Page 75 of First Surrender

“Did you just compliment me?”

“Um, no. He just looks like a teenager now, not my baby brother.”

Jackson isn’t the worst person in the world to look like but I’m not ready to say nice things like that to his face.

As the day progresses we go back to our usual routine. I do my thing, he does his, and Dec bounces around the house like a maniac. Our only conversation is surface level and in the safety of the kitchen. I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle my feelings toward Jackson now that they’re taking over my thoughts.

I need to pick a fight with him so I can distract myself from all the “what are we” questions in my head.

I won’t fight with him unless he starts it first. Then I’ll win for sure.

“What’s for dinner?” Dec asks.

“I don’t know, what does it smell like? What kind of music am I listening to?” This is our usual game. I make him work for it to challenge his brain a little bit.

I’ve always loved feeling the culture while I cook, imagining that one day it would click and one of them would feel right. I could find a small way to connect with my unknown heritage.

“It’s spaghetti,” he states with confidence.

“It’s not spaghetti, but close.”

“Lasagna!”

I smile at his correct answer. “Yep, where do you think lasagna comes from? Think about the music.”

“It’s Italiano!” He shouts enthusiastically, pinching his fingers and thumb together in that stereotypical way that I know he learned on TV somewhere.

“Good job, Dec,” Jackson says, startling me. I didn’t realize he was watching the interaction. He snuck in and sat on one of the barstools without me noticing.

He gives me that knowing look, pointing out the secret conversation that he and I are the only ones in the world who know about.

“Dec, go wash your hands,” I tell him like I do every day, regretting it as soon as he leaves the room. Jackson studies me and my heart rate picks up. His eyes cover me inch by inch, from my head to my toes.

“I like you in my shirt.” His voice is low and husky, it makes my toes curl. I changed into shorts earlier, but I’m still wearing the t-shirt he put on me last night. I’m not wearing a bra becauseI hardly ever do, my chest isn’t big enough to need one unless I’m out in public. Sometimes even then I skip one.

I probably should wear a bra if my nipples are going to react every time he speaks to me because he notices. He definitely notices.

I should turn around or cross my arms to cover my chest, but part of me is still too stubborn to back down first.

“It’s an okay shirt.” I shrug, instead. His eyes narrow and I see the challenge in them, and it turns me on beyond belief. Part of me wishes the kitchen island wasn’t between us but a bigger part is glad for the distance.

The oven beeps, distracting me from our standoff just as Dec comes back into the room. Jackson and I go back to avoiding eye contact, or at least I do.

We eat and close out the evening as usual until I’m suddenly lying in bed, staring at my ceiling. The normalcy of the day is long gone from my mind and in its place is bounds of negativity.

My guilt, my failures, and my loss.

There’s a gaping hole in my heart that can only be healed by time, but I’m too impatient to accept that. Women have miscarriages. I had a miscarriage and I have to move on. Except, I’m not ready to. I’m not ready to be alone again.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m silently braving my way down the hallway toward Jackson’s room. It’s dark through the crack in his door and I don’t know if he usually leaves it open or if I’m taking it as an invitation, but I enter quietly in case it’s not.

He seems to be sleeping soundly with the blankets wrapped around his waist and his arms tucked under the pillow, beneath his head. His muscles have muscles and I never thought the overt masculinity was something that I was into, but apparently it is.

The warmth in my belly cannot be mistaken for anything other than scorching attraction, which is a nice reprieve from the pit of cold sorrow I felt moments ago.

He doesn’t stir as I climb onto his bed, settling along the edge in case I need to make a quick escape.

The air feels lighter in here, the atmosphere isn’t so suffocating and relief washes over me because I might actually get some rest tonight.

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