Page 24 of Tactical Revival

My son, my sweet boy, stands and starts toward the door, ready to take on a man twice his size.

“No, no, no, honey. Not at all. Jaxson was trying to help.”

He turns toward me. “Help with what?”

I sigh. I could keep it from him. Tell him a half-truth that downplays the entire situation. But it’s Matty’s life, too. “Remember a few months ago when we had that pipe that broke upstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“And before that when the ice storm hit and the old tree that was outside fell onto the house so we’d needed the roof repaired?”

“Yeah,” he repeats.

“Well, between the deductibles, the monthly bills, and a few other incidentals, I’ve got a mountain of debt I’m currently dealing with.” I leave out the debt I discovered that Chad took out in my name—the seven-thousand-dollar credit card balance that didn’t even make the list Jaxson saw.

“Mom. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The last thing I want to do is burden you with stuff like this. It’s mine to figure out, and I will. Jaxson just happened to stumble across some of the bills, and he was offering to help.”

“Did you take him up on it?”

“What? No. This is my thing to deal with.”

“But, Mom.” Matty reaches over and touches my hand. Other than the occasional hug, it’s the first time he’s initiated contact like this. “Jaxson wants to help.”

“He’s been enough of a help lately.”

“Fine. Sure. But if he wants to help, why not let him?”

“Because these aren’t his problems.”

“I just don’t get it. You tell me all the time if I need help to ask for it. You need help. You’re already running this place practically by yourself and you won’t let me do hardly anything.”

“You have school.”

“Yeah, I know, but still. Why can’t you accept Jaxson’s help when he’s clearly offering it?”

I can’t bring myself to tell him that it’s because even though I know Jaxson is not Chad, the idea of allowing a man to have even the illusion he helped get me out of a bind is terrifying. I never want anyone to have anything like that to hold over my head ever again.

“Jaxson isn’t Dad, Mom. If he were, he would have bailed already.”

I meet his gaze. “What?” Had I said something out loud?

“I’m not stupid. I know that’s what you’re worried about. I heard some of your fights with Dad. He threw this place in your face over and over again. But Jaxson’s not like that.”

Jaxson’s words come rushing back. “Margot. I’m not asking to be involved in your business, and I promise we’ll never speak about it again. You can even pay me back if you want. But let me help you so you don’t lose this place.”

“No,” I admit, defeated. “He’s not Dad.”

With a heaping plate of cookies and a fresh cup of coffee, I make my way upstairs and down the hall to the maintenance apartment at the very top of the house. Until Chad, I was never prideful. But now, accepting help feels like acid against my skin.

Before I can talk myself out of what I’m about to do, I knock.

A few seconds later, Jaxson is pulling open the door, wearing dark jeans and a white T-shirt, his dark hair wet from the shower he must have just finished. “Everything okay?” he asks, eyeing the cookies then me.

“May I come in?”

“Sure.” He steps aside so I can move into his apartment.

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