Page 100 of Hidden & Held

I ponder the turn of phrase. “I don’t know if it’s a change of heart exactly. I think it’s more the opposite. I once read that a woman’s first heartbreak so often happens in childhood. And our second heartbreak”—Jackson’s grip tightens against me—“opens up the wounds of the first one. As an adult working in family law, I see how the custody battle happened. I have so much resentment toward him, and yet …” Jackson waits patiently for me to continue. “And yet, he has been trying for years. I don’t want to be like my mother. Holding on to past resentments, letting anger and hurt cloud my judgment, or affecting my future. I know we will never be close, but is it so bad that I want someone in my life who wants to be around? Even if he didn’t before?” My voice cracks at the end as I fight back the sudden emotion.

Before Jackson can answer, the trees give way and the Deschutes River spans before us. There is a large boulder on the bank and Jackson backs up to it, setting me down gently. He steps back and rolls his shoulders, peering at the water for a moment. I take a deep breath, collecting myself after my uncomfortable display of emotion.

He takes a seat on the riverbank, left leg propped up, arm resting against his knee, and turns to me. “No, Sugar. It isn’t bad to want someone who wants to be around you. And it doesn’t make you weak for opening the door to your parents. It makes you human. Even better, it shows how much heart you have. Most wouldn’t forgive after something like that. And I know it isn’t forgiveness, or even forgetting, but you are giving you and your dad a gift of creating something strong and beautiful together.”

“Repairing it like Kintsugi?” I ask.

“Yeah.” His soft smile brings an ache to my chest. “Like Kintsugi.”

We sit in silence for another fifteen minutes, enjoying the view, heavy in our own thoughts.

“You know.” Jackson grabs a rock, tossing it into the river. “I wanted to take you to the river for an entire weekend. I found this place outside of Portland. Little B&B near a winery.” He laughs without humor. “My plan, when this whole investigation thing was over, was to take you home, introduce you to my mom, dad, brothers if they were around, even my grandfather. Then, whisk you away to the little cottage bungalow so we could drink wine, watch the river meander from our deck, and commiserate together on how overbearing Linda Mercer is.”

I see the weekend he planned clearly in my mind. It would have been perfect if only we hadn’t started out so broken. A small part of me wonders if the damage isn’t permanent. But he planned it. Before any of this collapsed.

“I think we can probably head back now.” I stand, looking at the river one more time, letting the peace of the place soothe something inside me.

We walk back in silence, our minds filled with our own thoughts. As we get back on even ground, Jackson sets me down gently, heading toward the old truck.

Jackson hovers his hand over the hose, testing the temperature before loosening the hose clamp with a screwdriver from the truck’s toolbox. He studies the split near the end, trims off the damaged section with a pocketknife, slides the hose back into place, and tightens the clamp again with quick, practiced movements.

The confidence in his hands surprises me, especially considering his complete inability to renovate a house. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing.

“How is it you can work with engines but not with home renovations?” I tease.

“Engines are a puzzle. When something is wrong, you trace it back and figure out how it failed. Construction work? That is precision. Measuring something six times, cutting once, and still somehow getting it wrong from getting flush to a wall.

“Plum.”

“Huh?”

“It’s plum to a wall. Sorry, continue.”

“Exactly. Carpentry is chaotic, pretending to be organized. At least that was my experience growing up in the Mercer household.” He tries to sound disturbed by the fact, but the love he has for his family still shines through.

“Besides, my dad was the craftsman. Anything needed fixing, he jumped in; he didn’t have the patience to teach all of us. But my older brother, James, they both bonded over it.” He slams down the hood. “So, I carved out my own thing. I may not know how to install a light fixture, but everyone in the family calls me when their engine makes a weird noise, attempting to hold the phone up to it, thinking I can diagnose it by sound alone.” He looks at me conspiratorially. “One time, when Jordan did that, I made up some random issue, told him he needed to go to the auto parts store asking for a flux capacitor. Boy, was he mad when he got laughed out of there.”

Jackson brushes past me, opening the driver’s side door. He puts the key in the ignition and the truck starts right away. A small smile slips across his face as the engine catches, and he pats the dashboard once, almost affectionately.

Stupid man with his incredibly perfect cheekbones.

Stepping out and around to the passenger’s dented side door, Jackson opens the rusted handle. “The coach is fixed, my lady. Let’s continue on our journey.” The duke’s accent returns.

I push aside what his deep baritone does to me and grab his offered hand as he helps me into the truck. The same spark jumps between us the moment our hands meet. The simple touch almost undoes me, like the virgin viscountess touching a man for the first time with an ungloved hand.

Jackson’s fingers release mine with the same reluctance I feel, degrees slower than necessary. For an instant, our eyes meet and I see the darker flecks in his eyes I’ve always stared at. My mouth parts, but before any words come out the truck door groans slightly, shaking me out of the moment. He nods and jumps to his side of the truck, continuing with our delayed journey.

“Jackson.”

“Yeah, Sugar?” he says, looking over at me briefly, then turning his eyes back to the road.

“I would have liked the trip. The family, the river, all of it.”

He’s quiet for a moment before answering. “Me too. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you.” His voice hits a sorrowful tone.

“Same.” The silence drags for a few beats. “But maybe one day, we can make it happen.”

Jackson goes still. I look over at him from the corner of my eye, wondering if he heard me. Before I get an answer, he pulls into the hardware store and shifts into park.