Chapter Twenty-Eight


    Shay


    The Jacksons have brunch every Sunday morning at ten. If someone’s schedule doesn’t allow for it on


    any given week, so be it, but the time is always the same. The only exceptions are when Christmas


    falls on a Sunday, and every Easter, when we skip brunch and meet at the family cabin for a big dinner.


    This Easter will be our biggest yet. Everyone will be here, including Easton and Abi. Even if I’m nervous


    about spending time around Easton with our tentative “just friends” arrangement, I’m d he and Abi


    have somewhere to spend the holiday.


    Jake is in the kitchen, working on the ham and a potato-and-sour-cream casserole. Nic is making half a


    dozen pies because that’s her way of showing us all how much she loves us. I’m hoping my stomach


    can handle some of this stuff. Not only is it delicious, but I suspect I’ve lost a few pounds, and I don’t


    N?velDrama.Org owns this.


    want to sink back into the cycle of feeling victorious every time the scale shows a lower number.


    “Do we drink red or white with ham?” Teagan asks, holding up both bottles. She’s in a pink spring dress


    today and looking as bright as the sunny day outside.


    I position thest fork in ce at the table and shrug. “I don’t think it matters.”


    Still holding the wine, she presses the back of one hand to my forehead. “What is wrong with you?


    You’re supposed to say both.”


    Iugh. Because she’s right. Typically, that would be my answer, but I’m not drinking tonight. Partly


    because Easton’s going to be here, and I’m afraid even the tiniest loosening of my inhibitions might


    any chance I have of eating a halfway decent meal. I’m sick of not having an appetite and living on dry


    toast. Even coffee upsets my stomach these days. Sad times indeed. “I’m ready for my stress levels to


    go down so I can eat and drink like a normal person again.”


    Teagan plops both bottles down on the table and props her hands on her hips. “Have you gone to the


    doctor yet?”


    I look over her shoulder to my brother Jake in the kitchen and down the hall toward the girls in the living


    room to make sure no one heard her. “Would you lower your voice, please?”


    She arches a brow.


    “Not yet. I’ve been kind of busy, but I’ll call on Monday.”


    “I’ve heard that before.”


    “I know, I know.” Maybe I’m stalling deliberately. Every time I fall asleep at myputer or sleep twelve


    hours when I’m normally good with seven, I think about how tired Mom was before she found out she


    had cancer. I think of Dad losing his battle. Maybe part of me knows that I need to take this seriously


    and I’m too scared of what I might find out.


    I hear the front door open and the sounds of Easton and Abi’s voices as Carter lets them in.


    Teagan shes me a grin. “Carter said that Easton said you two watched a movie together Friday


    night,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper.


    My cheeks burn at the memory of Easton on my couch. His hand. His wickedly dirty mouth. “What else


    did he tell him?”


    She smirks. “Nothing that should make you blush like that. What happened? He told Carter you wanted


    to just be friends for now, but he’s putting all his cards on the table with your brothers. He wants more,


    and he wants them to know his intentions so he doesn’t have to deal with any ‘protective brother’


    bullshit when he finally gets his shot with you.”


    I know how Easton feels. He hasn’t exactly hidden his intentions. Yet hearing Teagan tell it like that


    gives me massive butterflies.


    “Abigail!” Lilly’s scream is followed by the sound of little feet running on hardwood.


    “No running in the house!” Nic calls.


    “Lilly! I went shopping with my mom in Chicago this weekend. She took me to the American Girl Store


    and bought me a new doll. Do you like her?”


    “She’s beautiful! I have one upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you. Did you like Chicago? I’ve been there


    before and it was just so big. There are so many people.”


    “It’s nothing like L.A.,” Abi says. “There are even more people there.”


    “No way.”


    The sound of the girls’ chatter quiets as they head upstairs, and Teagan and I exchange smiles.


    “They’re adorable together, aren’t they?” Easton says.


    I spin and see him at the threshold to the dining room, his hands tucked into his pockets. He takes me


    in slowly, and those blue-green eyes darken. “Happy Easter, Easton,” I say. He looks . . . edible.


    Tailored ck pants, a sky-blue oxford with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled to his elbows.


