Page 7 of Just One Look

Jackson

“You seem…happy?”

I ignore the teasing smirk playing on Clancy’s lips in favor of inspecting the sushi rolls he’s laid out on a serving tray instead. Drawn to a spicy tuna and a dragon roll, I scoop one of each onto my plate.

“Why are you phrasing it as a question?”

I ask.

“And why do you seem so surprised?”

Clancy takes a bite of his salmon roll before answering.

“I’m framing it as a question because I don’t want to assume anything. And I’m not surprised. Just hopeful that I am, in fact, correct.”

I chew my sushi in silence, not sure how to respond to any of that. Clancy is the best carer, grandpa, and parent, all rolled into one. He’s always only wanted the very best for me and my sisters, and even though I can be prickly and challenging at times, his love and devotion has never wavered.

Doesn’t mean I like where this conversation is heading.

He picks up another roll and studies it carefully. He recently watched a documentary about some old dude in Tokyo who dedicated his whole life to sushi. Despite making Michelin-star-quality food, the guy owned an unassuming hole-in-the-wall restaurant with seating for fewer than ten people in a subway station. It inspired Clancy to get into Japanese cuisine, starting with sushi rolls.

He takes another bite, chewing carefully as his gaze returns to me.

“Maverick has been running the sanctuary for close to a month now. I was expecting murder, not…”

He waves what’s left of his sushi roll in front of my face. “…this.”

“Why does everyone seem to think I’m capable of murder?”

“Well, I have known you all my life.”

I fling some sticky rice across the table at him, and his warm, hearty laugh fills the entire room.

“Didn’t you guys have a loose, monthlong arrangement or something?”

“Yeah, we did. I basically threatened to quit unless he met my conditions.”

“And has he?”

I chew disgruntledly. “He has.”

Maverick has, annoyingly, stayed true to his side of the agreement. I have full control over all horse-related matters, including vet care when needed. Thankfully, I’ve only had to call a vet out once, but it felt good being able to just do my job without having to beg for permission. Half the time, my requests were denied anyway, which only made me feel worse. This time, I was able to ensure Copper’s coughing and runny nose were attended to in a timely manner. He was prescribed a course of antibiotics, and within forty-eight hours, the gelding’s symptoms had faded, and his appetite had returned.

“Would you really have quit?”

Clancy asks.

I think back to the day Maverick arrived at the center.

“In the moment, I was tempted. Another rich asshole with a savior complex swooping in, only to make things worse. My blood was boiling.”

Clancy grins knowingly.

“You’re all bark, no bite.”

I roll my eyes but don’t disagree.

“Where else could I work?”

We’re the only horse rescue in town. The other two horse ranches in Silverstone are a thoroughbred breeding farm and a dressage ranch. I know the owners of both, and no, thanks. I may have given Maverick shit about being a rich asshole, but those owners actually are rich assholes.

“So Maverick isn’t as terrible as you initially suspected?”

I sigh.

“You and Pip. I swear to God.”

Clancy chuckles.

“He giving you a hard time about it, too?”

“As if you don’t know.”

“Hey, I haven’t seen him in weeks. He must be busy with his summer courses since he’s been missing weekly family lunches.”

I make a noncommittal sound, which Clancy instantly clocks.

“What is it?”

“Well, Pip is always saying how busy he is with his studies, but I’m not buying it. I think he’s up to something.”

“Like what?”

“Beats me.”

Clancy chews on his sushi thoughtfully.

“You think he’s seeing someone?”

I shake my head.

“He’d tell me if that was the case. I think he’s got a hobby.”

Clancy grasps his chest dramatically and gasps.

“How dare he.”

“The hobby part is fine,”

I clarify around a smile.

“I just wish he’d tell me.”

“Give him time. I’m sure that if he is up to something, as you say, there’s a perfectly good explanation for it. Next time you see him, though, let him know I’m expecting him here for the Fourth of July.”

“I will.”

We eat in silence for a while. The conversation about Pip takes me back to the hint of jealousy in Maverick’s voice when he asked if he and I were together, the way his face tightened as I took my sweet-ass time answering, and the relieved smile that washed over him when I told him we were just friends. I could be reading too much into it. He probably only asked because, like he said, I hardly talk to anyone at the center except for Pip.

