If It's Only Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor Book 6) Page 5

  No amount of research could’ve prepared me for what it would feel like to stand here. To be close enough to touch her. And I swear I can smell the lemon and lavender soap she fell in love with in Paris. I want to know if she still uses it. I want to know if she’s found an American substitute, or if down-to-earth, practical Shay pays to have fancy Parisian soaps shipped to her in Jackson Harbor.

  I sent her a box of it for her twenty-fifth birthday, and the store contacted me a month later letting me know it had been returned. Would I like to send it to another address?

  I didn’t bother. Message received.

  “How’s the dissertation coming?” I ask her now. It’s hard to free myself from the tangle of memories when she smells like my favorites.

  “Whoa!” Levi says, making a face.

  Carter shakes his head and stage-whispers, “We aren’t allowed to ask that question until after she defends.”

  Shay rolls her eyes at her brothers. “It’s fine. I just don’t like to be harassed about it, and for a while there, these guys thought I’d finish faster if they just asked more.” She gives a pointed look to each of her brothers, as if daring them to deny it. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “You’re planning to defend this spring?” I ask. I want her attention so badly that I feel like a fiend, but her curt nod tells me the desire to catch up doesn’t go both ways. If I were wise, I’d let it go, but I can’t.

  “Easton, it’s so good to see you! I always knew fate would lead you back home,” Mrs. Jackson says, forcing me to turn away from my study of the woman I’ve missed so damn much.

  I open my arms and wrap my surrogate mother in a hug. Her hair is shorter than she used to wear it. Carter tells me that’s because she lost it fighting cancer, and when it grew back, she decided she liked it short. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Jackson.”

  “Please, you can call me Kathleen now.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Mrs. Jackson.”

  She chuckles and pulls back, rubbing my arm. “I was so sorry to hear about your mother passing.”

  I nod. “Me too. Thank you.”

  She looks around. “Where’s Abigail this morning?”

  “She’s back in L.A. with her nanny. I have a lot of business to take care of on this trip, and I didn’t want to overwhelm her with everything else going on.”

  Kathleen nods, as if she knows “everything else” means the fact that my daughter found out in the worst way possible that she’s not really my daughter. Fucking Scarlett. When I discovered her lie six years ago, it was hard to swallow, but I realized if she hadn’t lied, Abi would’ve never been in my life. Since Abi’s easily the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I couldn’t stay angry about it. But then Scarlett had to go and reveal the truth in a drunken reality TV rant that the whole world would see.

  The kids at school were relentless in their teasing, and the cameras I’ve kept away from Abi her entire life swarmed closer and closer.

  “Breakfast?” asks a bright-faced woman with honey-brown hair.

  Levi grabs a plate. “Finally. I’m starved.”

  “Pardon my children,” Kathleen says, frowning. “They forget their manners when they’re hungry.” She points to the honey-haired woman. “This is Nic, Ethan’s wife. I think you met Lilly at Frank’s funeral,” she says, pointing to a little girl who’s at the breakfast bar filling her plate. She has dark hair like her dad and is around the same age as my Abigail.

  I grin at her. “You were barely talking then. Just two years old. I bet you don’t remember me.”

  Lilly shakes her head. “I thought you were bringing me a friend.”

  Gratitude washes over me. We won’t be alone here, Abi. We have family. “Next time. I promise.”

  Kathleen points to a woman with a dark bob who has a baby on her hip. “You remember Ava, I’m sure. She’s Jake’s wife now, and this is their daughter, Lauren.” She turns to the brunette hanging close to Levi. “That’s Ellie, Levi’s fiancée.”

  “I know Ellie,” I say, waving at my Realtor. “She’s been house-hunting for me.”

  “Are we still on for this afternoon?” she asks.

  I nod. I’m here to see the latest house she’s found for me, and if all goes well, I’ll be putting in an offer first thing tomorrow and closing before leaving Jackson Harbor. “Looking forward to it.”

