The Sweetheart Rules (15 page)

Greta watched her go and realized she was going to have to step up her game if she was going to give this bachelorette a happy ending. Time for a meeting of the minds—and, in lieu of that, there were always Pauline and Esther and the Ladies’ Quilting Club.

Mike loaded the bright orange cart with supplies, checking each item off on his list as he made his way through the congested aisles of the home improvement store, while Jackson trailed along behind him. The girls had stayed with Diana, ostensibly to help with the chores around the shelter, but Mike would bet a thousand dollars they never left the animal adoption area.

Mostly, he suspected Diana wanted to avoid him. Ever since that day at her house, the two of them hadn’t exchanged more than a few words when he dropped off the girls. Their minimal conversations were stiff, awkward, cold.

He should be glad, because it kept him focused on the reason he was here—building a relationship with his daughters—but his mind kept conspiring against his better intentions and returning to thoughts of Diana over and over again.

Things on the father-daughter front weren’t much better. Jenny talked about that little dog they’d dubbed Cinderella nonstop. Well, truth was she talked nonstop about the dog with everyone
but
Mike. A week and a half of living with his daughters, and the oldest one didn’t trade much more than an occasional question or disapproving frown with him.

As soon as Jenny got around anyone else—Diana, Olivia, the other workers at the shelter—she was as much of a chatterbox as Ellie. That told Mike the problem wasn’t Jenny.

It was him.

He had no idea how to change that, how to build that repartee with his own flesh and blood. Luke had made it sound so easy back in the ice-cream shop. Loosen up a little and the rest would come. Yeah, in real life, not so much. Maybe he needed to skim more of those newsstand magazines. Though he doubted any of them had an article titled “Do Your Kids Hate You? How to Undo Years of Damage in 30 Days or Less.”

Jackson hadn’t said much since he’d gotten in the car this morning, unlike the kid Mike had gotten to know six months ago. Back then, Jackson had taken a while to warm up to him, but after that, he’d been a chatty, affable kid, with a good sense of humor and a knack for quick learning. In a few months, he’d changed into a sullen, withdrawn boy.

Mike recognized that boy. He’d seen him in his own mirror for years, before Mike walked into a recruiter’s office and signed on the dotted line to join the Coast Guard. He’d been the same as Jackson, angry at his father, his mother, his stepfather, pretty much angry at anyone who inhabited the world. Then he’d joined the military, and by the time he finished boot camp, he’d had the anger beaten out of him by thousands of miles of running and hundreds of push-ups. Along with that came a newfound respect for authority that he carried with him to this day. He’d become part of a team in those weeks in boot.

Part of a family.

Even now, almost fifteen years later, he still felt like the Coast Guard was more of his family than his real family, or at least what was left of it. His mother lived a couple hours north of Rescue Bay in the same town where Mike grew up, the same town she’d stayed in when she’d remarried after her first husband’s death before grass started growing on the grave. Mike hadn’t returned to that town since the day he left for boot camp.

He didn’t know where he fit there anyway. That house on the lake, the one they’d moved to when his mother married that monster, had never been home.

The house Mike had grown up in was rented out, in someone else’s hands. If he’d ever had a sense of home, it had been in that little bungalow where his father taught him how to fix a flat and how to throw a football. And now, one on the base, with the guys who had bled and sweated beside him.

Maybe Jackson felt the same way, like a fish in a roomful of birds, the way lots of teenagers felt as they muddled through the confusing years of puberty and high school. Working on the shelter repairs would be good for him, Mike reasoned. Nothing like a little manual labor to sort out the crap in a man’s head.

“Hey, Jackson, get me a box of those wood screws. The two-inch ones.”

Jackson scanned the shelves, grabbed the box that Mike needed, then tossed it in the cart, all while keeping his phone in one hand. Jackson kept his head down, concentrating on texting or e-mailing or whatever he was doing that kept his thumbs flying across the virtual keyboard.

