Page 37 of Cowboy’s Last Stand (His to Protect #1)
J ason spent a fitful night in the upstairs apartment.
He’d been plagued by hot memories of Natalie and chilling dreams of Mike in exhausting intervals. Bloody images flashed back and forth between sensual ones. He also spent a few hours berating himself for bringing up the death gratuity.
He was a self-critical person by nature.
He could thank his father for that fun trait, among others.
The fact that he hadn’t come clean with Natalie about his connection to Mike was becoming unbearable.
His deception couldn’t be justified, but he kept finding excuses for it.
He kept going over it in his mind, considering ways to tell her.
He’d also considered not telling her. Because telling her meant losing her.
It was inevitable at this point.
He’d imagined making her fall in love with him by giving her a lot of orgasms. That foolish plan had failed, but he’d enjoyed the attempt.
It had been the sexiest, most memorable experience of his life.
He wanted to do it over and over again. Unfortunately, she’d started having second thoughts as soon as they were finished.
Her obvious regret had irritated him. Then her eyes had become teary, and he’d snapped. He shouldn’t have mentioned the settlement or pressured her about getting over Mike. He should have just stayed quiet and let her go. Instead, he’d made her angry.
That was no way to win her heart.
After thrashing around most of the night, he drifted off.
He woke later than expected and felt more rested than he should have.
He dressed in his work clothes and ventured downstairs.
Marcus was on his way out as Jason neared the front porch.
The boy stopped on the sidewalk and waited for Natalie, his backpack at his feet.
Jason gave Marcus a high-five. “You ready for school?”
Marcus nodded. “Mom always walks me from the library,” he said. “She makes me hold her hand, and she kisses me goodbye.”
Natalie exited the house with a yellow bag balanced on one shoulder. She wore Oxford shoes, a striped sweater, and slim black pants. He liked her smart librarian style. She looked beautiful but distracted.
“Sounds good to me,” Jason said.
“Blake called me a mama’s boy.”
“He’s probably jealous because your mom is prettier than his.”
Marcus studied his mother, who appeared to be searching for her keys. “She is pretty,” he allowed.
“You’re lucky to have a mom.”
“You don’t have one?”
“No.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died in an accident.”
“Oh.”
Natalie found her keys and tugged Marcus toward the car. “There’s coffee inside,” she said to Jason without meeting his eyes. “Help yourself.”
Her chilly reception wasn’t unexpected, and Jason had some of his own hard feelings about the previous evening.
He was busting his ass around here on multiple levels.
He was trying to change for the better. He didn’t appreciate her calling him a “barely functional human being.” Barely functional hadn’t gotten her off three times.
Jason stood in the driveway and watched them leave.
Marcus waved goodbye, so he waved back. Then he went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.
He paced around the quiet house with agitation, unsure of his next move.
Something caught his eye from the corner of the couch.
There was a picture frame tangled up in a wool blanket with a pile of crumpled tissues nearby.
He picked up the frame and studied the familiar face.
This was what she’d done after leaving his bed.
Cried for Mike. Jason’s stomach roiled with guilt and jealousy. Jealousy for a dead man.
Tell her.
He wanted to smash the photograph against the wall and howl in frustration, but he didn’t. He put it back where he’d found it and took his coffee to go. Then he distracted himself with physical work.
Backing up the truck to the pile of rubble in the yard, he started tossing items inside with more force than necessary.
He grabbed pieces of old wood and twisted metal, heedless of splinters or sharp edges.
The exertion didn’t improve his mood any.
He felt like a wild animal, heaving debris in a fit of rage.
He was glad Natalie couldn’t see him. When he was finished, a cut on his hand was bleeding.
Instead of getting a bandage or protective gloves, he wrapped his finger with duct tape and kept going.
He made several trips to the dump before immersing himself in a plumbing repair.
His thoughts were dark as he refitted pipes under the sink.
It was neck-cranking work, unpleasant for a man his size, borderline torturous for anyone who hated confined spaces.
He tried not to imagine the rubble in Kabul closing in on him.
When a child’s voice called out his name, Jason startled. He banged his head into the underside of the sink. Pain bloomed from the impact. It wasn’t hard enough to make him see stars, but it was one hell of a thump.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
He unfolded his body from underneath the sink, wincing. Marcus was in the kitchen. “I’m OK.”
