner.”

I slam the door shut before she can argue. The workers at the imaging facility know me after all these years. Even when my seizures were under control, I came every six months. Dr. Whitman has always wanted a large overview of my health, checking to ensure that all the wires in my brain are still just a little crossed, not too crossed. Pathetic.

Thankfully, I always plan ahead for scans. Sweatpants and a T-shirt so that I don’t have to add the embarrassment of a gown to the mix. The radiologist is a kind, older man named Tony that always feels bad for me when I cry during the scan. He never says anything about it though because he’s a consummate professional. God bless him.

Tony delivers the dose of contrast dye for the CT scan with a small smile. A warm, flushed feeling passes through me, along with the feeling of pissing myself, then finally, a metallic taste in my mouth. So pleasant. Always the best experience of my life. The whir of the machine starts, and I stare blankly at the loud machine. At least thirty minutes alone with my thoughts.

What nightmares are made of.

Tony’s voice comes over the speaker. “I’ll start the music.”

And then the gentle sounds of romance ballads from the ’90s fill the speakers. I close my eyes and get lost in the songs, familiar with the humming of the machine over the words. Time ticks by, and I so badly try not to think of Jackson. But he pops into my brain unbidden because he takes up more space in my mind than he should. The man also takes up too much space in my fragile heart.

As usual, towards the end of the scan, the tears fall down my cheeks like silent rivers. Worries about if this will be the scan that finally says I’m not long for this world. Worries that they’ll find something that has no explanation that’ll add even more anxiety to my life. I worry that Dr. Whitman will have something terrible to tell me about at the next appointment. Worries that I’ll have to break up with Jackson to spare him the pain of being with someone who has a lifelong, unpredictable brain disorder.

The CT scan ends with a small silent scream from me.

“See you again in a few months, Tony.”

Tony grins. “Maybe it’ll go back to every six months soon.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I lie easily.

I rub angrily at my face as I make my way down the long hallway. Hopefully, no one can tell that I was crying. But the closer I get to the exit door, the more convinced I am that I’m hearing a very familiar voice.

When I push through the door, my mind shutters to a stop, static filling my brain.

Jackson stands at the check-in counter, elbows propped up, eyes filled with worry. He’s here. At the imaging facility. Terrified and looking for me. My throat itches, and my eyes well up with more tears.

“I don’t need your help anymore; I’ve found him,” Jackson says loudly, just before tugging me against the strong line of his body.

For the first time in my life, I don’t give a shit about the people watching me. I don’t care about the people scattered around the waiting room that are witness to my weakness, to my fucking need for this man. None of that matters as long as Jackson holds me in his arms. Without letting go of me, he hustles me outside. A sob breaks free from me once we’re no longer in front of a large audience.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Jackson says, voice sad, even a little heartbroken.

“It’s embarrassing,” I cry into his chest.

Jackson’s hands spasm against my back, fingers tangling in my shirt to drag me closer against the strength of his body. He doesn’t reply; just keeps holding me. Finally, the tears slow, but I don’t wipe them away. Instead, Jackson tenderly reaches between us, using the pad of his thumb to wipe the lingering tears away.

“I want you to tell me these things. I want to be there for you, even if it scares you to allow me to see you vulnerable. Please, Harper. We can talk about it later. Do you want to go home?”

Leaning my weight against Jackson is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

“Please take me home,” I beg, voice cracking on my plea.

Jackson guides me into the parking lot towards his waiting G-Wagon. My brain is so scrambled that I don’t remember my mother and Honey until he’s buckling me into the passenger seat. A moment later, my worried-looking mother appears at the door. Her perfectly manicured finger taps the window in a silent request for me to roll it down. Great. Awesome. Superb.

Jackson quietly places Honey into the back seat, busily buckling her into the seat harness under the pretense of not eavesdropping on our conversation. But I know he’s listening, and I honestly don’t care.

I roll the window down.

“Hello,” I say curtly.

Mom clears her throat awkwardly, eyes darting from the back seat to me. “Jackson is going to take you home. Maybe we can do lunch another day?”

“Sure,” I agree, not meaning it at all.

