Chapter 4

4

JACKSON

E very morning I have the exact same routine. An hour in bed selling or buying stocks, work out, eat breakfast, then take a long decadent shower to ease my aching muscles. But after that? Well, I don’t have much else to take up the long minutes that stretch my day. The fake boyfriend thing was a fun distraction that got me out, got me laid, and got me money. Chump change in comparison to my day trading, but it was something.

I don’t know what the hell to do with myself now. I think about calling my parents and checking in but it’s still early. Mom will probably be puttering around her garden, while Dad will be inspecting the neighborhood for cans to exchange at the recycling center across town. A small surge of homesickness courses through me. Instead of calling, I shoot my parents a text just to tell them I love them. That’s a good start to the day.

Guess it’s time to bother my best friends.

The sun is just breaking over the trees as my G-Wagon rumbles down the gravel road leading to Trevor’s house. Beau’s house? At this point I’m not sure what to call it, but they’re living together. I know how big of a deal that is for Trevor. As I pull up, it’s easy to spot the two of them in the three-car garage attached to the idyllic farmhouse.

Trevor turns towards me with a curious hand shading his eyes. Concern flashes in his gaze, quickly disappearing when he notices my easy smile. Communicating with Trevor has always been easy, mostly done through facial expressions, or singular words with a particular tone. The man is a walking lie detector test.

A grunt pulls my gaze to Beau who’s leaned over an old truck, shirtless, covered in a slight sheen of sweat in the early October air. My eyes flick back over to Trevor. His blond hair is mucked up and there's fresh beard burn at the base of his throat. Trevor’s eyes narrow when he notices my gaze. I hold my hands up in defense.

“What’s up?” Trevor asks.

Beau’s head turns slightly, then returns to the truck. “Stay too long and I’ll put you to work.”

“Yes, sir.” I make myself at home on one of the metal barstools at the worktable.

Trevor’s gaze returns to Beau, and when his boyfriend grunts again, Trevor wordlessly hands him a different tool from the lip of the truck. I watch enraptured for a little while as they silently work together. If someone had told me a few years ago that the young kid that helped Claire start the business would be at home helping his boyfriend fix a truck, I would’ve told them to get their head checked. Gone is the man who held everyone, even his friends, at a distance.

“So?” Trevor asks quietly while handing Beau a rag.

The two of them continue to work together to get Beau all cleaned up. Beau presses a soft kiss to Trevor’s slightly stubbled cheek before turning to head into the house without a single word. The man is such an enigma, but Trevor worships the ground he walks on. That will always be enough. If Trevor loves someone, then they’re in the inner circle for life.

“I’m bored.” I kick my feet against the ground. “What do you do all day?”

Trevor’s gaze swings towards the house for a second, then returns to me. “My reasons for being here are a little different than yours, Jackson.”

“What’s that mean?”

With a heavy sigh, Trevor leans his back against the truck. His golden hair is loose around his shoulders today, something I’m not used to seeing. Back in Georgia, it was up in a bun most of the time. Maybe that’s another sign of what this place is doing for him.

“I’m thankful for the slow life for a change. Life with Beau, it’s everything I’ve always wanted.” Trevor points his finger at me with a calculating look. “Whereas, you’ve never been happy sitting still. You need something to do. Beau would gladly put you to work at the farm.”

I grunt. “I have a bum knee.”

Trevor rolls his eyes and pushes off of the truck. He crosses his arms over his chest while aiming his steely blue gaze at me. “You’re restless.”

I pinch my forefinger and thumb together. “Just a little.”

Trevor’s lips twitch as he tries not to laugh. “Your fingers aren’t supposed to touch.”

I gasp in feigned shock. “Really? Hey, so, what’s the deal with Harper?”

Trevor’s gaze turns shrewd. “Why?”

Swiveling in the chair, I keep my gaze as steady as I can. I want Trevor to know I’m serious, not fucking around. After the other day with Harper, I want to be the man’s friend, but I also want to kiss the hell out of him. I’ve never had someone rile me up, make me laugh, and activate my protective instincts all at once before. He’s perfect. I’ve needed him since he told me he rated NFL players by hotness. Who does that? Just Harper.