“Mom’s taking a nap. Can we do tai chi?”
“Sure,” Jason said. “Just give me a minute to recover.”
They sat on the couch and shared a sports drink from the cooler. Jason scooped up a handful of melted ice and held it to the bump on his head. Chilly water soaked through the duct tape on his finger.
“Are you going to live up here now?” Marcus asked.
“I guess.”
“For how long?”
He shrugged.
“How old were you when your mom died?”
“Almost twenty.”
“My uncle Gabe is that age.”
“Right.”
“Is he a grown-up?”
Jason conjured a mental image of the slouchy, sullen youth. Despite his handsome face, Gabe Luna reminded him of a junkyard dog, the kind that skulked around in the dark and bit people indiscriminately. “Not really.”
“He’s not a kid, though.”
“No.”
“When do kids stop needing mothers?”
“Never.”
They did tai chi for about twenty minutes until Marcus got bored.
Then Jason sent him downstairs to retrieve some crayons and paper.
Marcus colored under the lamplight while Jason continued tinkering with the sink.
The radio played classic rock. Working with Marcus nearby helped Jason feel calmer and less claustrophobic.
By the time he finished the repair, he was humming along with the music.
“We make a good team,” Jason said.
“I didn’t do anything,” Marcus replied.
“You want to come back tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
Natalie came to fetch Marcus for dinner. She didn’t offer Jason a plate, which was fine. He could fend for himself. She needed space, and maybe he did too. The last thing he wanted to do was sit at her dining table across from Mike’s shrine.
Unfortunately, tensions between them didn’t ease the next day or the next. They continued to avoid each other, which confused Marcus. The boy spent every afternoon with Jason, passing him tools or practicing tai chi.
Jason liked hanging out with Marcus, but there was a learning process involved in looking after an energetic child.
There were mishaps. On Wednesday, for example, Marcus broke an antique vase in the garage with his slingshot.
This action required a consequence. Jason decided to take away the slingshot for the rest of the week.
Marcus cried to his mother, who showed no sympathy for either of them.
Jason found little respite at night. He was plagued by bouts of insomnia, but he refused to go back outside.
He white-knuckled it through the sleepless hours like a junkie sweating out an addiction.
When he did surrender to exhaustion, he had frequent nightmares.
He managed to sleep for stretches of four or five hours, which was enough to get by.
It was a stark existence, however. Without Natalie’s company, he had nothing to look forward to.
He wasn’t just staring at the ceiling at night or looking out the window.
He replayed every moment of their encounter, every time he closed his eyes.
His body ached for her more now that he’d had her, and he knew how good it could be between them.
On Thursday, Jason reached his breaking point.
She hadn’t come to him to talk or for anything else.
He hadn’t forced the issue, but he’d made himself available.
He’d bought some new clothes to impress her and a six-pack of beer to mellow them both out.
The previous evening, he’d folded a load of his laundry and left it behind on purpose in hopes that she’d bring it to him.
This morning, he’d found the clothes on the glider.
The once-neat stack was knocked sideways as if she’d tossed it out angrily.
He didn’t know how to make things right between them after so many wrong moves. She’d accused him of running away from his problems. He felt like a hamster in a wheel, moving forward but not getting anywhere.
Jason took his laundry upstairs himself.
Instead of starting a new project, he dug a pen and notebook out of his backpack.
He liked to jot down thoughts on paper, to sketch things he’d seen or imagined.
Before he’d arrived in Last Chance, he’d brainstormed ideas for how to approach Natalie about Mike.
He tore out those pages and tossed them on the embers in the fireplace.
Bleakness settled over him as he watched his good intentions go up in smoke.
The back cover of the notebook had a few phone numbers scrawled on it. He stared at the short list of contacts. His dad, his therapist, his CO, and an old friend.
Jason ruled out calling his dad; he wasn’t in the mood to be criticized. His therapist would get back to him if he left a message, but he didn’t dial her number. He wasn’t ready to talk to his CO about the job offer, either. The only person left was Tyler Zeferino, his surfer buddy from San Diego.