    His forearms are a work of art, and my mouth goes dry as I ogle them and remember the muscles there


    bunching as he worked between my legs.


    “Happy Easter.” His husky timbre is the stuff of wet dreams. Or maybe that’s the memory of what we


    did on my couch. Both. “Thanks for having us.”


    “I’m not the one who invited you.”


    His lips twitch. “This is true.”


    “Easton,” Carter calls. “Do you still suck at pool? Come downstairs so I can kick your ass.”


    “Language!” Lilly shouts from upstairs, and Eastonughs, delighted by her bossy reprimand.


    “Do you need any help?” he asks me, looking the table over. It’s set beautifully, if I say so myself.


    “Go y with Carter,” I say. “He’s missed his buddy all these years.”


    Easton drags his bottom lip through his teeth and gives me one final head-to-toe once-over that leaves


    my skin tingling. “As you wish.” He winks then heads to the basement.


    Teagan grabs a te off the table and fans herself. “Holy sexual tension, Shayleigh. You two are gonna


    fog up the windows in here if you keep looking at each other like that.”


    I pull out a chair and sit because I’m suddenly lightheaded.


    Teagan chuckles. “You okay?”


    “I’m . . .” I put my fingers to my lips. I’m so many things.


    “Lemme guess, starts with an H and rhymes with corny.”


    I grab a napkin from the ce setting in front of me and toss it at her. It floats ineffectually to the floor at


    her feet.


    Laughing, she picks it up, refolds it, and returns it to the te in front of me, but her face is serious


    when she says, “It’s okay to give him another chance. He lives here. He has custody of his daughter.


    Everything’s different now.”


    Yeah, it really is. This time I might be the one who ends up in L.A. while he’s here.


    ***


    Dinner was the usual chaotic and boisterous affair of a dozen conversations happening at any given


    time and enough food to feed a small army.


    I take kitchen duty after the meal ends, partly because I’m one of the few people here who isn’t


    responsible for a child of some sort, and partly because I could use the time to get my thoughts in


    order. The day turned out nice, and everyone’s outside enjoying the mild temp and sunshine by the


    water. I find myself lingering—towel-drying and putting away dishes rather than leaving them in the


    rack, wiping down the counters a second time, even going as far as to organize the little we keep in the


    pantry.


    I don’t understand why until I look out the window and see the girls chasing Noah barefoot in the sand


    and all my brothers standing around a fire talking. This might be myst Easter living in Jackson


    Harbor.


    The thought strikes me and cuts through the little energy I have like a sharp knife. I pull out a kitchen


    chair and sink into it.


    “Why so sad, Short Stack?”


    I turn away from the window to find Easton sitting down opposite me. “I’m not sad.”


    “Could’ve fooled me.”


    I shake my head. Not sad. I’m a little disappointed that the truth didn’t hit me sooner, and maybe even a


    little embarrassed, but not sad. “I’m just thinking.”


    “Tell me.”


    I nod toward the window, toward my family. “This is how I want to fill my life.” I swallow, overwhelmed


    with the rightness of the choice. “Not with schrly articles and stacks of papers. Not with tenure and


    postdoc work. I’ve enjoyed getting my doctorate, but when I choose whates next, I want it to


    include this.”


    He follows my gaze out the window. “I can’t me you.”


    “You don’t think it makes me a quitter? Or a coward?”


    “I guess that depends.” He takes a deep breath, and I wonder if it’s fair to either of us to ask him this


    question. I already know he’d like me to stay. “Are you giving up a dream? Are you turning down a job


    you want because you’re scared of starting new somewhere?”


    “Being a college professor wasn’t ever a dream. It was just . . . a job.” Iugh. “And pursing a PhD was


    the best way to drag out my school years when I wasn’t ready to enter the real world.”


    He’s watching me. “Close your eyes.”


    “Why?”


    “It’s a little visualization exercise. Just do it.”


    “Okay.” I obey and wait. What is he doing?


    “I know it’s hard, but try to forget what’s stressing you out right now. Imagine everything works out


    easily, and five years have passed. The stress is gone. The decisions have been made and you’re


    happy.”


