First Surrender (Chance Encounters #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Natalie

“ I ’ve never seen this fridge with so much in it,” Jackson mumbles after we put all the groceries away. We got a late-night order delivered before I helped Dec settle for bed.

“I don’t understand how you’ve survived without cooking. You look like you eat well.”

He whips his head toward me. “Was that a fat joke?”

I roll my eyes. “No. It wasn’t a fat joke, Hercules.”

Anyone with two eyes can see how built he is. There isn’t anything pudgy about him. He is all hard, toned muscle. Under all that, there seems to be more to him than I ever realized. I never would have guessed that he’d come home and build computer systems or sit meticulously for hours and create such incredible things. It makes him seem endearing somehow and more human.

It’s easier seeing him as a one-sided coin, a stiff robot who wears a badge. Getting to know him only makes him more likable and it aggravates me.

Why does he have to be perfect at everything that he does? I’m not perfect at anything.

I pull the plastic containers out of the fridge and crack open a lid. The smell of old processed chicken and rice hits me like a brick and helps me humble him in my mind. “Oh my God. That’s bad. That’s really bad.” I gag, literally. A loud, unladylike reaction that I could not have prevented if I tried.

“It’s not that bad once it’s warm, you’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m not. That’s rancid.” I chuck all the containers into the trash. It’s been a long time since anything has grossed me out like that. I know how to de-feather chickens and de-bone fish, I thought I was past the food heebie-jeebies.

“My mom cooked a lot when I was growing up but I was too busy outside playing to take notice. Then she started having memory issues. She couldn’t remember recipes or steps and would burn everything. After I graduated high school, I stayed home and went to the community college so I could work full-time in the evenings. I wasn’t home enough to cook for myself. Now I’m so busy, cooking is the last thing I want to experiment with when I get home. I don’t have the energy for it.”

“What did your mom do when she was home alone so much?”

“She could make sandwiches and use the microwave. One scary situation with the stove being left on was all it took to pull the cord from the wall. It stayed like that for years.”

I glance at his brand new top-of-the-line oven and suddenly see it in a new light. It is completely untouched because he existed without one for so long. I almost bet if I looked behind it I would find the plug lying on the ground collecting dust.

“When did she get really bad?”

“Uhh, maybe three years ago now. I was making decent enough money as a trooper to hire a home health aid while I worked. That helped.

“Eventually, though, I decided to build this house because I needed everything on one level. At night, in the house I grew up in, I couldn’t hear her if she needed me because my room was upstairs. Once she tried making a break for it in the middle of the night I knew I needed to find a safer place for her to live.” He shrugs.

“She didn’t get a chance to live here at all?”

“No. Six months before it was completed she took a turn. She couldn’t take care of herself at all it seemed like. She needed help 24/7 and I wasn’t able to do it. I painted her room, just in case, but once I looked into the assisted living home, I realized it was the best choice for her. It still makes me feel guilty.”

I can’t believe he’s telling me all of this, but then again, we did enact a truce regarding our family. I guess it’s safe territory.

“That’s a lot of responsibility for a teenage boy to sign up for back then, even if you didn’t realize the commitment at the time. I’m sure she is proud of you and grateful for all that you’ve done. You could have left her hanging a long time ago.”

“I would have never done that.” He shakes his head incredulously as if the idea itself doesn’t belong in his brain.

“I know.” My words soften him immediately.

He looks at me thoughtfully, appreciatively, as if he hasn’t had many people in his life recognize the sacrifice he has made.

“How did you deal with all of it? I’ve only had Dec for a year and I’m drowning.”

“You’re doing better than you think. Trust me.”

I shrug off his compliment. It makes me feel too… Good. When he says nice things to me, I forget we aren’t supposed to like each other.

“Dec didn’t luck out in the parent department… I have to be better than them for his sake,” I explain.

“I didn’t have a dad growing up,” he admits, surprising me. “I knew that I was going to make something of myself and prove the unknown man wrong I guess. Dec will do the same, he’ll be fine.” His assurance shouldn’t matter but it does feel nice to hear.