  “Good. Then, of course, there’s Teagan,” Kathleen says, pointing to an olive-skinned woman who’s been inspecting me like I’m an interesting artifact since I walked into the room. Teagan’s been keeping close to Shay, and I wonder how much she knows about our past. “Teagan is Carter’s girlfriend.”

  Brayden clears his throat. “My fiancée, Molly, isn’t here this morning. She and her son Noah are wedding dress shopping with her mom in Chicago this weekend, but I’m sure you’ll meet her this week.”

  I sweep my gaze across the kitchen and try to take in all the faces. “Wives, fiancées, girlfriends, babies. You all have been busy,” I say, and everyone laughs.

  “Now we can eat,” Mrs. Jackson says.

  I fall back and watch with a pang of nostalgia as the familiar Jackson brunch ritual plays out. Everyone fills their plates and mugs, the brothers poking fun at each other, Mrs. Jackson smiling proudly at her children.

  Shay catches me watching. “We’ve squeezed around that table for years, but it just got to be too much.” She shoves a plate in my hand. “So now we split up between the kitchen and the dining room.”

  “It’s different,” I say softly. On the one hand, it’s just like they did it when I was a kid. I have fond memories of sleeping over on Saturdays and waking up Sundays to a massive meal with this family that became so precious to me. On the other hand, the differences are impossible to ignore. There are so many more people, and it’s crowded, but most notably, Frank Jackson isn’t here to keep his arm around his wife and steal kisses like they’re teenagers.

  “The only thing guaranteed in life is change.” Pain flashes over Shay’s face, and I’m thrown back to her father’s funeral and the feel of her in my arms as she cried. The way her sobs were so powerful, they shook me. The way I took her grief in my hands and made it so much worse.

  I open my mouth to apologize—for that night, for the years I let her shut me out—but I snap it shut again. There are too many eyes on me right now, and I don’t think Shay wants them to know why I owe her an apology.

  Shay

  After brunch is cleaned up, everyone scatters. Levi and Ellie leave to run some errands, Ethan, Nic, and Lilly head out to a movie, and everyone else heads to the basement to play games. I use my revisions as an excuse to stay upstairs with my laptop, but I can’t face my dissertation while I’m this distracted, so I sit at the kitchen table and respond to student emails instead.

  Lucky me, I have an email from a student about his two-week-late paper as an outlet for my frustrations. I’m a lengthy paragraph into a careful recap of my course policies when I hear the basement door open and close again. I know without looking that Easton just came back upstairs. Why is that? Why do I feel him when he’s around, even after all these years?

  I lean closer to my computer, pretending I’m not aware of every step he takes, pretending I don’t notice when he pulls out the chair beside me and sinks into it.

  When I look over at him, he’s turned toward me, elbows on his knees, deeply engrossed in a study of the tiled floor. Fine. If he’s not going to tell me what he needs, then I’m not going to ask. I go back to my email, realize my last sentence is nearly incoherent, and delete it.

  “You’re giving me the silent treatment?”

  Sighing, I pull my gaze off my screen and turn to him. “What gives you that idea?”

  He lifts his head, and those sea-green eyes search my face. Whoever gave Easton Connor those eyes wanted to torture me. No one should have eyes that make you feel lost and precious all at once. It’s not fair. “You barely talked to me at all at brunch.”

  “Th
at doesn’t mean I’m giving you the silent treatment.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms. He’s not buying my shit, and I don’t care. “You blocked me on social media—I sent requests.”

  I snort. “Really, Easton? Do you care if some girl from back home keeps her accounts private?”

  “You’re more than that to me, and you know it.”

  “Am I?” My heart is doing some really crazy racing-and-stuttering thing in my chest. Like someone’s trying to test its accelerator and its brakes at the same time. “I don’t go years without talking to the people who matter to me, so I guess I don’t know anything.”