I shrug in answer. “He’s interesting.”

“And Beau and Colby are very protective of him, for good reason,” Trevor says matter-of-factly. He crosses the garage and places his hands on my knees to stop my swiveling. Our eyes lock as Trevor inspects my motivations solely through touch. “You can’t fuck and run with him.”

“I don’t fuck and run,” I say sourly.

Trevor hums in blatant disagreement. “Harper acts like a Sour Patch Kid but I’m pretty sure inside he’s just melted marshmallow goodness.”

“He has mile-high walls.”

Trevor nods. “Yeah. If you break Harper’s heart, I won’t hold Beau back. That man is the most gentle teddy bear in the world, but he’d burn the world for those he loves. He reminds me of someone else I know.”

My eyebrows furrow. “Who?”

“You, idiot.”

Oh. Suddenly, I’m reminded of the times Trevor returned covered in bruises from a night with a john. One time, he had a split lip so fat that he couldn’t even drink through a straw for a few days. Helping him hide from Claire had been one of the worst experiences of my life. I’d so badly wanted to hack into Claire’s computer to find the name of the john that Trevor had spent the night with. He’d just smiled as best he could, patted my arm with glassy eyes, and told me it’d been consensual. If I didn’t want it, they wouldn’t get the chance to do it . That had taught me a large lesson in trust. Wait for loved ones to ask for me to scorch the earth, instead of doing it without permission.

But now look at Trevor, happy as can be with a man who would never even have the urge to cause him pain. Sometimes, we all get what we need exactly when we need it.

“Coffee?” Beau calls out from the back porch.

The way Trevor’s eyes soften and glow at the sight of Beau warms me to the very core. A contented smile tugs at the corner of Trevor’s lips. We amble up towards the back porch and I take a seat at the weathered table. Trevor heads inside to help Beau with the coffee, and I spot them through the sliding glass doors, hugging and swaying in the kitchen as they gaze at each other with open, clear affection. I tear my gaze away before Trevor can notice I’m watching them.

Trevor walks through the sliding glass door with one of his easy, soft grins.

“I put some vanilla creamer in yours,” Trevor says while placing a steaming mug on the table.

“Thank you.” The coffee is the perfect temperature, well brewed with a hint of caramel.

Beau joins us at the table, placing his arm around the back of Trevor’s chair like it’s second nature by now. Trevor sips at the coffee to no doubt prevent a lovesick grin when Beau’s thumb starts to trace lazy circles over his bicep. They’re disgusting and I love it. I want that kind of love so badly, to be so in tune with someone that I know exactly what they need without a word. My parents always had that type of abundant love, no second-guessing, just knowing that at the end of the day they had one another.

The problem is that I’m a possessive fuck. If I’m actually dating someone, usually they get sick of it fast. So at a certain point, I just stopped dating. Stopped bothering with love at all. But by the time my parents were my age, they’d had a toddler, were married, and owned a home. All I have is a fake boyfriend career because of a bad knee that ruled out any sort of career in the league.

“I could put you to work at the farm,” Beau says a little while later.

I can’t help but snort. “Trevor already offered.”

Beau tilts his head as he sips from a dark blue coffee mug with a chip in the rim. “Offer stands.”

“What are you doing today?” I aim my question at Trevor.

“Today’s Beau’s day off,” Trevor says shyly.

I can take a hint. “Let me get out of your hair.”

I quickly gulp down the rest of my coffee, firmly shake Beau’s hand and lovingly pat Trevor’s head. Trevor bats me away with a small smile. As I back out of the drive, I catch sight of Trevor standing and squeezing Beau’s hand before heading inside the house. The way Beau stares in Trevor’s direction tells me everything I need to know about the man. I’m going to get that sort of love if it’s the last thing I do.

After some investigating, I’ve learned that Harper stops by the cupcake store a handful of times a week. The man has an absolutely unquenchable sweet tooth. Just before lunch on Friday, I dip into Bee’s with a cheeky grin. The owner, Trisha, smiles conspiratorially as I take a seat at one of the small tables towards the back.

Yesterday I’d staked her out to find out when Harper frequents the store. She’d been a little too easy to get information out of really. I could be some kind of psychopathic stalker. I’m not, but I could be.

