More Than Friends (12 page)

She straightened and stepped back to allow Chase to sit in the chair beside the bed. After patting him on the shoulder, she left.

“Hey, Dad. It’s me. Chase.”

The old man moved his head back and forth. His eyes were closed. “Is that you, son?”

“I’m here.” He leaned forward and took his father’s hand. Once again the clammy skin reminded him of a fish. Long, sticklike fingers curled around his.

“You’ve got to try harder,” the weak voice demanded. “You’re a Jackson. That means something in this town. Can’t let those mill boys show you up.”

“Dad,” he interrupted. “That was a long time ago. Everything is—”

“Listen to me, boy. I said listen.” The voice grew in volume. His father’s eyes opened and he glared right at Chase. “You always were a trial to me.”

“That’s all in the past, Dad. It’s been eleven years. Maybe we should—”

“No!” His father cut him off. “Denise, the boy needs to make his way. We can’t send him to a private school. He’s going to be in charge of those other children. He needs to learn early about authority and making people listen. I don’t care if they like him. Respect is more important.”

The argument was familiar, Chase realized. It was one he’d heard over and over, right up to the day his mother was killed in a car accident.

“What’s he going to turn into, without me pushing him? The boy has no ambition. Never did. It’s a failing from your side of the family.”

“Dad,” he said, leaning closer. “It’s okay. I did make it. All on my own.” He wanted to withdraw his hand and any comfort it might offer, but he held on.

“Denise! Denise!” His father raised up slightly, then fell back on the pillows. “I can’t see you anymore.” His eyes closed. “Come back. I need you. What am I supposed to do with the boy? I can’t—”

His father drew in a deep breath and the hand holding Chase’s relaxed.

“Dad?” he said. “Can you hear me?”

There was no answer. Only the sound of William Jackson’s shallow breath and the quiet beeping of the heart monitor.

Chase sat there for another hour, willing his father to wake up and speak to him. It did no good. His side and back tightened from leaning forward at an awkward angle, but he didn’t release the old man’s hand. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow his father would be more lucid and they could talk. Maybe mend a few fences.

For eleven years, he’d waited to be called home. Gradually anger had replaced hope, then resignation had set in. When he’d received the telegram, he’d felt nothing. Or so he’d thought. But now, in the hospital room, the regret surprised him. He’d never meant to care that his father was dying, but he did. He didn’t love the old man; certainly he didn’t want to be anything like him. Yet the thought of the world without his father was more than he could imagine.

Nothing was how he had thought it would be. Nothing was easy. Seeing Jenny again—he sighed—that hurt, too. He almost wished he hadn’t pressed her to tell him the truth. It had been better when he could hide behind his hatred.

The feeling started slowly. A slight tremor in his legs, a tightening in his gut. It grew until the message pounded in his head.

Run
.

Chase released his father’s hand and shifted on the chair. The command flashed again. If he started driving tonight, he’d be in Phoenix by Monday. Sooner, if he drove straight through. His bag was on the back seat; he wouldn’t have to tell anyone. They’d figure it out when he didn’t show up again. The town and the mill had gotten along fine without him for eleven years. Someone else could handle his father’s estate, when the old man died. Someone else could endure the glares and not-so-subtle comments whispered behind his back. Someone else—

Jenny. She appeared before him as real and vivid as his father’s vision of his mother. He couldn’t leave her. Not yet. He had to make things right. He owed her for what had happened; he had to fix what had been broken. He couldn’t run. Even if it seemed the easiest plan.

At nine-thirty he rose from his father’s side and moved out of the small room. Terry sat behind the nurses’ station. When he approached, she looked up and smiled.

“How was he?” she asked.

“Like you said, pretty out of it. I thought he recognized me, but—” He slipped into his jacket. “He was talking about some stuff from when I was a kid. I doubt he knew I was here.”

“Don’t get discouraged,” she said, coming out from behind her desk and standing next to him. “These things take time.”

“Sure.” It was the one commodity that he didn’t have an abundance of. “I’m going to head home. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay. I don’t work for a couple of nights, but I’ll be in touch.”

Chase walked toward the door, then turned back. “How long does he have?”

