“Me too,” I told him. “So much, me too.”

His shoulders rounded forward, and his stare dropped to the floor, but no words escaped him.

I stepped toward him. “If you need anything—”

“I don’t. We don’t.”

“But if there ever is a time you do need anything, I’m here. Even if it’s just loading the dishwasher.”

He appeared so perplexed by my offer—almost angry that I’d say those words—but he didn’t say anything in response to my offer, which made me grow a bit uncomfortable.

“I should get out of your hair, though. I don’t want to take up your night.”

He nodded in agreement and walked me out to the front porch.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offered, his voice intense, but I didn’t take offense to it. It seemed that intensity was all that Jackson really knew how to be.

I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”

He grumbled, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s late.”

“We’re in Chester,” I joked. “It’s pretty safe.”

“You never know what kind of weirdos there are in small towns.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“But—”

“Really,” I cut in. “It’s fine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“That’s funny.” I grinned. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He almost smiled, and I almost loved it.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he told me, his deep voice still uncertain.

“I am but thank you for the offer.”

As I turned to leave, his sharp voice sounded once more. “Why didn’t you call the cops?”

“What?”

“On my father. Why didn’t you call the cops on him like everyone else in town does?”

My eyes locked with his, and even though his words were hardened, his stare wasn’t. His eyes simply looked sad. Oh, Jackson. He was way too young to be that sad, that angry, that broken.

“That’s simple,” I replied. “Because I’m not like everyone else in town.”

“Grace?”

“Yes?”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and released a small breath. “You’re nothing like your mother.”

That both broke my heart and healed it all at once.

We didn’t say another word. He turned and went back into his father’s house, and I walked down the steps of the front porch. As I made my way back to my sister’s, Jackson Emery and his father both stayed on my mind.

I said a small prayer for their hearts and hoped somehow their souls could find some kind of healing.

13

Jackson

She helped him when she didn’t have to.

I didn’t understand. I couldn’t process what had happened the night before. Grace Harris, from the family I despised, helped my father last night. Why would she do that? Why would she reach out a hand to him and take him home? Shower him? Clean up his home?

She could’ve easily just called the cops on him. I should’ve been bailing him out of jail last night, but I didn’t have to do that.

Everything I knew about her family proved the opposite of her actions, yet still…

“Where’s the damn coffee?” Dad muttered, walking into the auto shop, scratching his beard. He looked like shit, but that wasn’t surprising. I was actually shocked he was up before five in the afternoon.

“In the break room where it always is,” I stated dryly.

He walked into the break room and went to pour himself a cup. I tried my best to ignore the small bottle of whiskey he dumped inside before he began to sip.

“How was your night?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Fine. I just passed out.”

Blacked out, you mean.

“Did you hang out with anyone?” I questioned him, wanting to know how much he remembered.

He cocked an eyebrow and sipped his “coffee.” “Who the hell would I hang out with?”

“No one. Forget about it.”

“Already forgotten. Also, clean up this room. It looks like shit in here. Are we running a business or a fucking dump?” he grumbled.

We weren’t running anything. My father hadn’t worked on a car in years. He used to be the best at it, though. I used to really look up to him before the liquor made him too far gone.

Now, he was merely a ghost of the man I used to look up to.

He hadn’t a clue of the events from the night before. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Though, if he found out a Harris was who saved him from himself, he’d probably take another sledgehammer to the pews.

Our family didn’t take handouts.

Especially from the likes of them.

Except maybe she saved him last night. If she hadn’t been there to walk him home, to watch over him, who knew what would’ve happened.

My mind was conflicted, blurred, and I wasn’t sure how to make it clear.

I not only had so much hate for Grace Harris and everything she stood for, but an overwhelming amount of gratitude also.

How could that be? How could I hate and be thankful all at once?

I didn’t know how to feel, so I chose to feel nothing at all and headed back to work. My job was the only thing I had control over, and at that moment, I felt as if I needed some form of control.

Yet even as I worked, the sight of her eyes crossed my mind every other minute. Those stupid, wide-eyed doe eyes that looked so full of kindness.

I wished she didn’t look so kind.

My mind was split in two as I thought about Grace. Part of me was so thankful for her help. I wanted to believe in the kindness that she showed me and trust that she did it from the goodness of her heart. Yet another part of me wished she hadn’t helped my father because that felt like some kind of leverage to me. That she had something over us somehow. That we were some kind of charity case to her. I didn’t want that at all, so I’d make it my mission to pay her back somehow.

No matter what it took.

*

“Hey, Jackson, I got a call that I was supposed to come into the shop?” Grace said, walking in later that afternoon. “Is everything okay with the car?” As she walked up, Tucker rose from his dog bed and wandered over. He was slow and grumbled as he did it, but his tail wagged the whole time. He was committed to greeting every guest who came into the shop even though he was half blind and arthritis ravaged his body. He was in pain whenever he moved, but the idea of not giving someone a “hello” and a lick against the face seemed more painful to him than anything.

Grace welcomed his greeting, rubbing directly behind his ear as Tucker licked her face once, then sluggishly retreated to his bed. The vet had recently put him on new meds, and I worried they were making him too drowsy, but at least they were supposed to help his pain.

I cleared my throat and stood up from working under the hood of a truck. “Your car’s still a piece of shit. I still think Alex should junk it, but that’s not why I called you in.”

“Oh? What’s up?” She stood a bit taller. “Is your father all right?”

“Yes, well, no, not really, but as far as last night goes, he doesn’t remember it. But that is what this is about. About last night.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

I walked over to her and crossed my arms. “I don’t want to owe you.”

“What? What does that mean?” she asked, and I hated how her eyes were so wide. And beautiful. And kind.

Stop being so soft-spoken and kind.

“I don’t want to owe you anything for helping my father,” I told her matter-of-factly.

“Oh.” She somewhat laughed, and I hated the sound because it sounded gorgeous, and I needed her not to sound that way. “You don’t owe me anything. I just wanted to help.”

“We don’t want your handout,” I told her.

She raised a brow and narrowed those eyes. “It wasn’t a handout. I was just helping him.”

“No, you must want something in return, and I don’t want you or your family to hold that over us.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but please know that you’re wrong. It wasn’t some kind of game—me helping your father. I didn’t want anything at all. I still don’t.”

I heard her words, but they were so hard to believe. I slid my hands into my jeans pockets, and my shoulders curved forward. “I don’t get it then.”

“Get what?”

“We’ve been awful to you…my father and I, and you still treated us with kindness. Why?”

“Jackson.” She sighed, her voice almost a whisper. Her eyes softened in a way I wished they hadn’t. She looked so genuinely concerned by my question, worried about my lack of understanding. “My father always taught me that you don’t only treat certain people well. You treat all people equally. With love, with respect, and understanding.”

“Your father,” I muttered, my brows lowering. “You’re close to him?”

“Yes. He’s the best man I’ve ever known.”

I hadn’t a word to say to her comment. “Let me pay you back,” I said, almost aggressively.

“You guys are already working on my car. That’s payback enough.”

“No. Alex is fixing your car, not me.”

“Really, Jackson, I—”

“Please,” I begged—yes, I pleaded. I begged her to allow me to do something, anything, so I wouldn’t feel in debt to that woman and her family. I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. “Please let me do something for you.”