Her painted-on smile flickers, but she stands up straighter, preparing herself for war.

“I love you, Harp.” Her voice trembles just a little, making me feel like a total asshole. My eyes close tight when she leans into the window to press a barely there kiss to my cheek.

She disappears out of sight, no doubt into her own vehicle to return to her fancy office downtown. Honey whines and licks her lips, just in time for Jackson to climb into the driver’s seat with a pinched look on his beautiful face. As he pulls out of the parking lot, I reach across the console to tangle our fingers together. His are so warm against my own, a lifeblood when everything inside me is painfully cold. Sometimes, I feel like I’m rotting inside, but since Jackson came into my life, everything has gained color and life. He’s brought life to me again, brought beauty, brought hope.

I’m in love with him. The realization is so startling, so terrifying, that I’m momentarily afraid I might go into cardiac arrest. Instead, my body grips his fingers tighter without any input from my own toxic brain. In the raging storm of my life, my abject misery, Jackson is an anchor that keeps me from floating away on the dangerous waves.

The house is silent as he helps me inside, as if knowing my body is weak with exhaustion. With his large palms on my thin shoulders, he guides me towards the sofa. I fall onto the cushions like a rag doll, letting him cover me with blankets. My eyes feel disconnected from my body as I watch him fill Honey’s bowl with fresh water and then grab a rawhide from the bags of treats he brought over and left a few days ago.

For a moment, I worry he’s mad at me because of the way his shoulders are tense, almost to his ears. But then he drops to a squat between my legs, places his hands on my forearms, and gently rubs my skin back to life. Shoulders tense, eyes boring into me, he’s the picture of pure pain. Just the sight of him on his knees before me has my heart pounding in my ears, the tips of my fingers tingling with the urge to touch him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the brain scan?” Jackson asks firmly, not giving me a chance for an out.

“I don’t like you seeing me that way,” I admit, cringing at the shake in my voice.

“What way?”

I swallow hard. “Weak.”

“Harper,” Jackon says, out of breath. His fingers tug at my shirt roughly. “I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you. No, want is the wrong word. Need. Making you laugh, smile, even roll your eyes at me is my life’s fucking mission. Don’t you get it, punk? I’m fucking in love with you. Every goddamn thing about you. I worship the ground you walk on. My world doesn’t start spinning for the day until I taste your sweet mouth. You’re perfect to me. Do you get it now? Huh?”

All the blood rushes from my heart, leaving me dizzy. The world returns, in pieces, until I’m blinking Jackson back into vision. Concern radiates off of him in thick waves as his fingers slowly drift through my hair, eyes rapidly flicking between mine.

“Okay, punk?”

I clear my throat awkwardly. “I’m fine.”

Jackson hums in disbelief, thumb dragging along my lower lip. “Caught you by surprise, huh?”

“A little,” I admit. Butterflies wage a war in my stomach, rising up to my chest. “Did you mean it?”

“Yeah. Stop trying to break up with me for stupid reasons.”

Tossing my forearm over my eyes, I hold back a sob. “Jackson, they’re very good reasons. The seizures aren’t controlled. Sometimes I piss myself. It’s fucking embarrassing. This could cause so many complications for the rest of my life. I can’t… I can’t saddle you with having to fucking take care of me.”

Jackson carefully tugs my arm away from my eyes. “It’s a part of life, part of you. I understand that more than anyone. But I’m not going anywhere. You can’t get rid of me now. I’m in your bones, in your lungs, just like you are for me. I’d go to war for you, so stop asking me to go to war to keep you. It’s not fair.”

“I feel so useless. I don’t want to need you to take care of me. I hate needing anyone.”

Jackson shifts to his knees, takes my face in his hands, and stares deeply into my eyes. He lightly shakes my head, imploring me to listen to him. “You don’t need me to take care of you. I want to take care of you. Just fucking get that through your head, Harper.”

“I’ll stop trying to break up with you,” I say, grumpy as hell.

Jackson beams. “Good boy. Honey would be very displeased if she lost me.”

I sigh dramatically. “You’re her favorite now.”