“Did you always want to be a cop?” I ask while the opportunity is here to get more information out of him.

“No, I wanted to work in sports medicine and be a trainer on the field at professional football games.”

“You didn’t want to play? You look like a linebacker.”

He squints his eyes as if he’s trying to decide if that was an insult or not. It wasn’t, but I like that I can keep him on his toes.

“Being good at sports was the only thing that made me fit in as a kid but after a couple of my own injuries, I realized that I was more interested hanging out in the training room or on the sidelines than on the field. Fixing people up seemed more enticing than getting concussions for another decade.”

I glance at his head and consider making a joke about having a concussion or two, but I recognize the sincerity in his story and I change my mind. I tuck my bottom lip into my mouth and simply mumble, “Hmm,” to encourage him to continue.

“With my mom sick though, law enforcement was the best option. I didn’t need a ton of schooling, the pay and insurance were decent, and I could stay around here for her.

“When the opportunity to run for Sheriff came about, I realized it was the only way I could get to the pinnacle of my career without leaving Rollins County. As a state trooper, I would have bounced all around the state eventually if I wanted to work my way up.”

“So you accidentally found yourself as the Sheriff of Rollins County.” I laugh to myself. How annoying that he’s so good at everything. Except cooking.

“I guess. I want to fix all the messed up stuff happening but it’s been a long year. I can’t keep up with paperwork and working the road when we’re short-staffed. It’s been a nightmare, honestly.”

“Finally, he’s human. I wondered all along if you were a cyborg.”

He laughs, mockingly. “It takes too much energy to show emotion. The only problem that I have with that, is you. So thanks, you’re exhausting.”

I give a dramatic bow, making him do that thing where he looks up toward the ceiling as if he’s praying for strength.

The next day, I’m cooking and it’s the best I’ve felt in a long time, being back in the kitchen and in my element. Our apartment was not even close to as nice as this though. It’s almost comparable to the professional equipment I used in culinary school. I had to stop what I was doing multiple times to unpeel plastic wrap from utensils and the appliances.

Me: Do you want me to bring your lunch to you?

I accidentally threw away his lunch last night while purging the gross meals from the fridge. It wasn’t until I was cooking that I realized my lapse and that he went to work without food. I like the arrangement we made and I am not going to screw it up this early on.

Jackson: I’m in the area, I’ll stop home.

I look around at the chaos that I’ve created. It’s probably the messiest his house has ever been. I think about tidying up quickly, but I’d rather see the shock on his face.

Only twenty minutes later he strolls in through the front door in his full uniform. I hate to admit how appealing he looks, I avert my eyes so he doesn’t catch me staring. I can’t find a cop attractive, it goes against my moral code.

“Wow. It smells good in here.” He doesn’t say anything about the mess in the kitchen or the dirty dishes. He plops down on the same bar stool he sat on last night and glances around at everything I’ve prepared.

“Do you want a plate?” I ask hesitantly. I assumed he’d pack it up and leave again. I wasn’t expecting him to eat here, with me.

“Yes.” His eyes haven’t left the spread laid out on the counter.

I dish up a seasoned chicken breast, roasted Parmesan Brussels sprouts, and a butter garlic orzo. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I kept it simple.”

“This is simple?” He asks, astonished.

“Um. Yeah, for me. I can make all kinds of stuff. Do you have a preference?”

“No, I like anything.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll get more creative if you don’t mind but I’ll mix in some of Dec’s favorites too. He usually asks me to pack his lunch for school.”

Jackson digs into the plate I handed over and I watch in ample fascination as he eats. I’ve always loved seeing the reaction to my food. I get high on creating food that people can’t get enough of. The way Jackson is eating, I’m not even sure if he’s come up for air. It makes me giggle.

That’s when his head snaps up to look at me. His eyes blink a few times but he just stares at me.

“What?”

“I have never heard you make that sound.”

“You mean, laugh?”

“It was more than that. It was happy.”