  “Would you have talked to me if I’d tried?” He swallows, his eyes scanning my face over and over. What’s he looking for? A sign that he didn’t screw things up with me? Proof that maybe we can still be friends after everything? He can keep looking, but he’s not going to find it.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I close my laptop. “That was all a long time ago, and I’m not some moon-eyed girl anymore.”

  “Have dinner with me,” he blurts.

  Clearly, guilt over the past has made this man lose his mind. It’s bad enough that he’s moving back, but he can’t seriously expect me to want to spend time alone with him. “Why?”

  He blinks. “Because I missed you? Because I want a chance to apologize properly?” He looks out the window over my shoulder and frowns. “I’m not wrong, am I? You’ve never told your family . . . about us?”

  I shake my head and slide my laptop into my bag. “I don’t hate you, I don’t need to go to dinner to hear you apologize, and my family doesn’t need to know about our mistakes.”

  His throat bobs as he swallows. “Was that all I was to you? A mistake?”

  I’m too tired to deal with this today. Merely sitting beside him is more emotionally taxing than I was prepared for. “What else would you call it?”

  “Bad timing?” He shakes his head. “I’m back here now. For real. We’re going to have to talk at some point. You can’t keep pushing me away.”

  “Just because I’m not available to you doesn’t mean I’m giving you the silent treatment. And just because you’re moving home doesn’t mean I’m obligated to have dinner with you. You and I have said all we need to say.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and do my best to ignore the hurt in his eyes. Even after everything, I can’t stand the idea of causing him pain, so I attempt to soften my words. “Welcome back to Jackson Harbor. I’m sure your daughter will love it here.”

  Easton

  “The master looks right out to Lake Michigan.” At the top of the stairs, Ellie turns left and opens a set of double doors that lead into the master bedroom of what I hope will be my future home. She strides in, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

  I turn to follow, and the view stops me in my tracks. The lake stretches for miles, and the rippling water glitters like diamonds in the sunset.

  I would’ve thought I’d become accustomed to views like this. After thirteen years in the NFL, the best has become my new normal. Hell, I’ve owned my penthouse in Laguna Beach for ten years, and its view of the Pacific is hands-down more impressive than this. But I’m speechless nonetheless. Something about being back in Jackson Harbor makes the last thirteen years go away. Once again, I’m just the son of a single mom, scraping by on next to nothing. Once again, I’m a kid who’s grateful he has football and a best friend with the coolest family in the world.

  Once, a house like this was only a dream, and now I’m a couple of signatures from grabbing it for myself—free and clear.

  “Is it okay?” Ellie asks, misinterpreting my silence for disapproval.

  Nodding, I cross the room to stand by the windows. I’ve been waiting for something like this to come on the market, and came to town just to see it before finalizing my offer. “No, it’s great.” I flash her a smile over my shoulder. “Thanks for catching it for me.”

  She beams. “That’s my job.”

  “There are other bedrooms on this floor?”

  “Yes. It’s a split floor plan up here. The master’s on this side, and then there’s an office between you and the other bedrooms.” She nods toward the door. “Let me show you the one I think your daughter would love.”

  I follow her down the hall, stopping along the way to admire the massive office with its wall of walnut built-ins. I love all the wood tones in this house, from the trim to the timber beams in the family room downstairs. Right before Scarlett finally moved out, she remodeled my Laguna home into a monochromatic wash of white and gray. It felt like a high-end hotel. This feels like home.

  “Big closets,” Ellie says when I follow her into the room at the end of the hall. “And she might not care about that now, but there’s a good chance she will when she gets older.”

  I grunt. Abigail might only be nine, but she already cares about clothes more than I ever have. The room is a good size, and I can already picture where I’ll put her bed, a desk, and a small TV area with her fuzzy pink beanbag chairs. It might not have the massive windows that the master has, but it does overlook the water.