Terry stared, startled. “The doctor can tell you better—”

“Don’t give me that crap,” he said softly. “I want…” He took a deep breath. “I need to hear the truth. Everybody’s so careful about what they
do
say. I have to listen for what they
don’t
put into words. Please.”

“There’s always a chance. We can’t know for sure.” She pushed up her glasses, then folded her arms over her chest. “A few days, maybe a week. He’s off the ventilator, but he’s not getting stronger. I’m sorry, Chase.”

“Hey, it’s not worse than I suspected.” He patted her shoulder. “I appreciate the honesty. Tell Tom he’s a lucky guy.”

“He knows already. I remind him every day.”

He waved goodbye and left.

What must it be like, he wondered as he took the stairs two at a time, to live a normal life? Go to work every day, come home to a wife and kids, mow the lawn Saturday mornings, take out the trash on Tuesdays. He and Jenny had planned on escaping Harrisville. They’d talked about what the future would be like, but except for the leaving, their ideas had been broad strokes of an ideal life. They were going to work their ways through college. Find an apartment together. Get married and pursue their careers. See the world, then have children. He frowned, trying to remember exactly. Oh yes. One of each. Two years apart.

Only none of it had happened. She’d been raped and he’d been forced out of town.

At her house, he walked across the porch and tapped on the door. There was no answer. He tried the knob and found it unlocked.

“Jenny?” he called as he walked inside and toward the living room.

She lay curled up on the sofa. Her head rested on a throw pillow, one arm tucked under her ear, the other clutched the collar of her robe. The navy terry cloth covered her from neck to ankle, but the front opening gapped enough to give him a glimpse of long, slender legs up to midthigh and the hem of her T-shirt. She’d showered and her hair glowed golden in the lamplight.

“Aw, Jenny,” he murmured as he moved closer. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

He crouched beside her, gently brushing the hair from her face. She stirred slightly, moving her head toward the warmth of his hand.

“Hi, honey,” she whispered, not bothering to open her eyes. “I tried to stay awake, but I couldn’t. Everything go okay?”

He froze in the act of touching her. She was still asleep. And dreaming of another man. She thought he was Alec.

It was as if a giant fist clutched his midsection and squeezed. Air rushed from his lungs and his stomach jerked violently.

“You must be hungry,” she said, rubbing her cheek against the back of his hand. “I left you a plate in the fridge, Chase. All you have to do is heat it in the microwave. Or I could do it.”

He inhaled and relaxed. She knew it was him. The panic receded slowly. Damn it, why would it have mattered one way or the other? he asked himself. He wanted to make up for the past, not relive it.

“No. I think you need to be in bed, young lady.”

She opened one eye. Without makeup, the flush of sleep lingering on her skin, she looked about fourteen. All sweet and innocent.

“You sound like my dad.” She rolled on her back and stretched. The action parted the robe the rest of the way and he saw the curves of her body outlined by the thin material of her T-shirt.

Heat flooded him, washing his soul with desire, drowning his body with need. If she had been any other woman of his acquaintance, he would have gathered her close and shown her how much he wanted her. Instead, he rose to his feet and stepped back.

She sat up and smoothed down her hair. “I look a mess, huh?”

“No.”

The sound, more a low growl than a word, caused her to glance up at him. She blinked several times, as if trying to bring him into focus. He saw the exact moment she connected the controlled stance and tight fists with what he was thinking.

“Chase?”

“Go to bed.”

“But you—”

“It’s just a reaction, Jenny. It doesn’t
mean
anything.”

She looked away, but not quickly enough to hide the flash of pain.

He swore and dropped onto the couch next to her. “Don’t be upset. I’m confused. There’s too much happening too fast. You, my father, the town. It’s all I can do to keep from running. Nothing is what it’s supposed to be. Dammit, you shouldn’t even be living here anymore.”

She nodded in agreement, but the hurt in her eyes didn’t fade. He started to reach for her, then paused. Was it okay? Would he scare her with a friendly hug? Did she think of the rape when a man touched her?

Questions tumbled over each other and he didn’t have any answers. In the end, he folded his arms over his chest and rested his head against the sofa back.

