Jackson
I DON’T KNOW what just happened, but the fact that Claire left without me has my blood boiling over. Both Derrick and Ben offered me a ride, but it’s only about three miles and is a good stretch of the legs. Plus, the walk will do my temper some good.
My inner monologue as I set out goes from hostile to disbelief. After talking to Ben, I understand why Claire freaked out and left so abruptly. But to forget me? That is something that I never thought my girl would do. She’s kind and thoughtful. Always thinking of others’ needs over her own desires.
I know that she’s still angry at Mac and her mother, maybe I underestimated just how angry she still is. Every time that I have even mentioned her father she shuts down. Which is a sure-fire sign of just how much anger she still harbors toward her parents.
When I stopped by to check on Zoey and the twins last week, the subject of Mac came up, and I asked how she was able to forgive and move on while Claire seems to cling to her anger. It’s something that even my girl’s sister doesn’t understand. Because even at the end of his life, he was attempting to right his wrongs. Zoey’s acceptance of Claire’s anger still blows my mind.
Turning the corner to Claire’s block, I notice two Harley Davidsons with riders on them sitting two houses down. This isn’t the first time that I’ve noticed the same two bikes and it raises my hackles. The men are big, burly, with shaggy beards and are somewhat disheveled.
Stopping just beside them, I say, “Guys, is there a problem that I need to be aware of?”
“No, sir,” comes from the younger of the two.
“Then why are you here?”
“Just making sure Miss Claire is okay.”
What. The. Fuck? “Well she is. Tell Ian to call off the guard dogs.”
Laughing at my statement, the older one says, “It’s not Ian that wants to make sure Miss Claire is okay. But we’ll pass your message along.”
Before I can question them any further, the bikes roar to life and these unusual characters are flying down the street.
What the fuck is going on? This is the most frustrating and confusing day, not to mention it being a holiday, I have ever had.
Walking past Claire’s neighbor’s house, Mrs. Cane comes rushing out to greet me. Stopping at the edge of the driveway, I turn toward the woman. She is a sweet older woman, maybe in her early seventies and is robust in her cheeks and waist. But it’s Mrs. Cane’s eyes that hold my attention. They are sharp and cutting in turn. Nothing gets past the woman. According to Claire, old Mrs. Cane and her husband are the epicenter of the neighborhood.
“Jack? Jack? Claire came barreling in so quickly I couldn’t get out to thank her for the lovely turkey breast she left for us this morning. Please tell her thank you. It was delicious and just perfect for Mr. Cane and me.”
Shit, even as angry as I am with my girl she continues to blow my mind with her generosity. Making sure that the old couple next door has a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving is just another reason I am completely enamored with Claire McEvoy.
“I’ll let her know you said so, Mrs. Cane.”
“She’s such a good girl. I’m so happy to see her entertaining a young man like yourself.”
I blush and mutter a, “Thank you, ma’am. You better go on inside now before Mr. Cane thinks we’ve run off together.” With a girlish giggle that makes her appear years younger than she is, Mrs. Cane pats my arm and hurries back inside.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Jack!” she shouts as she closes the front door.
“Happy fucking Thanksgiving,” I mutter under my breath as I make my way up to my girl’s house.
I attempt the door knob, hoping beyond hope it’s locked. When the knob turns, and allows me entrance, I mutter, “God damn it!” Followed by a, “Christ, woman, I told you to lock the fucking door when you are home!”
The complete silence that greets me has panic rising within my chest. No Dallas, Claire isn’t anywhere, and the only thing that lets me know she was here is the kitchen light is on.
Walking into the open area, I see a shot glass and a bottle of Jameson on the island. Knowing that this isn’t good, I give another shout out into the empty house. “Claire? Baby?”
Looking around, I notice the back door is wide open and banging softly against the house with the breeze. Making my way over to it, Dallas comes barreling in, looking for attention. Or so I think.
Hitting my legs and bouncing off, she shoots back out into the darkened backyard, whining.
I flip the switch to turn on the light on the deck and the backyard is suddenly illuminated. I shake my head at the sudden brightness and glance around the deck, as well as the immediate surrounding area, but can’t find Claire.
“Claire?” I say while walking down the steps. “Legs!” I shout, not giving a single fuck about the neighbors.
I get a mumbled, “Go home, Jackson,” from the left back corner. Her fairy garden.
I walk in her direction. “Legs? Baby? Talk to me,” I implore her.
“GO HOME JACKSON!” she shouts.
Shocked at the strength and venom in her voice, I stop but refuse to allow her mood to deter me. “It’s cold out. Just come into the house and I’ll leave.”
She snorts in response. “I’m good. Just please leave me alone.”
“I’ll leave you be, Legs, but I’m not leaving you alone. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be inside.”
Another snort followed by, “Suit yourself, princess,” is all I get as I walk back up the stairs and into the house.
I make my way through the sun room, the kitchen, and over to the family room. I sit down on the couch so that I can see my girl come back into the house when she finally gives in to the cold. It could be all night, she’s just that stubborn.
As I sit in Claire’s home, with my elbows on my knees and my head hung low in contemplation, I begin to run down all of the missteps that have happened throughout this extremely odd day. Hell, if I’m honest with myself, the past two years have been one major cluster-fuck after another. Running a hand over my face, I lean back and begin the arduous task of waiting on the woman I love.