  “She’ll love it.” I swallow, hoping I’m right. I need to get her out of L.A. The media circus that’s rained down on us since her mom’s follow-up tell-all interview has been intense and worse than anything we’ve had to deal with before. Abi wants it to end, but like any nine-year-old would be, she’s nervous about leaving all her friends.

  “I’m sure it’s scary,” Ellie says softly, “picking up your whole life and moving here. But there’s nowhere I’d rather raise a family.”

  Grinning, I look pointedly at the ring on her finger and grab the opportunity to change the subject with both hands. “Are you and Levi planning a family?”

  Her cheeks bloom red. “Eventually. We’re not in any hurry.”

  “It’s hard for me to imagine that little punk settling down. He was always up to something.” I smile, memories filling my head.

  “He’s changed a lot since you moved away.” She studies me for a long beat before adding, “Everyone has.”

  Hell, don’t I know it. “You’re friends with Shay?”

  She nods. “I’m not as close to her as Teagan is, but we’re friends. We all try to get together for girls’ night at least once a month—though now it’s more like quarterly. Everyone’s so busy. But Shay’s been finishing up her dissertation. We have to drag her out of the house every so often so she doesn’t work herself into the ground.” She cocks her head to the side and says, “But I thought it was Carter you were so close to.”

  Busted. “I was close to the whole family. They treated me like one of their own.”

  “Of course they did.”

  “There’s room for everyone,” we say in unison, reciting what seems to be the Jackson family creed.

  “They were there for me through some tough times too.” She scans the empty room, but I get the impression she’s really just stuck in her memories.

  “Carter was my best friend growing up.” I shove my hands in my pockets and make a show of checking the closet. I’ve already had a private inspector go through the house, and I knew I’d buy it before I flew here to see it. I just wanted to make sure it felt right before I committed. Maybe I also wanted to see Shay before I’m busy settling Abigail into Jackson Harbor.

  And didn’t that go great?

  “And you and Shay . . .?” Ellie asks.

  I arch a brow, waiting for her to finish that sentence and wondering how close she really is with the Jackson sister.

  She shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m being unprofessional. Your history with her is none of my business.”

  Did Shay say something? I bite back the question. It won’t do anything but make me sound like an insecure teenager. But damn, where Shay’s concerned, that’s how I feel.

  I glance around the room again. “So let’s do some paperwork and make this official.”

  Shay

  “Are you okay?”

&nbs
p; Jerking out of my thoughts, I realize my date is staring at me, his deep brown eyes crinkled in the corners. “I’m fine. Why?”

  “You’ve been poking at that pasta for ten minutes.” George Alby flashes me his panty-melting bearded smile. His signature charm only compounds my guilt. “You just seem distracted. Is it your defense? Because you have nothing to worry about. Hammer out those revisions, and you’ll have a dissertation worth publishing.”

  “It’s not that.” After I failed spectacularly at quieting my brain enough to nap, George and I decided to meet for dinner at our favorite diner. The place is just off the interstate in a tiny town halfway between Grand Rapids and Jackson Harbor. These are usually my favorite nights with him—when we can be in public without hiding our relationship. Tonight, I’ve barely touched my food, and his plate is clear. I’m proving to be a crappy date.

  George nudges his empty plate to the side and folds his arms on the table. “So tell me what it is.” He looks around the restaurant in amusement. “Is this a breakup dinner?”

  I gape. “No, of course not! Why would you even think that?”

  “It’s just a matter of time, isn’t it?” An insecure smile flashes across his ruggedly handsome features, and my heart tugs. “Until one of these universities on the other side of the country drags you away from me?”

  I don’t want to move across the country. But is that because I don’t want to leave George, or because I don’t want to leave my family? He and I have never set out to have something long-term. I’m not even sure what this thing is between us. He’s more than my fuck buddy—and I’m pretty sure that label would offend him down to his bones—but he’s not quite my boyfriend either. And the fact that we agreed from the beginning to keep this relationship a secret hasn’t given us any reason to iron out what we are to each other.