Jenny fought the urge to whack him over the head with the table lamp. Maybe then she could knock some sense into him. “I’m not a porcelain doll,” she said, picking at the sleeve of her robe.

“I know.”

“Then?”

“Then, what?”

“Why did you start to hug me and stop?” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring across the room.

“I don’t want to scare you. I have certain, uh, feelings that are inappropriate for the circumstances.”

“You mean sex?”

He winced. “Not exactly.”

“What exactly?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

She bit down on her lower lip to keep from smiling. “Because I’m a woman?”

“Maybe.” He frowned in concentration.

“Oh, Chase. Sell it somewhere else. Of course it’s sex.”

He turned to look at her. She saw his outrage.

“Don’t go all manly on me,” she said, shifting closer and tugging his arm until she forced it around her shoulders. “Eleven years ago we wanted each other more than anything in the world. Those feelings are still here. For both of us. They’re mixed up with guilt and affection and memories and nothing makes sense. You don’t know if you should or I can. You’re leaving town as soon as possible. I’m committed to staying. It’s more than geography, it’s a symptom of everything that’s wrong between us.”

“And?”

“And we keep on going. Muddling through as best we can. Trying to be friends. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” He pulled her closer, settling her head on his shoulder. “When I left here, I thought I’d die. I was so hurt and angry.”

“I know.” It was painful to hear the truth, but she’d learned the hard lesson that hidden feelings only got more painful and festered into ugly wounds.

“Now I don’t know what to think,” he said. “I hate what happened to you. I want to make it better.”

“You can’t.”

“I have to.”

He sounded determined. She shifted until she was kneeling beside him. Cupping his face, she stared into his brown eyes. “Accept the past. Make peace with it. I have. There’s nothing to fix, nothing to atone for.”

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I have to—”

She silenced him with a kiss. Words of duty and promise would only bring regret later.

Her mouth molded against his, absorbing the strength, the taste. His stubble rasped along her palms as she slid her hands back to touch his hair. His tongue pushed forward to meet hers. She allowed them a moment to caress, then she pulled back and trailed kisses along his jaw.

He tasted salty. The bitter flavor of his after-shave made her wrinkle her nose and chuckle. Large masculine hands tugged at her sleeves, forcing her arms down and the robe to pool at her hips. The thin shirt provided no protection against roving fingers. He spanned her waist, then moved up her ribs. Tiny ripples of sensation preceded his touch. But the movements were tentative, planned. She nipped at his neck, drawing a moan.

He slid toward the center of the sofa, then shifted her until she straddled him. Her bare thighs cupped him, lace panties and straining denim the only barriers to their joining.

His hands returned to her body, moving slowly toward her breasts. She drew in her breath in anticipation.

But he didn’t move farther. His arousal pressed hard against her, but he was still. She sensed the war raging within him. The knowledge of her past lay between them like an unbridgeable wall. She opened her eyes.

Indecision tightened the lines of his face. Apprehension straightened his mouth and drew his brows together. His chest rose and fell with heavy passion, but his eyes questioned their actions. Instinctively, she arched forward slightly, as if to force the contact. Her breasts, swollen and heavy with desire, pressed against his shirt. His hands moved up a fraction, his thumbs barely touching the inside curves.

“This is as far as we’ve ever gone,” he said.

“Second base.” She forced herself to smile. The timing couldn’t be worse. “Although there was that one night—” She paused, not wanting to bring up the time he’d slipped his hand inside her panties and stroked until she felt ready to explode. With the perspective of an adult, she knew that she’d asked him to stop just short of completion. As a teenager, she’d been worried about dying from pleasure. “At least this time we didn’t steam the windows.”

He didn’t return her smile. “I want you. As much as I ever did.”

“I know.”

“There’s so much happening so fast. When this is over—”

“You’ll be gone,” she reminded him.

“I wish it could be different.”

“Me, too.”

She tried to look away, but couldn’t. Deliberately, she moved his hands up until they cupped the weight of her breasts. Long fingers kneaded. Ribbons of pleasure tightened through her body. Then he flicked his thumbs over her tight nipples. Her muscles clenched, forcing her thighs against him. They both swallowed.