Page 26 of Just One Look

Jackson

My phone buzzes as I enter my cabin and shuck off my jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch.

It’s late August. Summer is winding down. The mornings are getting crisp, but by lunchtime, it hits that perfect warm spot.

I fish my phone out of the front pocket of my work pants and bring it nice and close up to my face. The last text thread opens up, and I grit my teeth, recalling the message exchange without reading them.

Unknown number: Jackson. This is Ridge Duporth. We need to talk.

Me: How did you get my number?

Unknown number: That doesn’t matter. Can we meet?

Me: I don’t know what you want from me, but LEAVE ME ALONE!

Unknown number: I just need ten minutes.

Unknown number: Please?

I leave Ridge on read, add him to my contacts a.

“Fuckface,”

smiling proudly when the microphone picks it up on the first try, and open the message I just received.

Maverick: This morning’s note was supremely offensive. Coffee was on point though.

I can’t text anymore since the keyboard is nothing but a blur, so I’ve switched to voice-to-text for both sending and receiving messages.

Me: Why though? It’s true.

Maverick: Picnic #4 was the best one ever

Maverick: Really? Have you totally forgotten about picnic #1?

As if. Picnic number one will always be my favorite. But over the past few weeks, I’ve tagged along on a few more picnics with him and Sammy. Afterward, I like to tease him by saying the latest picnic was my favorite one ever.

It’s very important to keep rich dudes’ egos in check. I’m performing an essential public service.

Maverick: Rich pricks have egos too. You know that, right?

I smile, loving that he can read my thoughts even when we’re not together.

Me: Your ego is fine.

Maverick: My ego ALWAYS needs stroking.

Me: Don’t I stroke you enough?

Maverick: You sure fucking do.

Me: But fine, if you really must know, picnic #1 will always be #1…but picnics #2-4 had Sammy. And the only thing better than one Benson is two Bensons.

There’s a pause in messages.

I used to be able to see bouncy dots on a screen appear, then disappear, especially whenever I texted Verity. She’s fanatical about grammar and tweaks her texts a million times before hitting Send.

A wave of sadness hits me.

How can something as silly as bouncy dots on a cell phone screen get to me like this? I guess it’s because it’s making it all the more real. My vision loss is accelerating, and if it keeps going at this rate, it’ll be totally gone within a matter of weeks.

The doctor wasn’t able to give me an extra timeframe, but she did tell me to prepare for this. There’s no one way it happens for everyone—and since I have optic neuritis in addition to retinitis pigmentosa, that only complicates things even more—but generally, it’s a progressive thing. You don’t lose all vision at once; it occurs in stages, usually over a few months.

At the start of the summer, I had headaches with minor blurred central vision and mild color vision distortion. Now, the headaches are no more, but my central vision is almost completely gone, and finer details appear murky.

I know I’m lucky to have people who love and support me in my life, but I’m scared.

So fucking scared.

And there’s nothing I can do about it but wait for my sight to continue deteriorating, my line of sight getting smaller and smaller until one day, there’s nothing but black. Forever.

My phone buzzes again.

Maverick: I officially forgive you. And also, that is the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.

I wince.

Fuck. What am I doing?

This thing with Maverick is getting out of hand, and I’m only adding fuel to the fire. Bringing him coffee every morning. Joining him and Sammy on picnics at the sanctuary. Inspecting his shower tiles daily as he fucks me mercilessly against them.

None of this is diffusing the situation between us. And that’s exactly what I should be doing. It was fun while it lasted, but it has to end.

Maverick: I take it you’re off to Clancy’s for lunch now?

I take a deep, fortifying breath. I may be completely in over my head with Maverick, and my vision is slipping away from me, but I have to stay in control of my emotions. It’s the one thing, the only thing, I can control in my life right now.

So I muster up a perfectly normal, lighthearted response.

Me: You spying on me again?

Maverick: Always. But not this time. It’s almost lunchtime. I know your routine.

Me: Still creepy.

Maverick: Still not sorry.

Me: Still a rich asshole then?

