First Surrender (Chance Encounters #3)

Chapter Fifteen

Natalie

“ H ey, Brax.”

“Hey, sweetie,” my manager greets me as I come through the door to our coffee shack. She’s stocking the cups, preparing for the morning rush. She typically opens and I come right after Dec gets to school.

She’s been managing the “Babe Shack” since it opened. It was the only job I could find in this town that would give me the hours I needed. The funds could be better.

Our customers are mostly male and usually generous with tips. I’m probably one of the more modestly dressed baristas but that’s only because I’m terrified a parent from school is going to see me and judge Dec for it. I’d probably make more money if I showed more skin, but it’s the sacrifice I make to help me pretend I’m doing this guardianship justice.

“Do anything fun last night?” Brax asks innocently but my heart skips a beat.

“Um, no nothing. Stayed in,” I lie. I would never tell her that I was getting railed by an Adonis look-alike. Or that he knew exactly what he was doing and how to get it done. My legs are still trembling just thinking about it.

I accepted that he will always live in my memory as the only man to give me an orgasm but because he’ll never know, I’m not wasting any time being upset about it. I will take it to my grave. Every time I see his face I will treat him like every other man in this world who pisses me off.

I’ll pay him back for every cent he has spent on the hotel that Dec and I are staying in. I’ll find somewhere else to live and then that will be the end of it. He can keep paying his deputies the overtime, that is not my problem.

I do my best to ignore the dark cloud over my head, the reason the deputies are watching over us in the first place. Declan might try to hurt Dec. That bastard is going to burn in hell before he ever gets to my baby brother.

Jackson’s offer to take us in was ridiculous, but objectively kind. It softened me up enough to make the earth-shattering decision to sleep with him. I am so stupid. Nothing good was going to come of that and I practically took advantage of him. He’s a man with a penis, of course, he wasn’t going to turn me down.

After he finished, leaving me empty and instantly unsatisfied, I knew I was screwed. He made me finish but that’s not what left me unsatisfied. I was disappointed not to feel him explode inside of me. I hated the thought as soon as I had it, but I had it.

I was terrified to look at him and see any disgust or regret on his face after what we did. My nerves couldn’t take it. After everything, it’s safer to go back to hating each other. Sex changes nothing.

I power through my shift, filling custom coffee and drink orders, and feeling every ache and pain from what we did. The soreness between my legs is a constant reminder and I am trying to ignore it.

When I looked in the mirror after getting dressed this morning, my eyes were drawn to the dermal piercing between my breasts and my whole body heated remembering his tongue on me.

He has stained my brain and it’s not fair. It makes me want to scream every time I think about him unprompted.

Damn you, Jackson Malec. Damn you.

* * *

“I’m sorry, honey, he’s still not here,” the older secretary Jackson called Roberta the other night tells me. This is the second day in a row that I’ve tried stopping into the Sheriff’s Department to give him money.

Regardless of what transpired between us, I have every intention to pay him back for the hotel. A little at a time, but I’ll get there. I wanted my effort recognized but this is the second day he isn’t in the office.

“Is he busy or something?” I ask, confused. What could make him be away from his office this much?

“No.” She glances around to make sure no one is listening. A few people are scattered throughout the lobby and at other desks, but no one is paying attention to us. “He’s at home, sick. The flu, I think. Poor guy.”

“Oh. Is he okay?” I wasn’t expecting that and it’s a little concerning since I had my tongue down his throat a few days ago.

“I’m not sure. He’s never, ever called off sick before. I’m afraid it’s bad if he’s needed to be off this many days.” Her sorrowful eyes tell me that she is genuine in her concern. She probably loves the man like a son. “Is there something I can help you with?” She asks, eyeballing the envelope in my hand.

“No, I need to give him this directly. Thank you, though. I’ll try tomorrow.”

The next morning I called the office number on the business card he had given me weeks ago and spoke to Roberta directly. She informed me that he called off for the third day. I assured her I’d check on him and she thanked me profusely. I didn’t have the heart to tell her my reasons are mostly selfish.

I want to drop the money off and get the burden off my shoulders one block at a time. Making sure he is okay is only a ruse. If he’s passed out, dehydrated on the floor, then I’ll let someone know but only because I wouldn’t want Roberta to have a heart attack if something happened to her precious Sheriff.