A little past noon, the bell above the door tinkles, and in strides Harper with Honey at his side. His hair is down today, flowing in soft waves past his shoulders. For one brief moment, I wonder what his hair would feel like between my fingers, tangled in my grip as I tug tight.

“Afternoon, Harp.” Trisha leans on the counter with a motherly smile. “What do you want today?”

Harper’s fingers twitch at his sides, before sweeping his hair off his neck. Immediately, Trisha’s smile falters. I watch in confusion as she hustles to get a cold bottle of water and come around the counter. She guides him to a table while opening the bottle of water. Harper’s eyes are distant, but he gratefully takes the cold water, sipping slowly at it with his eyes shut.

Trisha straightens, sending a weary look at me over her shoulder, subtly shaking her head in a clear indication that today isn’t the day. Well, I’ll just have to alter my plans. Harper seems to come back to himself in pieces, eyes gaining their normal vibrant forest-green shade. He blinks slowly a few times until finally his gaze lands on me.

An irritated scowl covers his face just at the sight of me. That won’t do. Hoping to soften my presence, I send him a small wave. Harper immediately glances toward Trisha behind the counter. He rubs a hand over his face, pulls his hair up, and twists it into a bun. Honey sits at his feet, gaze firmly on him, tail woefully still on the floor.

His eyes are so lasered onto the table that he might start a fire. Coming to a stop just in front of him, I tap the table with my fingers to gain his attention. But he doesn’t even blink. A small drop of sweat rolls down his neck, disappearing under the back of his shirt. It’s not that hot out today, at least it wasn’t when I was outside earlier. Just a typical eighty-degree Florida day.

“Would you like a ride home?” I ask softly.

“No,” Harper says firmly.

“Harper, sweetie,” Trisha calls out, voice laced with concern.

When I turn to look at Trisha, her eyes all but beg me to drive him home.

“I’m heading that way anyway. I need to meet Trevor for something. I can drop you off on the way.” I do my best to use the tone that usually gets me my way, firm, just slightly daddy.

Harper seemingly doesn’t take the bait. A few stilted moments pass by before he lets out an annoyed breath.

“If you’re going that way,” Harper acquiesces with seemingly great reluctance and slowly stands from the table. The smell of his woodsy cologne reaches me, sandalwood. The scent smells sweet on him.

Trisha extends a small cupcake box over the counter as Harper passes by. With a sweet smile that I so badly want aimed my way, Harper gently takes the box from Trisha. Harper all but flees the store, but I take a moment to send Trisha an I’ve got this type of smile. It’s only a minute walk to my car, but I walk slowly considering Harper still seems a little unsteady on his feet.

Just like last time, I open the doors to get Harper inside, then usher Honey into the back seat without touching her. Harper is alarmingly quiet. He stares listlessly out the window the entire drive. I’m not sure if it’s more annoyance with me or whatever medical condition he has that warrants Honey’s presence in his life. Maybe it’s a combination of both.

Harper tries to climb out of the car, but I stop him with a rough hand on his forearm. A little furrow forms between his brows as his gaze flits from my hand to my face.

“Let me help you inside? I’ll worry all night if I don’t make sure you’re fine.”

Harper takes a steadying breath, then swallows loudly. “Fine.”

Thank God. Honey jumps out of the car like a good girl. She waits patiently for Harper to climb out of the car, and I stand at his side the entire time in case he missteps. His gait is slightly lopsided as he makes his way up the perfectly straight stairs of his house. A keypad on the front door unlocks with a soft beep after he presses his forefinger against it. Interesting.

The inside of his house is cool and dark, all the blinds shut tight against the sunlight. I’d expected something different, bright yellows, bright happy sunshine through the house. But the place is dark, even the furniture, although clearly modern, at odds with the exterior of the small sweet farmhouse. Harper turns around at the sound of me stepping inside. His eyes flash in the dark, nostrils flaring.

“Aren’t you going to meet up with Trevor?” Harper asks, voice laced with venom.

I shrug nonchalantly. “He’s busy. I can stay, and we can hang out?”

Harper pads into the kitchen and roughly slams the cupcake box on the island. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Good, because I don’t pity you one bit,” I say sternly.