Maverick: Still richist then?

Me: Still going to fuck me at our usual time this afternoon?

Maverick: Still going to pretend you don’t want me as much as I want you?

I freeze, my lips parting in disbelief. He’s got me there.

It’s not the first time he’s hinted that this thing between us is more than just physical, but every time he does, it catches me by surprise.

And then, because I’m a selfish idiot, I reply with just one word.

Me: Yes.

I know it’s wrong to lead him on like this, to make him think we could have a future when we can’t. What I should do is the one thing he’s asked me to do—be honest with him.

But I’m still not ready to tell him about my condition.

Before, it was because I didn’t feel I owed him anything because we weren’t a thing. We still aren’t a thing—not officially, anyway—but my reasoning is different now.

Now, I don’t want whatever we have to end. Not yet anyway.

In some really messed-up way, holding on to this secret gives me a sense of being in control at a time when everything else is slipping through my fingers. I’m losing my sight. My cabin is getting leveled to the ground next week. I could possibly lose my job, the one and only thing in my life I’ve ever been good at.

I can’t let go of the one and only guy who’s ever made me feel like this on top of all of that.

I never expected Maverick to hang around this long. But now that I’ve gotten to know him, it’s clear he’s the type of person who follows through on every commitment he makes. The improvements he’s made to the sanctuary are a testament to that.

But I’m not some neglected, in-need-of-repair project for him to take on. I would never burden him like that.

I already feel guilty as all hell for having to move in with Clancy and inconvenience him. After everything he’s done for us, all the hard work he put in to raise us when Mom left, all the sacrifices he made in his personal life, I always thought I’d be able to repay the favor and look after him in his old age. Not the other way around.

It sucks I have to burden one person; I damn well refuse to burden two. Maverick has enough on his plate with running the rescue center and helping his brother with Sammy, the last thing he needs is to be weighed down by me.

My phone vibrates again.

Maverick: I’ll see you in my office at 2!

“You know, I’ve been thinking,”

Maverick grunts into my ear as his hips piston against my wet skin, his cock spearing my channel, giving me that intoxicating fullness I’ve become addicted to.

“About what?”

I pant, one hand on the tiles, the other fisting my cock.

“You could move in with me.”

I stop jerking myself off. “What?”

He slows to a stop, leaving his cock inside me. I glance over my shoulder but struggle to see the details of his face in the fogged-up bathroom. Warm water cascades over us, the sound thrumming in my ears, along with my heartbeat.

“Just an idea. Something temporary until your new cabin gets built. That’s all. My grandparents’ house isn’t massive, but it does have two guest rooms. See? Separate rooms. Nothing scary. Or serious. No need to freak out.”

He’s speaking in short sentences, his body swaying gently with each one. He probably doesn’t realize that every time he moves, I feel it in the deepest part of me.

He mentioned staying at his place as an option when he first broke the news about my cabin, but I was too upset to accept or reject it at that time.

Could I live with him?

My heart is screaming YES! while my head is yelling NO!

“I don’t know, Maverick.”

“You don’t have to answer while I’m inside you.”

I crack a grin.

“How kind of you.”

“Just promise me you’ll consider it, okay? It doesn’t have to mean anything. We can be roomies.”

The more he talks, the more I know he’s lying. I’m fully aware he’s been tiptoeing around me like I’m a bomb he’s afraid of detonating if he says or does the wrong thing. I hate that he has to do that, and more than that, I hate that it’s the only option I’ve given him.

Why is a great guy like Maverick even interested in me? He could easily find someone who doesn’t treat him badly. Who doesn’t talk back and give him shit. Who makes his life better, not harder.

His ex and his friends fucked him over by lying to him, so what do I do? The exact same thing. Deceiving him by not telling him about my condition after I promised we would be completely honest with each other. He even made a point of mentioning no lies by omission.

I have to tell him the truth. And I will. Next week, when my cabin gets bulldozed and I move back in with Clancy. I’ll tell him everything. And I’ll end things with him at the same time. It’s the right thing to do.

