I’m shitting myself.
Every mile closer we get towards Jackson’s sisters, the worse I feel. Dread, anticipation and nerves twist in my stomach, causing an odd combination of ‘I might burst into tears’ and ‘I want to vomit.’
Usually, I don’t give a flying fuck what people think of me. It’s a well-documented fact that I am who I am and most of the time, I don’t care what kind of opinion people might have about that.
But these people are different. They’re important. I want them to like me. I need them to like me. However, something deep in my gut tells me this weekend isn’t going to work out in my favor.
Like I said before, everything is too perfect lately.
Something has to give.
Curled up in the passenger seat of Jackson’s truck, trying and failing to focus on whatever song is playing on the radio instead of the negative thoughts buzzing around my mind, I’ve convinced myself that this weekend is going to mark the end of our weird, wonderful happy streak.
And because I’m not one to wallow alone, I make sure that Jackson is well aware of my fears.
“They’re going to hate me.”
Like he has for the entire drive, Jackson insists otherwise. “No, they’re not.”
I don’t believe him. Sisters never like the girlfriend. Especially when the girlfriend is a loud, promiscuous blonde who repeatedly steals their brother away for the holidays. Especially when it’s me.
I don’t have experience with siblings, but I do have a history of being considered generally unpleasant by parents. Owen’s parents never liked me. Kate’s parents think I’m the devil reincarnate, their words verbatim. Hell, even my own dad didn’t like me enough to stick around. Amelia’s dad and Ma are the only exceptions to the rule, and one of them is bound to me by flesh and blood so does it really count?
So, yeah, I don’t exactly have high hopes that Jackson’s family is going to fall in love with me on sight.
Jackson takes one hand off the steering wheel and settles it on thigh. “It’ll be okay.”
Somehow, I really, really doubt it.
My nausea increases tenfold when the ranch comes into view, bathed in wintery, early morning light, looking like a fucking painting come to life. I would admire its beauty, if I wasn’t so laser-focused on the four distant figures lingering outside what I’m assuming is the main house.
God, I really think I’m going to be sick.
The truck rolls to a stop, and Jackson gives my thigh another pat, shooting me an encouraging smile before getting out. He waves to his sisters as he jogs around to my side, opening my door for me. When he offers me a hand, I’m glad; without it, my shaky legs might’ve given out.
The Jackson siblings’ reunion is like something out of a movie. It’s as though they move in slow motion as they bound towards each other, all happy faces and excited greetings and big hugs. The blatant affection, the love, is downright palpable in the air.
Me? I trail behind, dithering on the sidelines, feeling awkward as fuck and weirdly jealous at the display. Not because I’m not a part of it but because… I don’t know, I just don’t have anything like that. Amelia and Kate are the closest I have to sisters, and I was pretty much an adult when I met them. I wish I’d grown up with what Jackson has, with siblings that double as best friends.
And, when all four Jackson women notice me at exactly the same time and four heads whip my way and four pairs of eyes begin their scrutiny, I kind of, terribly and selfishly, wish Jackson hadn’t.
All I manage to offer is the world’s most pitifully awkward wave.
Great start.
The youngest of the four is the first to take pity on me. My shopping cart surfer friend greets me with just as much enthusiasm as she did her brother, not hesitating to chuck herself in my arms. “Luna! I’m so glad you’re here!”
I knew the little brawler would be the most likely candidate for the only Jackson sister to like me.
When Eliza steps back, Jackson takes her place, slipping an arm around my waist, his hip bumping mine gently. I look up just in time to catch Jackson mouthing a ‘thank you’ in his youngest sister’s direction.
The other three—or two, actually, considering Lottie has already slunk off somewhere, flaming hair nowhere to be seen—aren’t quite as welcoming. They’re not rude or anything. Well, Grace isn’t; she’s just quiet, I think, like Jackson.
Lux, however, is another story. A frowning, sullen story.
As we walk inside the house, I catch Jackson digging her in the ribs and whispering what I’m assuming is hushed reprimand. Eliza must notice it too, because she casts me an apologetic glance and links her arm through mine. “She’s not as scary as she looks. Promise.”
One out of four.
Not bad.
He’s trying to kill me.
Jackson is absolutely trying to kill me. He even laughs when I say as much, the mischievous grin on his face only confirming his nefarious intentions.
“You’ll be fine.”
I snort, and when the monstrosity next to me snorts too, I reign in a flinch. The big bastard can probably smell fear.
“Are horses supposed to be that big?” Surely not. It must be some kind of super-breed because the thing is fucking massive. As tall as Jackson, maybe even taller, and ripped. Can a horse be ripped? Because this one is. I’m also not sure if a horse can be pretty, but the beast kind of is. A sleek black coat from head to hoof, so shiny that it glints in the sun.
Pretty, muscly, scary bastard.