Harper stands up straight, hackles raised. “Then why would you want to stay?”

“I told you that already. We’re friends. Would you leave a friend alone after they seemed to be having a small medical emergency?”

Harper visibly deflates. “I’m not having a medical emergency. I got overheated.”

I pretend to sneeze. “Sorry, I was recently diagnosed with a severe allergy to bullshit. Want to try again?”

Harper’s mouth parts in disbelief. “That’s my line.”

“Are you going to go back to work? If not, I’d love to hang out. I moved here and spend most of my days bored out of my mind.”

“No…” Harper trails off with a frown. “I’m not working for the rest of the day.”

I grin to ease his clear trepidation about letting me stay. My gaze sweeps around the house as Harper makes a decision. Once my gaze adjusts to the darkness, I can see that it’s not as dark inside as I had initially thought. The furniture is dark blues with dark yellow and gold accents scattered throughout. Harper clearly has good taste in decorating. Either that or someone with taste helped him. But the decoration oddly has a Harper touch as it’s eclectic but also homey.

Harper wanders into the living room wearing the perpetual scowl he seems to have mostly in my presence. I don’t even know what I did to him to have him so irritated with me from the start. Can I just ask him? Hi, Harper, I think you’re fucking beautiful, why are you so annoyed with me all the time? I get the feeling asking Harper anything remotely having to do with his feelings would incur a wrath I’ve never seen before. Problem is I might enjoy his wrath.

The cushion on the back of the sofa gives slightly under Harper’s head when he tosses it back. He sits bonelessly on the sofa, all long, thin limbs. Sitting next to him, I carefully arrange myself into the least threatening presence possible. I’m larger than most people. I definitely don’t want to intimidate Harper in any way.

His eyes blink open when I jostle him on the sofa. “I know you didn’t have plans with Trevor.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

He nods tiredly. “You made it up just to give me a ride home.”

“And if that’s true?”

Harper purses his lips in thought. His fingers play with a string at the edge of a throw blanket on the chaise section of his sofa.

“Still feels a lot like pity,” Harper explains, face flushing. The blooms of red across his cheeks make me absolutely feral. I have to take a few calming breaths to keep calm.

“Not pity. You know, you’re actually doing me a favor. I moved here and most days I’m bored out of my mind. Trevor’s busy with Beau, Eli’s in school… would you be interested in showing me around town? Helping to keep me entertained?”

It’s obvious that angle works because Harper relaxes even further into the sofa.

“Sure. Honey has to come with us though.”

“Of course.”

Harper hums and closes his eyes. Honey still has her vest on, but she visibly relaxes when Harper clearly falls asleep. Carefully to avoid waking Harper, I slowly rise from the sofa, padding quietly into the kitchen. The light under the microwave is on, adding an orange glow to the dark room. Thankfully, the cupcakes are fine in their box. I’d worried maybe they’d gotten damaged in Harper’s tight grip in the car.

I open his fridge to snoop, and find it loaded with premade meals, each clearly labeled. The freezer contains mostly ice cream, old Easter candy, and popsicles. The man has a serious sweet tooth. After my perusal of his fridge, I walk carefully down the hallway. The walls are mostly empty except for what appears to be a photo of Harper with his cousins. Harper is much younger in the photo, hair buzzed short, the scar on the side of his face less faded with time. But the grin on his lips is wide while tucked between a younger Colby, Beau, and Andy.

Leaning back on my heels, I check if Harper’s still asleep on the sofa. Suddenly, snooping around feels more invasive than it did when I started. The man covets his privacy, and I can’t invade it while he sleeps soundly. I carefully pull the throw blanket over Harper’s sleeping body. He sniffles a little, then dips down to curl across the length of the sofa. Honey rests her head on Harper’s extended arm, gazing up at me in obvious thanks.

“Take care of him?” I whisper to Honey.

She just yawns in reply.

I give one last lingering look at a peacefully sleeping Harper. Impulsively, I backtrack to the kitchen, and silently dig through the drawers for a paper and pen. A sticky note will have to do. I scrawl my phone number across the note along with my name, then stick it to the fridge. He probably won’t call me, but at least he’ll have my number. That comforting thought carries me all the way home.