Page 13 of Unrivaled

“Say it,” Mom commands. “Call me Melissa, and you can have your money.”

Jackson’s eyes dart to me, and I just shrug and finish my water to hide my smile. He licks his lips, looking all around as the red rises up his cheeks. “Melissa,” he says at last, quietly.

Mom gives him a smug smile, releasing the envelope and turning away. “There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, Mrs. Kilpatrick.”

When she whips her head around, Jackson gives her a cheeky grin of his own, and she mock scowls at him. Then she turns to me, patting my cheek with one hand. “What am I gonna do with you and your friends? Better yet”—she continues, lips pursed—“what am I going to do without you when you’re gone? I won’t have anyone to move furniture around for me.”

I pat her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out, Mom. You survived for three years with me away.”

“Barely.”

“I’ll still be around,” Jackson pipes up, and Mom swivels slowly to face him again, eyebrows raised.

“Oh? And what will you be calling me if you wish to continue working for me?”

His blush is fainter this time, but still there. “Melissa,” he grumbles.

“Perfect,” Mom beams. “You have friends who can help, I assume? I always need at least two people.” At Jackson’s nod, Mom lets out a sigh of contentment. “Oh, good. This might be just the in I need. Each of you can bring in an underclassman to help, and I can keep sourcing college football players to help me until I retire.” Turning back to me, she pats my cheek again. “Like I said, what would I do without you?”

Laughing, I press a kiss to her cheek. “I’m sure you’d manage somehow, Mom. You always do.”

“True, true. Now, boys. Are you staying for dinner? Or do you have somewhere to be?”

“We’ve got plans, actually,” I put in, saving Jackson from having to figure out an excuse. We don’t, but my mom makes him nervous as hell anyway, even if she does pay well. This interaction isn’t helping with that at all.

Jackson’s on the shy side anyway, but when he’s comfortable, he’ll relax and contribute to the conversation if he has something he thinks is worth sharing. Right now he’s got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his joggers, his shoulders up around his ears, and a blush on a hair trigger. This guy needs out of here, pronto.

“Well, I won’t keep you, then,” Mom says, leading the way into the living room.

I follow, fishing my keys out of the pocket of my track pants and hooking my finger through the ring. Mom pulls me into a hug once we’re in the living room and kisses my cheek, wiping the lipstick smudge away with her thumb before releasing me. “Do try calling your sister again.”

Letting out a sigh, I take a step toward the door. If this is what conversation’s going to be like, I’m glad to be escaping with Jackson. “I have, Mom. Lots of times. The ball’s in her court. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want me around much, so I’m leaving her alone.”

She purses her lips and crosses her arms, and I recognize Mom about to launch into a lecture, but I’m saved by Jackson’s surprised comment of, “Hey, you know that kid?”

Distracted, Mom turns to see what Jackson’s talking about, and her face softens as she takes in the family pictures on the wall. Crossing over to him, she lets out a laugh. “Of course I know that kid. That’s Grayson.” She points at the framed photo of me when I was four, dressed in brown corduroy overalls and perched on the edge of a large red block at some mall portrait studio, a big grin on my face. “And this is Piper.” She indicates the photo next to it taken at the same studio with the same red block, but Piper’s pouting.

Mom lets out an indulgent chuckle. “Piper looked so cute in that dress, but she was so mad that we wouldn’t let her wear overalls like Gray. So she refused to smile for the photographer, and now her pouty little face is preserved in film.”

That about sums up Piper to a T. She might be twenty now instead of two, but she still knows how to hold a grudge, that’s for sure.

Jackson lets out a soft grunt, his brows furrowed as he studies the photos. Mom takes him on a tour of our wall of family photos, showing off family and school pictures of Piper and me through the years, but Jackson’s attention keeps straying back to those photos from when we were little.

Weird. But if looking at family photos makes him more comfortable around my mom, who am I to judge? She has a big personality and can be too much for some people. I never had a choice but to get used to her.

After their stroll down memory lane, Mom squeezes Jackson’s arm and gives me one last hug. “Thanks again for your help, boys. I won’t keep you any longer since I’m sure you both want showers before whatever else you have planned tonight. Jackson, I’ll be sure to get your number from Gray so that when he’s not available, I can call you for backup, alright?”

“Sounds good, Mrs.”—at her stern look, he blushes but course corrects—“I mean, Melissa. See you next time.”

Jackson follows me to my car, but is quiet the whole way to his place. While that’s not unusual, he seems more distracted than like he just doesn’t have anything to say right now.

“Everything okay?” I ask as we turn onto his street.

He seems to startle out of his thoughts and looks at me. “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just tired. Lots of homework. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah. Same.”

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