“This breed is,” Jackson answers my somewhat rhetorical question, giving his big friend a pat.
Clyde.
Clyde the horse.
Clyde the Clydesdale, to be specific. Eliza named him, she told me proudly. She also told me that he’s the newest rescue Lux saved from a hoarded situation; she does that a lot, I learned. The youngest Jackson showed me pictures of what Clyde looked like before they cleaned him up, and it gave me a newfound kind of respect for this place, and the horse.
But, no matter how beat up the poor guy may have once looked and how that may have tugged at my heartstrings just a little, it did not make me sad enough to find him any less terrifying.
“I’m not riding that.”
“You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“How the fuck am I even supposed to get up there?”
Jackson gestures to a step ladder perched nearby.
Crap. “I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can.” He hooks a finger around the belt loop of my jeans—extra tight because apparently friction and horse riding don’t mix—and tugs me forward. “You told me you wanted to learn.”
“I told you I wanted to learn how to ride a horse. That’s not a horse.”
“Come on.” Jackson yanks me closer, bending until his lips hover over my fluttering pulse. “Please. For me?”
A soft sigh escapes me, my hands going to his hips to steady myself. “You’re playing dirty.”
Teeth graze my skin as he chuckles. “Is it working?”
“Absolutely.”
The beam Jackson graces me with is worth the possibility of death, as are the three little words he whispers in my ear.
The hollow thudding sound of Jackson tapping the bottom step of the ladder with his palm echoes around the barn. He holds the other out toward me, an expectant stare on his handsome, manipulative face. Whispered, calming words, escape him, and I honestly can’t tell if he’s talking to the horse or me.
Clinging to Jackson’s hand, I set one boot-clad foot on the ladder. He refused to let me ride in Converse. I bargained for a pair of cowboy boots but apparently, ranches don’t actually stock those in surplus.
Heartbreaking.
“Put your foot in here.” Jackson guides my sole to rest in the stirrup. “And grab this.” He taps the raised lip at the front of the saddle before squeezing my thigh. “Put your weight on this leg, swing your other one over, and put your other foot in the other stirrup.”
Yeah. Okay. Sure. Easy.
Gripping the saddle for dear life, I do as he says. It feels like I’m hovering in mid-air forever, one leg cocked as I balance precariously before I plop down on the saddle, earning myself another brush of soft lips. I wriggle in my seat until I’m comfy, following every instruction Jackson gives me—straighten up, sit back a little, adjust my grip. When he’s happy, he takes a step back, giving a little triumphant nod. “Told you. You’re a natural.”
“At sitting down?”
He rolls his eyes as he strides towards his own horse. God, there’s something really fucking hot about a guy getting on a horse that smoothly. And those jeans. Extra tight, like mine. Thank God.
He takes a moment to steady himself, a long moment in which my eyes are solely trained on his ass, before glancing over to me. “Ready?”
I smile, pressing my heels into Clyde’s side like he instructed me to earlier, and he smiles too. “Ready.”
I am never getting on a horse ever again.
I don’t care how much Jackson kisses or begs.
Muscles I didn’t even know I had ache. My thighs and ass burn. My inner thighs are peppered with nasty bruises, and they weren’t even worth it because they didn’t involve me getting railed into next week.
Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time. We rode to a quiet creek on the edge of the property and it was beautiful. We had fun. It didn’t hurt when I was riding. But the second I got off Clyde—the cause of my suffering—my legs all but gave out. Jackson had to practically carry me back to the house.
I sent up a silent thank you when his sisters were nowhere to be seen to save me the embarrassment of them catching me being escorted inside by their brother but I’m not quite as lucky when night rolls around. I catch them exchanging amused looks when I limp into the kitchen, only Eliza offering me any sympathy.
Dinner isn’t too bad. A little tense, but I think that’s mostly due to Lottie’s notable absence. At least I hope that’s why Lux is glaring at her dinner plate, and that it’s her sister’s head she’s imagining smashing it over, not mine. But despite the empty chair and Lux’s less than stellar mood, I would even go so far as to say dinner is nice.
Eliza vanquishes any chance of any awkward silence, chattering on and on about anything and everything. Even Grace breaks out of her shell with a little coaxing from her brother, and I learn Jackson isn’t the only athlete in the family; Grace is apparently some kind of soccer prodigy. It’s amazing how much she brightens up when the topic of conversation rolls around to the most recent match her team played; throw a few compliments her way and she beams something fierce.
By the time we’re finished eating, I can confidently say that I’ve won over another member of the family and honestly, I’m feeling pretty fucking proud of myself.
“What’re you smiling about?” Jackson murmurs as he stands, leaning over my shoulder so he can grab my empty plate and stack it on top of his.
I tilt my head back, directing a smile up at him. “Nothing.”