I turn my back to him and start working on packing Dec’s lunch for tomorrow, ignoring his comment. I can’t seem to wipe the smile off of my face though.

* * *

Our routine continues for a week. I spend my days in the kitchen, preparing fresh meals and packing lunches. Some days, Jackson leaves without his lunch and comes home to eat it. Some days, he doesn’t. He’s always home for dinner, though, and we’ve all been eating together at the table.

The new routine is different for me but it’s been relatively painless. Aside from being in the kitchen, Jackson and I skirt around each other. We only seem to speak to each other if I’m cooking. He’s either watching me cook or he’s eating, but the kitchen has turned into neutral territory.

Dec’s made himself right at home. The bus picks him up and drops him off at the end of the driveway now. I make him do his homework while I cook dinner and he usually convinces Jackson to play with him after he eats.

It’s a weight off my shoulders not needing to entertain him constantly, but I’m still worried about how all this will affect him. He’s been bounced around to different homes. His dad is out of jail. His mom is dead. I still lie awake at night and worry.

I guess this is what it feels like to be a mother. I can’t imagine that it’s going to get easier.

I’m sitting on the couch, scrolling on Jackson’s iPad to order groceries when a sale ad pops up for feminine hygiene products and my stomach drops like a rock. My world is suddenly tilting on its axis.

I never bought the tampons the day that I ran into Jackson’s mom. I should have needed them by now.

I stand up slowly and move down the hall on wobbly legs. When I reach the computer room, I lean my head in. “Hey, I need to run to the store. Is it okay if Dec stays with you?”

“It’s late, you don’t want us to come?” Jackson asks in his completely normal, hasn’t just experienced a mind-numbing realization, voice. They’re building a LEGO rocket.

“No, I’ll be quick. Dec, behave.”

* * *

Positive.

My hands are shaking uncontrollably holding the little plastic rectangle. Two blue lines.

It’s positive.

I’m hyperventilating in the drugstore restroom that I was almost trespassed from a few weeks ago.

It’s positive.

How did this happen?

Jackson pulled out. I remember it vividly because I scolded myself afterward for being disappointed that he did. I was horny enough that I didn’t care about the consequences. I’m not on birth control. I haven’t been for years.

It’s positive.

I’m pregnant.

How did this happen?

I know how it happened. I’ve already gone over this but my brain cannot fathom it. I’m pregnant. With a baby. Jackson’s baby. Oh my God.

My racing mind attempts to backtrack to when we had sex. When my cycle last started. I can’t think straight but I think I’m a week late. Which means I’m three weeks pregnant? Four?

Or, I don’t know. I don’t know how it works. I’ve never been pregnant before. What do I even do? I don’t have insurance. I don’t even have a doctor.

I suck all the air that I can into my lungs. I’m pregnant with a baby and there is nothing I can do about it right now except get up, go back to the house, and pretend like nothing is wrong.

Is it wrong?

It feels wrong to call a baby a mistake. I know how they’re made but it was clearly a mistake to get pregnant.

A baby.

I’m going to have a baby.

A few sobs break loose while I’m in my car but I don’t allow a single tear to escape. This is a result of my actions. I will not blame this on the baby.

I can’t believe I let this happen though. I swore after my mom got pregnant with Dec I would never put myself in a similar situation. It worked, I have practically sworn off men for years. If I did hook up with anyone, there was always a condom used. Until this time, with Jackson.

Oh my God. Jackson.

What is he going to say? Is he going to blame me?

Fuck him, he doesn’t get to blame me and I don’t need him. I’ll do this on my own. There is no way that I will let him make me feel guilty.

He doesn’t need to know.

No. I’ll tell him. I can’t keep it from him, that would be terrible.

I’ll tell him and let him make his own choice. Eventually.

I’m not telling him tonight or anytime soon. I need time to process this before I can handle the implosion when I tell him.

What if he kicks us out? He might back out on his deal to help us if he thinks I did this on purpose.

I’ll keep it to myself until after I get custody of Dec. It should only be a few months, I can hide it.

Hopefully.