When I pull in, crossing over a small creek that separates his property from the road, the sun is shining down on the pristine white driveway. The house is no different, a modern cottage with a black roof and doors, the white siding looks brand new. It couldn’t have been built more than a year ago. Everything’s clean and perfect, but simple, boring even.

Huge, winding garden beds are the only outlier. Taking up a lot of the front lawn, they’re all freshly mulched and beautiful, giving character to the yard. The trees are spread out enough that I imagine when the flowers bloom fully in the summer they’re visible from the road.

Between the creek in the front and the mountainside behind the house, I can see why he said his house was safe. It’d be hard to sneak up on him here. Which is why I cringe slightly as my noisy Honda Civic makes its presence known.

An older woman with a short gray bob meets me in the driveway. She removes her gardening gloves to shield her eyes from the sun and watches as I approach.

“Hi, I am looking for the Sheriff,” I tell her, kindly. She’s older and thin, wearing a faded jean blouse and a gardening apron.

“Sheriff?” She asks, confusion marring her features. “I’m so sorry, you must have the wrong house.”

“Oh, um.” I check the picture I have of his ID, and the house numbers by the door match. Maybe she is the gardener and she’s mistaken about who lives here.

“Do you like to garden?” She asks, not at all put off by my current predicament.

“Well, I’ve never had one to practice in, but I’ve always wanted to learn.” I shrug and she smiles warmly, making me smile.

“What are you doing here?” My head snaps up when I hear his voice. He’s striding down the driveway toward us, only wearing tennis shoes and athletic shorts that hit a few inches above his knee. His chest is bare, coated with a sheen of sweat. The garage door is open behind him and full of gym equipment.

He doesn’t look sick. He’s looking at me with guarded eyes, setting my defenses high. Is he offended that I would show up here? Is it supposed to be a secret that we know each other?

“Oh, Jacks. She’s here to garden with me,” the older woman says, grasping my hand. She must have been reluctant to admit who lived here. I’m sure he doesn’t want random people to know where he resides.

“Mom, no, I don’t-”

“Yep, I’m here to garden with your mom, Jacks .” I let her tug me along and I stick my tongue out at him as I’m guided into the yard. He looks at me with utter confusion. Even as his mother gets me settled in front of a garden bed and I glance back at him, he’s still standing in the same spot staring at us.

“He looks scared.”

“Who dear?”

“Jackson. He looks afraid that you’ll tell me embarrassing things about him.”

She laughs softly but doesn’t say anything as she starts pulling weeds from the dirt and pruning stems. Instead, she starts explaining the types of flowers she is growing, when their peak bloom is, and how to take care of them.

She speaks with such eloquent detail that I’m awestruck. I’ve always wanted to learn this stuff but I didn’t have a mom who cared to try. She would have killed anything green before it even had a chance.

I don’t even realize how much time has passed until Jackson comes over to us, shading me suddenly from the sun. “Mom, your ride is going to be here soon.” He’s wearing a t-shirt now and holding a water bottle.

His mom looks at me and tilts her head. “I’m sorry, dear, what’s your name?”

“Natalie.”

“Oh, how beautiful. You were meant to be a florist,” she declares, happily.

“Mom,” Jackson says again to get her attention. She ignores him.

“Are you one of Jacks’ teachers?” Her brows are furrowed in confusion as she asks. She’s looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time.

“No, Mom. She’s my… acquaintance. Come on we have to hurry.” He helps her up to her feet by her forearms, removing her gloves and apron and tossing them into a basket nearby.

“Acquaintance, huh?” I remark, subtly.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbles as he guides her past me.

They go into the house and a few minutes later a small white bus pulls into the end of the driveway, giving a quick rap on the horn. Jackson comes back out of the house with his mom, hand in hand. He walks her to the bus and helps her up the steps before stepping back to wave.

After the bus backs out onto the road, his walk back to me is slow and reluctant. He nods for me to follow him and I do, tracing his steps to the garage, because my nosiness is getting the best of me.

He sits down on a workout bench, motioning for me to do the same on the box across from him.

“Why did you come here?” His tone is guarded like before, confused.

“You’ve called off three times.”

He huffs out a breath and grumbles, “Roberta.”

There’s a silence that descends. I don’t feel like talking about the money I brought, I’d rather ask him about his mom. Maybe it’s because mine is dead now, but I have an overt curiosity about other people’s family dynamics.

“Your mom-” I start but he cuts me off.

“She has Alzheimer’s.”