He gives me a weird look but returns the smile before carrying our plates to the sink. I watch as his gaze flicks to the fridge, zeroing on a piece of paper stuck on by a magnet. Ripping the paper off, he brandishes it at Lux. “You made me a list?”
“After your little Christmas holiday, I thought you’d be all nice and refreshed and ready to work.”
I can’t help but notice that there’s a certain amount of bite in her voice. Jackson must notice too because he shoots his sister daggers, followed by an apologetic look cast my way. I shake my head and wave him off. I reckon I’m owed a little snark.
Sighing, Jackson reads over the list. “The stall doors in the barn are broken again?”
Lux nods. “Fred’s gotten out twice.”
Beside me, Eliza nudges my arm with her elbow. “Fred’s mine. He’s really smart.”
“He’s a pain in the ass,” Lux corrects with an eye roll. “Can you fix it please before I wake up with a horse trying to get into my kitchen again?”
“Got it, boss.” Jackson fake salutes his sister as he saunters towards the front door, nodding me over. When I get within earshot, he whispers, “You okay if I ditch you for a bit?”
Fisting my hands in his shirt, I shrug. “I’ll survive.”
“You sure?”
“Go.” I shove him away. “You’re making me look weak.”
He takes a minute to survey me before nodding, dropping a long but still entirely too quick kiss on my lips before heading out the door.
“Wait, I’ll help!” Eliza yells, scampering after him, bidding me a shouted goodbye as she barrels past me. When I turn around, I find Grace has suddenly disappeared too. A sense of dread hits me when I realize I’ve been left alone with a pile of dirty dishes and Lux.
Shit.
It seems Lux realizes the same thing because suddenly, she looks a million times tenser than she did a moment ago. In an effort to keep my hands still, I cross my arms over my chest, clutching my elbows tightly.
“Dinner was great,” I offer, cringing before the words even leave my mouth fully. “I wish I could cook.”
Lux doesn’t respond beyond a dismissive noise. When she gets to work scrubbing the dishes piled in the sink, I try again. “Can I help?”
“I got it.”
Thinking third time’s the charm, I reach for one of the dishes nearest to me. “Come on, it’s the least I can do.”
“I said I got it,” Lux snaps, ripping the dish from my grasp like I might steal the damn thing.
Frustrated, I press my lips together, hands curling into fists at my side. “Okay.” A small huff forces its way out as I turn to leave, taking all of a handful of steps before deciding against it. Spinning on my heel, I plant my hands on my hips. “Actually, it’s not okay.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t like me.” Lux opens her mouth, to protest or agree, I don’t know but either way, I don’t let her. “I get it. That’s fine. I’m loud and abrasive and wild and pretty and apparently, that makes me a terrible person. Whatever. That’s your opinion.”
Lux at least has the decency to cringe.
Yeah, Jackson warned me all about that particular phone call on the drive up here. He wanted me to be prepared, and I’m grateful for that, but I kind of wish I could’ve just floated into this whole messy situation blissfully unaware.
“You don’t have to like me, but you could at least try to be civil. Because despite what everyone seems to think, I’m not going anywhere. I really, really like your brother. And he lo-” Shit, I still stumble over that word. “He really likes me. And I want you to like me because you mean the world to him but if you don’t, I can live with that. But I need you to at least tolerate me. For his sake.”
I don’t have the energy to say anything more, nor do I have the energy for her to shut down my plea, so I don’t wait for a reply. Like a coward, I high tail it out of there, scurrying towards Jackson’s room as fast as my legs will take me, briefly considering locking the door behind me.
I try not to feel dejected as I pad towards Jackson’s bathroom, shedding clothes behind me, praying the hot water is enough to soothe my muscles and my head. But I can’t help but feel as though Lux is the one member of the Jackson family that I’ll never win over.
And that fucking sucks because I’m pretty she’s the most important one.
Hours later, I’m the only one left awake in the house.
Jackson warned me that ranch work tires a person out. I just didn’t think he meant ‘dead-to-the-world-by-9PM’ kind of tired.
After an hour of tossing and turning and trying so hard to achieve the stellar knockout sleep Jackson is getting, I give up.
Jackson’s bedroom door closes quietly behind me as I creep towards the kitchen. I potter around as quietly as I can, silently cheering when I find an unopened box of green tea hiding in the back of a cupboard. Jackpot.
I’m pouring hot water into a mug when the sound of creaking hinges startles me and I almost spill boiling water down my arm. Spitting out a curse, I whirl around just in time to catch a head of dyed hair sneaking in the front door.
Lottie doesn’t spot me straight away. She’s too busy giggling and whispering over her shoulder to the boy hot on her tail.
How interesting.
Leaning against the counter and cradling my mug, I clear my throat as loudly as I dare in the otherwise quiet house. “Should’ve used the window.”
