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RORY
Leaving the bakery, Jackson and I walk down the brick path toward the parking lot. All around us, people are laughing and talking, enjoying this beautiful Saturday. But the two of us are quiet. Telling Jackson about the genetic test was probably the wrong thing to do. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll stress about this until I receive the results. I didn’t intend to put a damper on our day, especially since time spent together like this will soon be scarce.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jackson. His brow’s wrinkled, and I know I need to snap him out of this mood. Across the street, a giant, now open, banner flaps in the wind. The sign on the awning reads, Let’s Axe Up. Perfect.
“Do you have anywhere you need to be?”
Jackson makes eye contact with me, and I watch as his facial features finally relax. “Not really.”
“Good, because I’ve got an idea.”
Taking his hand in mine, I step off the curb and wait for the cars to pass. Once it’s clear, I lead him across the street.
“You know the crosswalk is right over there,” he lectures.
“Don’t be such a cop. No one gets arrested for jaywalking.”
“That’s because they get hit by a car and die.”
“Pedestrians get hit in crosswalks, too. God, quit being such a downer and look.” Jackson’s eyes follow to where my finger is pointing. “Feel like doing something manly after helping me with wedding crap?”
Like a little kid, Jackson’s eyes go wide with excitement. “Hell yeah.”
We walk inside, where the teen behind the counter greets us. He goes over pricing and books us a ninety-minute time slot before having us sign our waivers. Once we’ve paid, we’re led through a double door into a black lit room. There are vibrant colored words and drawings that have a neon glow hung up on all the walls.
The kid brings us to our own private lane, sectioned off from the others by a chain-link fence. Just before the kid leaves, our private lumberjack places six axes down on the wood plank bar top. He gives us some basic rules before showing us a couple of different techniques, and we do a few practice throws before he finally gives us the green light.
“All right, y’all look like you were born for this. If you need anything, I’ll be right over there,” Lumberjack Liam announces before leaving us.
Jackson picks up the heaviest axe and steps up to the neon green line that’s spray painted on the concrete floor. He grips the base tightly in both hands and then lifts it behind his head. His shirt stretches tightly across his muscular chest and arms, causing the two women next to us to take notice. He throws the axe at the wood target at the end of the lane and hits just to the right of the bullseye. He makes it look effortless. Grabbing the next axe, he does it all over again. The women next to us haven’t stopped staring since his first throw.
They continue to watch Jackson, and they’re clearly liking what they see—a lot. Of course, they do. Outwardly, he’s perfect, always has been, and he’s only gotten better with age. Jackson turns around and catches the women staring at him. He flashes that dangerous smile of his and tips his baseball cap to them. Such a flirt without even trying to be. With one look, he’s got these women all hot and bothered. Anxiously, they wait for him to head over to their lane, hoping he’ll give them the time of day. But he doesn’t. Instead, he walks past them and straight to me.
Even under the black light, I can see the flush creep over their faces in either embarrassment or annoyance at being ignored by him. Over the years, Jackson’s had a few serious relationships and even more flings. But he isn’t a man-whore, not like his brother, Jameson. No, Jackson is picky and shies away from those who make it too easy. He likes to make the first move. Much to my disappointment, this is how I knew early on that the two of us would never be more than what we are.
Shortly after moving to Hawk Bend, Jackson and I became friends. No, that title doesn’t do him justice. Jackson became my lifeline. We were together all the time, and he was always so nice to me. For the most part, other kids were too, but there was just something different about him. If I was a normal teenager who hadn’t just lost her mom, maybe things could have been different. But my head and my heart were all screwed up, and Jackson seemed to get that. I clung to him for so much emotional support, and he was always there for me. By the time I realized my feelings for him, it was too late. I was Rory, his bff. Rory, who was nothing more than a sister-type of friend who he could never picture being romantic with.
Were there times I thought maybe, just maybe, there was something more between us…or at least the possibility for more? Sure. But by that point, the risk was too great, and I couldn’t handle the thought of ever losing him. So, I never went there. Being friends with Jackson is better than nothing at all. Even if it meant having to put up with all the girls he dated, who were never good enough for him. But he’s put up with the fair share of assholes I’ve dated, so I guess we’re even.
“You’re up,” Jackson exclaims as he sits down on the stool next to me.
“Be prepared, Nash. I’m going to kick your ass.” I hop off the stool and grab my first axe. “Nothing but bullseye. Are you ready?”
“Keep dreaming, Monroe.”
“Let’s make it interesting. Loser buys a round of beer and tacos.”
“Done.”
* * *
“You suck.”Jackson pouts while handing me a bottle of Bud Light.
“You’d think after all these years you’d know better than to bet against me.” I take a sip and almost spit out my beer as a memory pops into my head. “Remember the spring break of my senior year of college?”
Jackson groans and covers his face with his hands. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t believe you found a strip club having an amateur night for men!”
“South Padre during spring break is where truly anything is possible.” I laugh. “That bachelorette party is the reason you won. They loved them some Jackson. All the money they stuffed into that tiny little G-string you had on…”