    I smile. It’s a relief to imagine being beyond this moment in my life. It’s not a hardship to imagine when


    I’ve moved past these worries, past my defense and my career choices, past George and the decision


    of how I’m going to tell his wife the truth.


    “It’s five years from now,” Easton says, and his deep voice helps me rx. “You have the day off and


    you wake up on your own. You roll out of bed and walk out of your bedroom. Where are you? Who’s


    there? How do you feel? What are you doing with your day?”


    “I . . .” The image is so clear, and my heart aches with how badly I want it. This future.


    “Keep your eyes closed,” he says softly. “Look around. Step outside if you want. Grab your nner and


    open your calendar—what do you haveing up this month? This is the life you built, and you love it.


    Study the details. What makes you smile? Like any life, there’s good and bad, but what are the parts


    that make the tough moments worth it? What excites you? Here, in this moment, five years from now,


    you can find all the answers you need.”


    It’s easier than I would have imagined. Everything is so clear—the sunny room I wake up in, the smell


    of coffee in the kitchen, the warm feel of someone wrapping me in a hug from behind before I turn to


    smile. I open my eyes and find him watching me. “That was incredible.”


    “Did it help?”


    I nod. “I’d already decided, but yeah. The visualization helped nail it down. Thank you.”


    His throat bobs as he swallows. “Where were you?”


    “In Jackson Harbor, and I have a family.” I study him and wonder if I’m a fool for having the same


    dreams for my future now that I had when I was a twenty-year-old college student studying in Paris.


    The idea of moving to L.A. doesn’t thrill me, but the idea of staying home, of letting my choices be


    guided by my family? Does it really matter if that makes me a small-town girl? Or old-fashioned?


    Maybe those things aren’t bad. Maybe they’re just me.


    “That sounds like a good start,” Easton says.


    “I think for me it is. There are people who thrive by revolving their life around their career, but there’s no


    career I want enough for that.”


    “What about writing?”


    I smile. Leave it to Easton to refuse to forget my whispered dreams. “I’m not sure even a career as a


    novelist would be enough to substitute for living near the people I love the most. But that’s moot, isn’t


    it? I can do that anywhere . . . if I’m ever lucky enough to do it at all. And until then, I just need a job


    that pays the bills and allows me to live my life. There are so many opportunities with my family’s


    business that I’d enjoy. A job that gives me a sense of satisfaction and lets me spend my free time with


    my favorite people in the world.” I shrug. “For better or worse, that’s enough for me.”


    He takes my hand and strokes his thumb across my knuckles. He’s quiet for a long time, and when he


    does talk, he draws in a deep breath first. “Take a walk with me?”


    “I’d like that. Do you need to tell Abi?”


    He shakes his head. “Nah. I told Carter I wasing in here to ask you on a walk, so he’s going to


    keep an eye on her.”


    I’m wearing ts with my dress, so I trade them for a pair of canvas tennis shoes on the way out the


    door. The fresh air feels good, the sun amazing after the long winter, and I find myself smiling as we


    stroll the property. There’s so much left to do and decide, but I already feel better having made my


    decision. I’ll have to call Emmitson University next week and cancel my interview. I don’t need to waste


    their time or mine.


    We wander past the house and away from the beach toward the pole barn where we keep the


    snowmobiles and store the boat andke equipment during the winter. Easton knows this property as


    well as I do, having spent a good chunk of his teenage summers and weekends hanging out here.


    “Thank you for taking me through that,” I say after we’ve walked for a while. “It was helpful.”


    “I can’t take the credit. When I was trying to decide whether or not to retire, my therapist did that


    exercise with me. I found it . . . insightful.”


    “And your vision brought you back here?”


    “Yeah.” He looks down at me. “I guess we have that inmon. I think it was the right decision, too. It’s


    such a relief to see Abi happy, but I owe that to your family. You all weed us and made us feel . . .”


    I smile. “Wee?”


    He smacks my ass lightly. “Pest. I was going to say not alone.”


    “Well, I think that’s what friends do.” I take his hand and intertwine our fingers. “I like being your friend,


    Easton.” And maybe, if I stay, we could work on being something more.


    Something shes in his eyes, but he looks away before I can ce the emotion. “About that . . .”


    We keep walking, but I squeeze his hand. “What?”