Lottie drops the boy’s hand like it’s fire, eyes wide and surprised as they land on me. “Shit.”
“Lottie, right?” I quirk a brow. “I’m Luna. We didn’t get to meet earlier.”
She says nothing, the expression on her face a cross between anger, relief, and whatever you call an expression that indicates you want the ground to swallow you up.
Taking a loud slurp of tea, I nod my head towards the poor cowering boy. “Who’s your friend?”
“None of your business.”
I whistle, the corner of my mouth twitching upward. “Attitude? Really? That’s how you’re deciding to play this?”
Lottie scowls.
“Okay then.” I set down my mug. “I can take a hint. You’d prefer to introduce him to your brother, right? I’ll go get him.”
I have no intention of actually getting Jackson—mostly because I’m not sure I could rouse him from his coma—but apparently I’m a better actor than I thought. I barely take a step towards the hall before I’m body-blocked by Lottie.
“Don’t. Please.” God, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word sound quite so impolite.
I feign a thoughtful expression. “Yeah, I think it’s a bit late for guests too. You wanna see him out, or should I?”
Oh, Lottie’s got the whole pissed-at-the-world thing down to a tee. Her scowl would’ve knocked me on my ass back in the day, before I became accustomed to bitchy teenage girls. She keeps on scowling as she ushers the boy—who hasn’t said a word this whole time but has been staring rather intently at my boobs—out the door.
I can tell she wants to slam it behind him but she doesn’t. Probably because it would wake up her siblings, and God forbid anyone else gets dragged into this. When the boy is safely out of earshot, she turns to me, scowl intact, voice a perfect hiss. “That was so fucking uncool.”
I can’t help but laugh. “What, did you want me to hand out condoms?”
“You could’ve just minded your own damn business.”
“Or I could’ve woken up Jackson and Lux. Come on, you got off easy.”
“Shut up.”
“Hey,” I stand a little straighter, squaring my shoulders. “Watch it.”
“Who do you think you are?”
“A girl who’d prefer not to have to bail her boyfriend out of jail when he gets arrested for murdering an innocent boy.”
“You’re a bitch.”
“Must be something in the air.”
I didn’t think that scowl could get any more intense, but hey, it does. Steam might as well be pouring out her ears as she narrows her eyes, something almost cruel glinting in them. “Figures. Oscar’s last girlfriend was a bitch. Makes sense the rebound would be too.”
I have to make an effort not to visibly flinch. Rebound. That’s arguably worse than being called a bitch. Actually, scratch that. It’s definitely worse.
As if she senses she’s hit a sore spot, Lottie’s lips tip upwards in a wicked smirk. “You didn’t know, did you?”
I don’t say anything.
Lottie snickers, waving her hand in the air. “He’s been in love with Caroline since he was thirteen. They get back together every time he comes home. If I were you, I wouldn’t get too comfortable.” Still smirking, she pushes past me and heads towards the stairs. “And next time, instead of getting involved in my business, just shut your damn mouth.”
What a little shit. I’ve half a mind to yank her back here by her swooshy little ponytail but I reign myself in, letting her stomp upstairs like the monstrous brat she is. I copy her just a little, a stomp to my step as I head back to Jackson’s room.
If she thinks I’m keeping her secret after that little performance, she’s dead wrong.
I hate that doubt makes me hesitate before climbing back into bed with Jackson. He stirs, rolling towards me and reaching out lazily, half-open sleepy eyes blink at me. That same little seed of doubt prevents me from cuddling up to him. Instead, I perch on the edge of the bed.
Jackson frowns, gaze darting from me to the space between us. “Where’d you go?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I tell him, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Full disclosure, I may or may not have just caught Lottie tryna sneak a boy in.”
That wakes him up. He groans in annoyance as he rolls onto his back, swiping a hand across his eyes.
“I kicked him out, and I talked to her. One wild child with behavioral issues to another. Or I tried to, at least.”
Jackson props himself up on his elbows. “Did she say something to you? Is that why you’re sitting all the way over there?”
And he calls me dramatic; all the way over there, aka a handful of inches away. “She just mentioned someone called Caroline.”
Jackson stiffens. Bad sign. “Caroline’s my ex.”
“Ah.” So that much is true.
“Who I’ve talked to maybe twice since we broke up before college.”
“Ah.”
“Sweetheart, what exactly did Lottie say?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Mind put to rest, I snuggle up beside him.
Jackson sighs, head hitting the pillow with a dull thud. “I’m gonna kill her.”
“Go easy on her.” When Jackson frowns down at me, I add, “She’s obviously acting out for a reason. She’s probably sad or hurt about something.”
“She doesn’t seem sad or hurt.”
“Sometimes it’s just easier to be angry.” What’s that phrase? Hurt people hurt people?
Something tells me that’s the epigraph to Lottie’s life.