“I’m Daddy,” Jackson says matter-of-factly. He tugs me up by my arms, pulling me against his warm, solid frame. Sweeping his thumb along my lower lip, he tugs it down, before dipping down to kiss me. Our lips slide together, soft and slow, until I melt against him in a puddle of want and need. The Jackson Effect.

“There you are,” Jackson murmurs against my mouth.

“I love you, too.” I press the words into his mouth, not letting him reply. His fingers tangle in my hair, yanking my head into the position he wants so he can kiss me more deeply. My brain turns off as Jackson licks into my mouth, tasting me, making my mouth his own.

When he pulls away, it takes a solid few seconds for my brain to boot back online.

“God, that’s the fucking best.” Jackson tugs my hair hard, forcing me to open my eyes and gaze up at him in a daze. “The day you stop melting from my kiss is the day I’ll leave this earth.”

“You give good kisses,” I admit.

“I give great kisses. Give credit where credit is due.”

I softly punch his stomach, rolling my eyes when he laughs loudly. Honey bounds in from the kitchen, her eyes concerned for Jackson.

“You’re supposed to be my dog, Honey.”

Honey lets out a little yip, before coming to stand in front of me. Not in service mode, she lifts her head up for a pat. Once I’ve scratched her ears, Jackson scratches under her chin, then dips down to kiss her wet nose.

“Best girl ever,” Jackson coos, making Honey’s tail beat a rapid tattoo against the ground.

“Disgusting.”

Jackson pinches my thigh, making me yelp. “Be more respectful. This is the love of my life over here.”

“Not what you were saying a couple of minutes ago.” I exit the living room in a huff, leaving them be.

A few moments later the soft sound of Jackson’s feet padding against the wood floors alerts me to his presence. Fixing water for tea in the microwave, I wait for him to approach. Sure enough, a moment later his arm wraps around my shoulders from behind, the curve of the inside of his elbow resting just under my chin. His reflection greets me in the window, but his fond gaze is on the top of my head.

“Jackson…”

“Hush. I’m admiring you.”

“You’re being mushy again. You know I hate that.”

Jackson covers my mouth with his hand. “Be quiet. I’m admiring the scenery.”

My eyebrows furrow, but then a startled gasp escapes me when Jackson tugs my sweatpants and boxers down until the cold air slaps my bare ass. A pleased sigh filters from his lips, as his other hand gently caresses my ass cheek.

“One day I’ll spank the hell out of you. Then I’ll fuck you so deep that all you can feel, all you can think about, is me. Just the way you like it.”

My body grows heavy against him. He uses his arm around my neck to pull me in closer until my back is pressed tight against the solid line of his chest. Every now and then his thumb and forefinger pinch my ass cheek. Drowsiness overtakes me. All I can see and feel is Jackson.

“Harper,” Jackson calls my name, slowly waking me up from the daze his ministrations put me in.

“Jackson,” I echo, tongue thick in my mouth.

“Stay with me.” His palm leaves my mouth to drag along my shoulder, my forearm, finally tangling his fingers with mine. “I love you.”

Our gazes meet in the reflection of the window. A relieved smile slowly unfurls across my lips. Happiness, true and real, blooms to life inside me.

“I love you, too.”

And he does, and I do, and for at least this very moment, everything is perfect.

“I stopped at the store on the way over here, then I realized you weren’t here, and I called Beau, and then he called Andy, and well…” Jackson chuckles softly, his warm breath ghosting over my cheek. “I bought the ingredients to make my mama’s pie. I was thinking… maybe we can plug the oven in and bake it. Then maybe, if you wanted, we could leave the oven plugged in so that we can cook together when I come over.”

I know exactly what he’s doing. Two-months-ago Harper would’ve been pissed off, would’ve kicked and screamed, but current Harper sees Jackson’s point. Maybe I can loosen the reins a little and stop controlling every aspect of my life so carefully.

“Okay,” I agree.

Jackson spins me around with a wide, painful-looking grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I pause and kiss him softly on the mouth. “You’re doing all the stirring, though.”

I’ve never seen Jackson move so fast.