But for now…

“You know what really helps me think?”

I ask, thrusting my ass against him.

“What?”

“You fucking me. Now, get back to it.”

“Well, if it helps your thinking…”

He retreats, and the slick friction of his meaty cock sliding against my inner walls sends a fissure of sparks shooting up my spine.

“I guess I should keep fucking you.”

And with that, he slams into me, unleashing a series of unrelenting thrusts. One hand latches onto my waist to keep me in place while his other hand presses my cheek against the warm tile. I squeeze my eyes shut, my body on fire, my heart so happy and breaking at the same time.

It’s the last thing in the world that I want, but it’s unavoidable. One way or another, I’m going to hurt Maverick.

I hate this time of day.

Dusk.

The light starts dimming, and my remaining vision gets shot to shit. But I had to wait and make sure everyone had left for the day. Even Maverick.

Especially Maverick.

I relied on the pace counts I’ve memorized—eighteen from my cabin to the barn, then twenty-five paces from the barn to the parking lot—to make sure everyone was gone. Once I made sure the lot was empty, I retraced the twenty-five paces to the barn and went inside.

The internal layout of the stable is pretty easy to navigate. Not to mention, I’ve spent so much time with her over the years, I know it like the back of my hand. A staircase immediately on the left leads up to Maverick’s office, while on the ground floor, a central aisle runs the length of the building with twenty stalls on each side. The feed-and-tack room is located by the staircase, while the wash bay and grooming area sit at the far end.

I walk down the hallway, counting in my head until I get to the eighth stall. Hope’s.

After months of turnout therapy and ground training, he now stands tall and attentive. He’s been trained to respond to soft verbal cues, and with his even gait and patient temperament, he’s the perfect pick for my experiment.

I’m only going to take him into the center ring for a very measured walk. Not even a trot. Slow and steady is what it’s all about.

And not falling off. I would very much like to not fall off.

Because I’m about to do something I’ve never done before. Something I need to know I can do if I have any hope of working with horses in the future.

I’m going to ride blindfolded.

With a silk band tucked into my back pocket, I knock gently on the stall door and say.

“Hey, buddy, it’s me,”

before sliding it open.

He’s leaning against the stall wall, and I hear his nostrils flaring softly as I enter. Stepping close, I slide my hand along his mane, smoothing it back while murmuring soothing words to let him know he’s safe.

“You ready to do this?”

I ask, fitting him with a clean, snug-fitting halter and clipping on a lead rope before heading out via the tack trunk. There, I place a thick saddle pad across his back, smoothing it down to prevent any rubs. I cinch a well-oiled saddle securely over the pad and adjust the stirrups to the proper length.

“There you go, buddy. All done. Now, the real question is, am I ready to do this?”

I lead Hope out of the barn and count out the eighteen steps to the center ring, my fingers gliding over the latch to open it. At this point, I almost don’t need the blindfold, but I want to use it anyway. I’m going for a complete blackout.

We walk around the perimeter a few times to help him get used to this change in his routine. My heart hammers away as I pull out the blindfold.

“This is it,”

I say to myself, then tie it around my eyes.

My world goes black. I adjust it around my ears so that it doesn’t pinch, and then with one reassuring pat on Hope’s shoulder, I lift my leg high and swing into the saddle in one smooth motion.

“Good boy,”

I say, giving him a gentle nudge with my heels to get him moving.

“That’s it, boy. Nice and slow.”

Once I’m confident I’m not going to fall off, I finally remember to breathe. My nerves settle, making room for my other senses. My world fills with the soft churn of hooves. A cool breeze picks up, and I can feel it brushing against my face.

Without the distraction of seeing what’s around me, I feel even more connected to Hope than I normally do. The steady expansion of his flank beneath me. The soft wheeze that escapes his nostrils. The fluid motion of his hooves in the dirt. I feel it all so much more.

A tear of relief rolls down my cheek. I’m doing this. I’m really doing this.

Which means I might just be able to keep my job and continue working with horses after all.