First Surrender (Chance Encounters #3)

Chapter Sixteen

Jackson

16 years ago…

“Mom!” I run inside the house and skid to a stop in the kitchen, dropping my baseball bag on the floor. “You missed my game!” I grumble. This is the third game she’s missed. Everyone else’s parents are in the stands cheering for them when they get a hit and I have no one. It’s embarrassing.

“Mom!” I yell, again, kicking off my dirty shoes. I stomp through the house looking for her. It’s not that hard, it’s tiny. Her bedroom is the only one on the main level, my room’s in the attic upstairs.

I find her sitting on her bed, wearing her bathrobe. It looks like she just got out of the shower, but her hair is dry. “Mom, why did you miss my game? Again!” I whine in a way that I’d only let her witness.

“What, sweetie?” She looks at me with confusion. “Why aren’t you at school?”

“It’s nine o’clock, why would I be at school?”

She glances at the window and shakes her head. “Oh my. How did it get so late? I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Jacks.” She rushes over and hugs me, squeezing me in a way that only moms can. She’s a tiny woman, I’ve towered over her for a few years already, but she gives me the best hugs.

“It’s okay. I want you at the next one though, okay? It’s our last home game.”

“Yes, dear,” she scolds gently. She calls me dear when I try to boss her around, subtly telling me I’m too big for my britches.

“Love you, Momma.” Sealing it with a kiss on the top of her head like she did for me when she could reach it, her absence at my game is already forgiven.

* * *

Natalie’s presence is unsettling. First, she shows up unannounced and then sits on her knees in the grass with my mom for thirty minutes completely ignoring me. I don’t know why she’s here and I’m terrified to find out.

I’m so ashamed of myself. I haven’t had the nerve to wear my badge for days because of how I treated her. I’ve continued to replay what happened in my office over in my head in every direction and I still don’t know which way I’ve interpreted is correct.

She has every right to hate me, to belittle me if she pleases, but I need her to leave my mom out of it. She gets confused easily. The disease has eaten away at her for years and she’s sensitive to conflict and to change.

“She seemed comfortable in the garden,” Natalie murmurs, her normal edge is replaced with something softer.

“It’s her happy place. She was a private gardener for years before she got sick. It seems to be deeply ingrained in there.” I motion to my head so she understands what I mean.

“You keep the garden for her?”

“Yeah. She lives in an Assisted Living Home a couple of miles down the road. On her good days, they arrange to let her come work in the yard.” I shrug. I’m using my mother to avoid having a real discussion.

“Is she okay? Healthy otherwise?” She asks as if she isn’t sure if she’s overstepping.

“She’s healthy as a horse despite her brain. It started with little memory slips. Then it became more severe and she couldn’t take care of herself. The older I got, the more confused she was when I entered a room. She didn’t recognize the man in her home and would get scared. That sucked.” I sigh, heavily. “Still does.”

“She still sees you as her little boy?”

“She only knows me as Jacks. Sheriff Malec doesn’t exist to her.”

“I’m sorry, Jackson.” Her understanding is a nice change of pace but it’s unnerving that she’s being so nice. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“It’s okay. I got the normal version of her through most of my childhood. She wasn’t given the official diagnosis until I was a senior in high school. Thank you for being kind to her.”

More silence descends, neither of us knowing what to say. I can’t avoid it forever so I bite the bullet. “Why did you come here?”

“Why do you sound so offended that I did?”

“After what happened the other night I wasn’t sure I’d see you again. You ran out on me pretty quick.”

“So? We had sex. We agreed to one time. Did you expect me to cuddle?” The fire in her eyes is back and I’m kind of glad. I can handle her anger better than her niceness.

“No, but I wasn’t sure…”

“You weren’t sure about what?” She snaps.

I stand up, pacing the length of my garage. I can’t look at her when I say the next words. “I figured that you regretted it, but you did want it? Right?”

“What?”

“Christ, Natalie.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

“What, Jackson? Spit it out.” She huffs.

“It was consensual, right?”

“What?”

“Don’t make me ask, again. Please.” I stare at the ceiling, wishing I was anywhere else but having this conversation.

“Are you asking if I felt forced?” She seethes, the venom in her voice evident.

“Yeah.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The volume of her voice bounces off the walls.

“I’ve been racking my brain, reliving it. I can’t sleep because all I think about is you saying ‘no.’ I didn’t stop when you said no.”

Her head jerks back a millimeter and I watch her eyes dancing as if she’s combing through her memory. Then she laughs. The least joyful laugh that I’ve ever heard.

“You idiot. You’ve been home sick from work because of your guilt? You thought that you took advantage of me?” She asks incredulously.

I’m glad she finds this so bizarre, it clears my consciousness slightly even though she’s still yelling at me.

“You were in my office. I’m in a position of power. I’m a man and you said no. I should have heard you right away and I should have listened,” I explain consent to her like I would a teenager for my own benefit. It’s black and white but I feel very gray about the encounter we had.

She stands up and jabs her finger in my chest. There might as well be an electric current striking me down. “I am going to say this one time and then we are never speaking of it again, clear?” She asks, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“Uh. Clear.”

“What we did was completely consensual. We, two grown adults, had sex. You did not coerce me because you are a man of authority or because you are a man. I came on to you to scratch an itch. You would never be smart enough to convince me to have sex with you if I wasn’t willing.” Her finger jabs me with each punctuation of her sentences until I fall back to sitting on the workout bench.

She stands over me, glowering at me and despite the fury being directed at me, I’m so fucking relieved.

“Why did you say no?”

Her jaw locks at my question.

“It doesn’t matter, forget it. Go back to work and stop feeling sorry for yourself. You are a grown man. Act like it.” She turns and storms out of the garage grumbling to herself while I stay glued to where I’m sitting.

It was consensual. All of my grief has been for nothing. Sleepless nights and not being able to stomach food has been for nothing. I bury my face in my hands and breathe easily for the first time in days.

I hear her grumbling again and whip my head up to see her storming back into the garage with a bag in her hand. “Here. I brought you this because I thought you had the flu.” She shoves it into my hands and the savory smell hits me immediately.

“You made me soup?”

“No. I made my brother soup, you get the leftovers. Go back to work!” She shouts, stomping back to her car, peeling a u-turn in my driveway, and leaving tire marks in my grass.

I feel like I’ve been picked up and tossed around by a hurricane. I cannot get a read on this woman to save my life.

When I open the bag, there’s an envelope with a hot pink logo in the corner. “Babe Shack.” Huh. Inside is a stack of small bills.

Her first payment.