Page 43 of Jacked and Jaded

“Why now?”

“Why now what?” he frowned down at her.

“Why are you wanting to try and make things work between us? What’s changed? I’m still eight years younger than you. Wasn’t that the reason you convinced yourself we could never work?”

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he took a deep breath and let it out. “Because as I watched you lying in that hospital bed, beaten half to death, it hit me that you could have very well died. And it scared the shit out of me. The thought of never seeing you again, not seeing your smile or hearing your laugh again, not having you in this crazy world at all, brought me to my knees. It made me realize, I love you, woman. I have for a long time and was just too damn stupid to do anything about it. Now, I’m making my play and I’m keeping you. You’re mine and I keep and protect what is mine. Now come on, I’m starving.” He used his finger to lift her chin and close her mouth where it had fallen open at his declaration. One side of his mouth kicked up knowing he’d shocked the shit out of her.

“Come on. Let’s go eat. You can meet Ryker.”

The panic she was feeling must have registered with Jackson. He sighed heavily, resigned to the fact that she was going to have an excuse as to why she couldn’t go eat with his family.

“I can’t. I’m not ready.” She tugged her hand, trying to get him to let it go.

“Calliope. Settle down.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?” That was a very big fear of hers. If Ryker didn’t like her, she couldn’t be with Jackson and she wouldn’t be able to hang out with Zoey. She would never make them choose between her or their son.

“He’s three years old. He likes everybody. Unless you try to eat his Fruit Loops or steal any of his toy motorcycles. Then, he’ll chew your hand off.” His attempt to reassure her was failing miserably.

“What?! He bites?!”

Jackson laughed as he settled his hands on each side of her face again. He bent low, trying to focus her attention. “No, he doesn’t bite. I’m kidding. I was trying to get you to see how silly it is to worry. He’ll like you.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Come on. Let’s go eat.”

“Please, Jackson,” Calliope whispered. “I’m not ready.”

He frowned and dropped his hands to his sides, not seeing what the big deal was. “You’re going to have to meet him sometime. He’s my son and he’s not going away anytime soon. We’re a package deal.”

“I understand you’re a package deal. I’m fine with that.” She laid her hand on his chest, pleading with her eyes. “I just need more time to wrap my head around all this. Can’t you give me a couple of days? All of this is old news for you. For me, it’s brand spanking new and I need time to soak it all in. Is that really too much to ask?” She could tell he didn’t want to give her time, but he also recognized she was close to bolting, so he caved.

“Two days. You’re coming to my house Tuesday night for dinner and to meet Ryker. Got it?”

Her shoulders dropped immediately, pent up stress having made them come up around her ears. “Thank you.”

Jackson reached for the door knob. “Two days.”

“Two days,” she agreed.

“And pack a bag.” He threw that out there just as he was shutting the door behind him, thereby having the last word.

“Good grief. Two days.” She needed a drink. Surely, her mom had a bottle of wine around here? Or maybe Tom had a bottle of that good scotch he likes so much?

13

Jackson looked at the clock for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. He’d texted Calliope to be at his house by seven and it was now fifteen minutes until she was supposed to be here. He wiped his hands down his jeans and took a deep breath. What the fuck? He was acting like a fifteen-year-old waiting for his first girl to come over for a visit. He shook his head in disgust. The only thing missing was his mom there to chaperone.

He decided a beer was in order. He grabbed one out of the fridge, twisted the top off and tipped the bottle back, guzzling almost half. He was thirty-one years old for God’s sake. Why was he so nervous to have Calliope over? He’d never in his life been nervous about anything involving a woman. He knew his son would love Calliope, so no problem there. Maybe he was secretly worried she wouldn’t like his son? God, that would kill him, but he wouldn’t force them to be together if they didn’t like each other.

He sauntered toward the sliding glass doors overlooking his covered back porch. Ryker was out there playing with his many, many toy cars and motorcycles. The sounds he was making as he drove his new motorcycle through the pretend town on the kids throw rug he’d bought was pretty damn cute. It was one of those rugs that had the two-lane streets and buildings on it. From the time Jackson had tossed it on the porch, Ryker had loved it and he played on it every chance he got. Shaking his head, he thought the kid was a real wheel junky, meaning he liked anything with wheels that could be driven. One side of his mouth kicked up, remembering himself being the same way as a kid.

God, he loved that boy. He might have been an accident and one hell of a surprise, but Jackson couldn’t imagine his life without him now. He loved watching him discover new things and was fascinated by the way his son figured things out. His mom said Ryker looked just like him at that age. From the baby pictures and others of him growing up, he could plainly see she was right. They had the same black hair, that if not kept cut short, tended to want to curl at the ends. His eyes were the same coal color and according to his mom, he slept all sprawled out on the bed just like Jackson did. That one he’d witnessed for himself. The kid went ninety to nothing all day long, but literally passed out once he hit the bed. Nothing was going to wake that boy up if he didn’t want to wake up. Unfortunately, he liked to get up at six in the morning.

“Daddy, is you fwiend hewah?” Ryker asked without looking up. He chuckled at the way his son talked. They were working on it. His pediatrician wasn’t concerned and said he’d grow out of it.

“Not yet. She should be here any time.” He took another drink from his beer. They’d talked earlier about Calliope and that she was someone very special to him.

“Do you wuv hewah like mommy?” he’d asked, his focus still on driving his bike on the rug.

“No. That’s a different of kind of love. I love your mom because she gave me you. I love Calliope because,” how did he explain this to a three-year-old in terms he would understand? “She makes my heart beat really fast in my chest.” He wasn’t about to tell him he also loved the way she made his dick hard whenever she was around.

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