    He lifts our hands and studies them. Mine is so small in his, but to me, it’s the perfect fit. He shakes his


    head. “Nothing.”


    I nce at the pole barn over my shoulder and smile. “Come on.” I tug him toward the barn, and he


    follows.


    I enter the security code on the door and push inside. It’s darker in here, the only light from the high


    windows on the garage doors, but there’s enough to see and it’s still nice and cool, unlike in the


    summer, when the metal walls turn it into an oven.


    I shut the door and smile up at him. “When I was a teenager, you and I were alone in here once. You


    were in a pair of swim trunks, shirtless, and I was looking for the big float for theke.”


    “I remember. You were wearing a ck swimsuit and . . .” He bites a knuckle dramatically, and Iugh.


    “Carter was pissed at me that day.”


    He prowls forward. Slowly. Too slowly. “I was.”


    “I think I believe that now, but I didn’t then. I couldn’t have. So I did what I always did when I needed to


    cheer myself up. I told myself a story.”


    Easton stops two feet away and tilts his head to the side. “What kind of story?”


    “I imagined I was the kind of girl you’d look at—”


    “Not a stretch, since you were.”


    “And that you desperately wanted to kiss me.”


    “I did.”


    “I told myself you were going to stop tinkering with Jake’s old bike and notice me sitting here.”


    His nostrils re. “I noticed.”


    “Maybe if we’d been friends then—like we are now—I would’ve had the courage to tell you I wanted


    you to kiss me.”


    “We are friends, right?” I whisper. “I like being your friend. Do you like it?”


    He buries his face in my neck, and I gasp at the feel of his tongue flicking the sensitive skin behind my


    ear. “I like this.” He sucks my earlobe between his teeth. “And this.”


    I whimper. “Yes, me too.” I turn my head, searching for his mouth, and he kisses me hard. His hands


    are in my hair, and our tongues collide. Desperate. Searching.


    “As your friend,” he says, his voice all low and gravelly when he breaks the kiss, “I couldn’t help but


    notice the way you were looking at me tonight.” Updated at Drаmanovels


    “How did I look?”


    “Like being friends might not be enough for you. Like you were thinking about me getting you off on


    your couch. Like you were thinking that maybe next time, you want more from me.”


    My breath catches as his knuckles graze the damp cotton between my thighs. “I can’t stop thinking


    about it,” I confess, fighting the urge to rock into him.


    “Me neither.” He dips his head to the swell of my breast above the neckline of my dress, opens his


    mouth, and bites down gently.


    My breath shudders out of me. “I want to touch you.”


    I free him from his jeans and nearly gasp at the feel of him in my hand—hard and silken against my


    palm. Hard for me.


    He rocks into my fist, groaning. “Shay. Fuck, that’s good.”


    I lean forward and press my mouth to the tip of his cock. The way he jerks under my lips sends a rush


    of power through me so potent I feel like I could do anything. I run my tongue along the underside then


    grip him at the base of his shaft before I take him into my mouth.


    Maybe this is reckless, but we’ve already crossed lines, and right now, there’s nothing I want more than


    to make hime.


    He threads his fingers through my hair, not so much to guide me but as if he’s trying to hold me, to


    keep more contact between us. I work my mouth over him, pulling him deep for a few strokes before


    releasing himpletely and licking his tip with my tongue.


    When I pull him deep again, he tugs lightly on my hair. “Shay.”


    I look up at him, increasing my suction. He releases a loud groan and the metal walls around us


    vibrate.


    He closes his eyes. “Shit, I want toe inside you.”


    I release him and stroke his wet shaft in my fist. “Condom?” The word breaks on my tongue because I


    want that too.


    He grimaces. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Are you . . . on anything?”


    I bite my lip. It’s so damn tempting. “Yes, but I haven’t been tested since I found out about George’s . . .


    indiscretions. Until I know I’m healthy, we shouldn’t risk it.”


    Swallowing hard, he nods. “I get it.”


    I grin. He thinks this is over, but I’m not done yet. “Just enjoy letting me live out a teenage fantasy,” I


    say, and I’m treated to another groan as I take him back in my mouth and suck every bit of pleasure


    from him I can.