But what if I’m not imagining it? Could the almighty Maverick Benson actually be interested in a guy like me?

“Heard anything from Ridge Duporth?”

Clancy asks, pricking my Maverick thought bubble with an abrupt, and unwelcome, change of subject.

“No. Why would I?”

“Because you punched him in the face,”

Clancy replies. He hates the Duporths more than anyone, but he didn’t approve of what I did then, and judging by the frown creasing his forehead, he still doesn’t approve now.

“I’m worried he’ll press charges.”

“He won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if he presses charges against me, he’d be in just as much, if not more, trouble than me.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I hit him. I’m guilty of that. But he must have bribed someone at the doctor’s office.”

Clancy quirks a brow, unconvinced.

“Come on. How else would he know about my diagnosis? The Duporths have no morals. If he wanted that information, he’d find a way to get it.”

“But why would he be interested in that information in the first place?”

“Good fucking question.”

One I’ve asked myself numerous times. At Bunny’s, I had just found out that he was talking shit about my condition. I was furious and determined to get him to shut his big mouth. But now that I’ve had some time to think, I keep coming back to the same thing Clancy just asked: why would Ridge want to know anything about me, much less that?

Like Maverick’s family, the Duporths have houses all over the country. Two years ago, he returned to Silverstone and took over his family’s winery. I don’t know—or care, frankly—what prompted the move, but word around town is that he had a major falling-out with his father.

Our paths have never crossed. Even when he showed up for a semester in Silverstone High after getting expelled from whatever ritzy Chicago high school he went to, the guy barely looked at me. Why would he? People with money look down on people who don’t have as much. Or any, in my family’s case.

It sucks that it’s like that, but it’s the way it’s becoming more and more around here. Silverstone is a beautiful town, but the undercurrent dividing the haves and have-nots runs deep. Especially as more and more haves move here and take over.

“So you’re over the Ridge thing?”

Clancy checks.

“Sure. As long as he keeps his stupid mouth shut.”

Clancy’s eyes gleam as he reaches over for another tuna roll. I can read him like a book, and I know something is going on in that head of his. Something I probably don’t want to know but something I’m too weak-willed to stop myself from asking about.

“What?”

I finally snap.

“You’re doing that creepy grinning thing again.”

“The one that makes me even cuter?”

A half snort slips out.

“You wish. What’s on your mind, old man?”

“I was just thinking…”

He trails off, and I bite like I always do. “About?”

“Well, do you think any of your newfound happiness might have anything to do with Maverick?”

I didn’t think I was acting any different, but he seems to think I am. Nibbling at the tip of my sushi roll, I have to give Clancy an answer that gets him off my back for good. But I also have to play it smart. If I’m too dismissive or lighthearted, he’ll see right through it.

“I guess maybe Maverick isn’t as bad as I thought he’d be. We stay out of each other’s way at the sanctuary, and I can see he’s making a determined effort, which, I guess, might be playing a role in me being less pissed off than I normally am.”

“I see.”

Clancy’s totally-not-cute grin widens.

Despite downplaying it, Maverick is actually doing a really good job, way better than any of his predecessors. Damaged fences are getting repaired. Broken stall latches are getting replaced with heavy-duty sliding bolt latches designed specifically to prevent horses from opening them. He’s fired two completely incompetent stable hands and sent an email advising he’s conducting an all-staff review.

And in possibly the best news of all, two three-hundred-gallon water totes have been set up just outside the barn with hoses rigged to gravity-feed into buckets. It’s a temporary workaround, he said, until the barn gets permanent plumbing, but it saves us from having to haul water back and forth from the water tanks all day long.

So any possible happiness on my part is most likely due to those things. It has nothing to do with seeing a softer side to him when he’s with Sammy. Or what Clancy said about him being lost, which has burrowed its way into my mind as I try to figure out if that’s even true and, if it is, dissect the reasons why. Or the way Maverick hinted his family might not be as ideal as I assumed it was when we were talking on the bench, watching Sammy ride his bike.

That’s something else I’ve been thinking about. Why is Maverick always helping out with Sammy? I’m sure a big part of it is because he clearly adores his nephew. But the Bensons aren’t exactly short on cash. Surely his brother could afford a nanny to get some help with Sammy. But he hasn’t. I wonder if there’s a reason for that.

