Straight Up Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor #2)(50)

My heart swells. My little brother can be a self-centered jerk sometimes, but here he is noticing my accomplishments. “Thanks, Colt. That means a lot.”

He lowers his voice. “And if you do get pregnant? How do you think Dad’s going to handle that? Do you really want to be here for that fallout?”

He’s right. It would be nice to start my life fresh in a town away from my ex-husband, his beautiful new wife, and all the judgmental stares of everyone who knows I wasn’t good enough to keep him. But if I have a baby, I can’t imagine being anywhere but Jackson Harbor. Sure, I’d have Mom close in Florida, but one woman can hardly substitute for the support system I have from thirty years living in Jackson Harbor.

“I don’t know.” It’s the most honest answer I can give him.



“I hate the phrase failed marriage.” I turn away from my window and blink at Jake. I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but the twenty-minute drive to my ex-husband’s baby shower has had my mind twisting in knots as it travels down memory lane.

Jake takes his eyes off the road for a beat to flash me a sympathetic smile. “I never thought about it, but I guess it is kind of shitty.”

I shrug. “It might be fair—I failed to make it work—but I still hate it.” In truth, my marriage feels like nothing more than a series of failures. My failure to communicate effectively with my husband, my failure to be the kind of wife he always imagined having on his arm at business dinners. My failure to get pregnant . . .

When you’re planning a wedding, friends and family shower you with gifts to prepare you for your new life together. Champagne glasses for when you celebrate anniversaries. A stand mixer for Christmas cookies. Picture frames for your memories.

No one prepares you for the failures. “This is what you should do if your husband doesn’t want to sleep with you, and this is how you should handle it when he looks at you like he feels stuck and is disappointed.”

“Why do you say I?” Jake asks, shaking me from my thoughts. “Shouldn’t it be we failed to make it work? Doesn’t Harrison get to take his share of the responsibility here?”

“Well, yeah.” I wave a hand. “It takes two people to get married and two people to screw it up, right?”

Jake reaches across the console and puts his hand on my thigh. It’s not a sexual touch, but suddenly I wish it were. I want the Jake from last night who pinned me against the cooler and told me he knew he turned me on. I want the reminder, the reassurance that he meant it and that this is going to happen. I want the distraction.

Intellectually, I know this isn’t an either/or situation, and that Harrison having a child doesn’t mean I don’t get to have one, but on some selfish gut level, it feels that way. I’m angry that he gets this dream we had together while I’m still floundering so desperately in my attempts to grasp it that I’m going to cross lines with Jake that probably shouldn’t be crossed. I need the reassurance that this crazy plan isn’t going to send my life into a tailspin.

I put my hand on top of his, willing him to sense what I need. The panic is growing in my chest, and I want him to pull over and drag me into his lap. I want him to kiss me until this heavy fear dissolves completely, until my brain is so cloudy with lust that I can’t examine what we’re doing too closely. I don’t want to admit that our plan is reckless and probably a terrible idea, that it might be smarter to accept that being a mom isn’t in the cards for me.

Jake cuts his eyes to me and frowns; maybe telepathy isn’t failing me this morning, because he pulls the car over and throws it into park. “Hey,” he says softly. He takes my chin in his big hand and turns me to face him. “Breathe, Ava.”

“I’m fine.”

He shakes his head slowly, searching my eyes. “Do you forget that I know you?” he asks, and the tenderness in his expression threatens to break something inside me. “You’re not fine, and you don’t have to pretend with me.”

He dips his head, but I don’t get the passionate kiss I wished for. Instead, I get the soft brush of Jake’s lips across my forehead.

I close my eyes, and I breathe.





Ava


Five years ago . . .



Jake Jackson kissed me last night.

I keep waiting for those words to jar me. For it to feel weird. Because it should feel weird when your best friend kisses you.

Instead, I can’t stop thinking about the way he slid his hand in my hair, the graze of his thumb along my jaw, and the heat in his eyes as he lowered his mouth to mine. I can’t stop thinking about how easy it was to open under him and how, when his tongue touched mine, my heart wanted to climb out of my chest and into his.

I’m in love with Harrison, and I consider myself incredibly lucky to have found someone who’s such a good match for me. I’ve never been the girl with a steady line of boyfriends, and I’ve never found it easy to connect with the guys who asked me out. But Harrison and I work. I’m excited about the life we’re going to have together, and when he asked me to marry him, I didn’t hesitate a single beat.

Then Jake showed up at my door and kissed me. That kiss unlocked feelings I’ve stored away for years, and now the ring on my finger feels like a lie.

I had such a painful crush on him when we were in high school. Maybe before that, too. But during our senior year, he was the rock that kept me sane when living with my dad and feeling like I didn’t belong made me want to run away.