Mike skimmed the list, moved a few feet down the aisle. “See those clamps? I need two of them.”

Jackson barely looked away from the phone. He reached up, tugged down a random pair of clamps, tossed them into the cart, and kept on texting one-handed. Never said a word.

Mike switched the clamps for the ones he wanted, then started down the aisle again. A second later, he did an abrupt one-eighty with the cart. Jackson, his gaze still on the four-inch screen, stumbled and collided with Mike’s chest. “Unless that’s the president, I say you put the phone away for a few,” Mike said.

Jackson scowled. “You’re not my father. I don’t have to do what you say.”

“No, I’m not. But I am the guy who’s fixing your mom’s shelter for free, and who’s taking you out for some burgers after we get the supplies we need. Don’t you think a double cheeseburger earns me a little undivided attention?”

Jackson shrugged, keeping his gaze on the screen. “I’m helping.”

“And I appreciate that. But that’s not why I dragged you with me, and not why I asked your mom if you could help with these repairs. I’m fully capable of doing all this work myself, and I don’t need you.”

Jackson flicked a glance up at Mike’s face. “What do you mean?”

“I brought you with me so I could hang out with you, like we did when I was here back in the winter.”

“You mean the last time you left?” Jackson returned to his phone.

“I had to go back to Alaska, Jackson. It was my job.” Mike heard the echoes of hurt and disappointment in Jackson’s voice and realized his leaving had left a lot of debris in Rescue Bay. He should have thought of that, should have at least talked to Jackson back in the winter. Mike wanted to explain, but knew better than to tell Jackson that he had run from this town when he’d realized his time with Diana had gone from a no-strings, easy relationship to something much deeper. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I should have at least said good-bye to you. I left too fast.”

“Whatever. You’re leaving again in a few weeks, my mom said.” Jackson waved at the cart. “Why do you even care about doing all this stuff? Or whether I help?”

“Because I wanted to help your mom and also spend some time with you, get caught up on what’s been happening with you in the last six months.”

“Me?” Jackson scoffed, then went back to the iPhone’s screen. “Why? I’m no fun.”

“Not when you’re glued to your phone, you’re not.” Mike placed a palm over the screen and waited for Jackson to look up. “But when you have an actual face-to-face conversation, well, you’re a hell of an interesting kid.”

Jackson fiddled with his phone, running his thumb over the skull-and-crossbones patterned black silicone cover. “You think I’m interesting?”

“Yeah, Jackson, I do. So do me a favor and put that thing away. At least until I get a cheeseburger in my hands. Give me some artery-clogging food and I go into caveman mode for a little bit. All grunting and chewing, no communication.”

Jackson laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

Ah, there was that connection again, and the Jackson that Mike remembered. “Why don’t we kick ass on this shopping trip and then, after lunch, we can get back to the shelter and hammer the hell out of some wood?” Mike added a couple Tim Allen–worthy
arr-arr-arr
grunting sounds for emphasis, which brought another laugh out of the teenager.

Jackson considered that a second, then tucked his phone in his back pocket. “Sure.”

He threw out the word with a casual air, like he didn’t care one way or the other, but Mike saw the shift in Jackson’s attitude. The boy’s shoulders eased, his smile came quicker, and they worked through the rest of the list in record time. As they shopped, the two of them talked sports and cars, easy guy talk. If only his daughters could morph into teenage boys—those Mike understood, could relate to and talk to. Little girls with complicated hair and complicated attitudes—they might as well be speaking Greek.

While he was helping to load the supplies in the back of Mike’s car, Jackson’s phone made a trilling sound. He fished it out of his pocket and read the screen. A smile curved across his face, but just as fast, he wiped it off and gave Mike a shrug. “I’m, uh, not hungry anymore. Is it okay if I skip the burger?”

“Sure. We can just go to a drive-through or—”

“Actually, I, uh, wanted to go hang out with my friends. You don’t need my help anymore, right?”