And my anger about our family losing the sanctuary and the land it’s on all those decades ago? Logically, I know that’s got nothing to do with Maverick. I doubt he’s gone back through more than the last ten years of sales records. There’s no way he could know the whole sordid saga. Heck, even I don’t know all the details. Clancy has never breathed a word about what happened to anyone, which makes me think that whatever went down was some super-nasty shit.

“Do you like him?”

Clancy asks.

Got to hand it to him, he’s persistent. I shoot him a stern frown across the table, drizzling a healthy dollop of mayo over my tuna roll.

“Not going there with you, Clancy.”

“Oh, please. Get over yourself. I did your laundry when you were a teenager. Those socks were stiff like concrete.”

He drops his voice.

“I know everything.”

I stare down at my mayo-covered tuna rolls, my appetite suddenly vanishing.

“I don’t hate him as much as I did when we first met,”

I concede with a sigh.

“First impressions aren’t always accurate.”

“I guess. But nothing’s going to happen between us. It can’t.”

Clancy’s eyes soften. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I’m old and senile. Remind me again so I can point out to you again that despite being young and virile, you’re also stubbornly stupid.”

I push my plate away and massage my temples, the ever-present headache hammering away as usual. It happens so regularly that I barely register it. It’d be weirder if my head weren’t constantly throbbing. I turn to Clancy, wait until my vision adjusts and he’s framed perfectly in my view, and say.

“Because I’m scared.”

His eyes glisten.

“I know you are, Jackson. But you’re not alone in this. I’m right by your side. You’re stuck with me. You know that, right? Your OG ride or die.”

I smile at his sweet but hopeless attempt to cheer me up.

“You done?”

He nods.

“Yeah. I’m stuffed. You gonna finish that tuna roll?”

“No. I’ve poured too much mayo on it, and thanks to your lack of a filter, now all I see is cum.”

I collect the plates, Clancy the serving dish, and we take them over to the sink. Turning on the faucet, I hate myself for making things uncomfortable. I know Clancy will be there for me in the future because he’s always been there for me in the past.

But this is unlike anything I’ve ever faced before. I am so, so scared of losing my sight. I’m struggling to accept that my whole life, everything I know, is going to change forever. I don’t have it in me to look ahead and think about all the things I won’t ever have.

Like a boyfriend.

I have enough shit to deal with without adding a pipe dream fantasy into the mix. I’m not strong enough for that right now.

“Thanks for lunch,”

I say, wiping my hands on the dish towel.

“It was delicious. I should get back to the sanctuary.”

“Of course.”

Clancy follows me to the door.

“I’m sorry if I upset you.”

I spin around to face him.

“You didn’t. It’s just a lot to deal with.”

“I know it is. I just want the best for you, that’s all.”

“I know. But you and I both know things are going to get a whole lot worse really fucking soon.”

He pins me with those deep green eyes of his.

“We’re going to take it one step at a time, and we’re going to get through this. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I wonder if that’s another thing I’m going to lose, too. Can blind people cry? That might be the world’s dumbest question, but I honestly don’t know.

“Never forget that I’m here for you.”

I won’t.”

I latch onto his hand and stare into his face, locking every last detail into my mind. His strong jawline covered with silvery stubble. Firm chin and taut cheeks. A surprisingly smooth forehead for someone his age, with only the faintest traces of lines etched across it. And those bright, vivid green eyes that shine with a youthful spark.

“I really think you should tell your sisters at family lunch this weekend.”

I grimace. I deliberately haven’t told them about my latest diagnosis. Verity and Sibella are already overprotective sister bears; this latest development will devastate them. I’m clinging to the idea that as long as they don’t know, things can go on as normal for just a little while longer.

“But it’s the Fourth of July. I don’t want to ruin everyone’s day.”

I feel bad enough that our weekly family dinners have turned into lunches since I can’t drive at night anymore. I don’t want to ruin what will most likely be the last big family holiday where I can actually see everyone.

Not to mention the fireworks. Another thing that’ll be gone for good.

“You said you would tell them before Verity’s birthday. And that was in May,”

he says calmly but with a quiet authority.

I blow out a long breath, knowing I’ve put it off for longer than I should have.

“You’re right. I’ll tell them this weekend.”

“Good man. I love you, Jackson,”

he says as I cling to his warm hand.

“Everything’s going to work out.”

I’m not so sure, but I still say.

“I’m sure it will. I love you, too.”

“Everything okay?”

Maverick asks, his footsteps getting louder as he approaches from behind.

I’m in the break room, head dipped, clinging to the counter to steady myself. After getting back from lunch with Clancy, I’d been preparing some of the horses for their afternoon exercises with one of the barn workers when I started sweating and feeling nauseous. I excused myself and came into the break room to get a glass of water, but I’m not feeling any better. I’m light-headed, my stomach is making noises no stomach should ever make, and my breathing is short and raggedy.

“I don’t feel so great,” I say.

He appears beside me.

“Holy shit. You don’t look so great either.”

A wave of nausea bubbles up inside of me.

“I’m not…I’m not a great sick person.”

“To be fair, you’re not that great when you’re not sick.”

“Not the time, Benson.”

Oh, god, I’m going to throw up.

“Where’s the nearest toilet?”

The break room is being refurbished, so the toilet is off-limits, and my mind isn’t capable of remembering where the next closest one is.

“My office,”

he says firmly. “Come on.”

He grabs my clammy hand and guides me away, not giving me a chance to argue. Not that I would right now anyway. My entire focus boils down to one thing and one thing only—making it to a toilet in time.

My internal alarm bells are going off as we step outside and march toward the barn. I try to swallow, but all I feel is bile rising up the back of my throat. We’re still a good fifty feet away. I don’t think I’m going to make it.

“It’s okay. Hang in there,”

Maverick offers with a quiet reassurance, as if sensing my panic, giving my hand a firm squeeze. His smooth palm clasping my calloused one feels nice.

Soothing.

Unfortunately, what happens next is neither nice nor soothing. My stomach churns, and I’m forced to tear my hand out of Maverick’s grip. I fall to my knees and proceed to lose my lunch all over a patch of grass.

There’s sooo much of it, and it just keeps coming and coming. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t handle being sick well. I vomit so much I get dizzy and start to sway. A warm hand lands in the middle of my back, another on my right shoulder.

“You’re okay, Jackson. I’m here with you. Keep getting all that sushi out.”

I spit out a chunk of something rubbery that’s stuck to the tip of my tongue with a noisy thp.

“How did you know I had sushi?”

“It’s, uh, kind of hard to miss.”

Pieces of regurgitated raw fish stare back at me from the ground, and it sets me off on another puke fest. Maverick keeps his hands on me the whole time, rubbing circles into my back.

I pray he’s looking the other way because this is scarred-for-life material right here. If I wasn’t so grateful for him being with me, I’d be dying of embarrassment. But I’m glad he’s here, glad I don’t have to go through this alone.

“I think I’m done,”

I say, lifting my head up, then burping.

“Nope. Spoke too soon.”

When my stomach is finally empty, I take a few deep breaths, glance over my shoulder, and say.

“Thank you, Maverick.”

“Anytime.”

He eyes me pityingly.

“Just know that’s something people say. Please don’t ever take me up on it.”

I manage a weak smile.

“Hilarious.”

“I try. Now, come on.”

He extends his hands, and I hold on to them as he helps me to my feet.

“How are you feeling?”

“Gross and humiliated.”

His blue eyes dart across my face.

“Hm. You must still be weak since you just missed an easy opening about how gross and humiliated is just another Saturday night for me.”

I’m about to tell him to stop being such a smart-ass when it hits me what he’s actually doing. He’s not trying to be funny; he’s keeping me distracted to make me feel better. Or, at least, less bad.

And it’s working.

I look down. Our hands are still connected. He notices, too, but makes no effort to pull away. And me in my weakened state, it’d be a workplace safety issue if I let go.

So I don’t.

We stand there, holding hands, staring at each other until a truck roars up the driveway and brakes with a deafening screech.

“How are you really feeling?”

Maverick asks.

“Better. But man, that’s the last time I’m eating sush—oh, shit.”

I catch my breath.

“What?”

“My grandfather. He made the sushi. He ate the same sushi I did.”

Maverick grabs my hand and drags me away.

“No. Stop. I have to go check on him.”

He dangles a set of car keys over his shoulder.

“Where do you think we’re going?”