Mike eyed Jackson, but saw nothing in his face that explained the sudden shift. Chances were, there was a pretty girl involved somewhere in this plan—something Mike could understand, because every time he thought about Diana or remembered touching her, his mind detoured. Not to mention tempting him to drop everything just to see her smile.

“I think we’re about done with the supply shopping anyway,” Mike said. “I have to pick up Jenny and Ellie after lunch, so I won’t get started on the repairs until tomorrow.”

Jackson’s face brightened. “Great. See ya later then, Mike.”

Before Mike could question whether Diana even wanted her son heading off on his own, Jackson had taken off across the parking lot and disappeared around the building. By the time Mike got the trunk loaded and the car in gear, Jackson was gone.

Mike drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, debating. As soon as the boy was out of sight, Mike questioned his decision to let Jackson leave. Now that he had a second to think about it, he realized there’d been something about Jackson’s demeanor whenever he was texting, something secretive, that now raised a red flag in Mike. He knew that look. Hell, he’d had a few secrets of his own when he was Jackson’s age. And not just about girls he dated or parties he’d snuck off to.

Add in a distant, cold stepfather who only noticed that Mike was alive when he was drunk and needed someone to blame for his crappy life—which was almost every day, giving Mike a damned good reason to avoid home like the plague—and Mike had raised more hell in his high school years than most people raised in a lifetime.

Mike checked his watch. Twenty minutes until he had to pick up the girls from Diana’s office. Five seconds ago, he’d been anxious to get there early and maybe talk Diana into going for burgers with them. To try to do something, anything, to thaw the cold war between them. He missed her smile like a lost limb. Even if they were never going to be more than just friends, then he wanted the next couple weeks to be at least on better terms. Terms that came with smiles.

Then Mike glanced again at the space where Jackson had been. The way the boy had left, how furtive he’d been earlier—all pointed down a bad path. One Mike couldn’t ignore, regardless of his plan for the day. He spotted a familiar loping figure crossing the road about a quarter mile away, and decided burgers could wait.

Mike put the car in gear and took his time, following Jackson’s winding path through the streets of Rescue Bay. Mike kept the sedan far enough back not to raise Jackson’s suspicions, but not so far that he lost sight of the boy. It didn’t matter—Jackson was so intent on his destination that he never looked behind him.

The pretty neighborhoods yielded to a wooded area, then to a cracked tar road lined by decrepit, gloomy houses and overgrown, weedy lawns. The whole place had an abandoned and neglected feel, with sagging porches curving down like frowns and broken windows bruising the curb appeal. Jackson headed into the third house on the right, a worn, sad bungalow with pale stripes under the windows where flower boxes had once hung. Definitely not the home of a friend, and given the condition of the place, not anyone’s home right now. More like a den for teenagers looking for trouble.

Shit.

Mike parked at the end of the street and hesitated, his hand on the gearshift. If he went barging in there, he’d surely destroy whatever trust Jackson had for him. Besides, it wasn’t his business what someone else’s kid was doing. He could barely take care of his own.

Then he thought of Diana. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was that she loved her son more than anything in the world. If Jackson was doing something that could hurt him, she would want someone to step in and stop him.

Mike got out of the car and headed toward the house. A scrawny blond kid he hadn’t noticed earlier popped up from a torn, dirty armchair on the porch and slipped into the house. A second later, Jackson came outside, frustration on his face. “Did you follow me?”

“I was worried about you.”

“What for? I’m fifteen. Not five.” Jackson rolled his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but this isn’t exactly the kind of neighborhood where you want to hang out, especially after dark.” Mike noted curious eyes behind the grimy window, watching them. The whole place had a bad vibe. A trouble vibe.

“It’s not dark,” Jackson said. “And I’m not hanging out here.”

“What are you doing here, then?”

Jackson swallowed and shifted his stance. “Just meeting someone. We were going to the mall.”