Chapter 61

Grace

As the evening sun painted the sky in fiery hues, I found myself at home, sitting in the cozy living room of the Mooncrest Pack House, my mind replaying the encounter with Jackson. Cecil was in the playroom, and Richard was cooing up at the toys that hung from the top of his rocker. They were blissfully ignorant of everything going on.

I envied them.

My day had been a whirlwind of emotions and challenges. Jackson's words had haunted me like a ghost all day. I knew he hadn't meant to be cruel and that he was probably just concerned about me, but his words had stung deeply.

Maybe if you got married again--to a werewolf who knew what he was doing...

I scoffed. Where the hell was that werewolf when I was in college? When my father died?

And where the hell did he get off insinuating that my ability to lead was less than this imaginary man? Jackson had always been a bit of a chauvinist, but this was worse than usual.

I sighed, staring out of the window. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Hey, Grace..." Jackson called.

Jackson entered the room, a contrite expression on his face. I stared at him, waiting for him to say something worth listening to.

"Grace," he began, his voice tentative, "I just wanted to talk. I didn't mean to hurt you earlier. It's just... I've known you for so long, and I care about you. I've seen you go through so much, and I just thought that maybe..."

He trailed off, his words hanging in the air, unfinished. I could sense his discomfort, and I wanted to feel a pang of sympathy, but it didn't come.

He might want to mend the bridge, but he hadn't even said those simple words.

I'm sorry.

"I just... I want what's best for you. And sometimes, I can be too blunt for my own good."

I swallowed the reply that was pushing at my teeth. Of course, he wasn't apologizing. Of course, he was making an excuse. He went on about how he was concerned and how my stress was showing, but never did he say he was sorry for simply adding to my stress, for being insensitive, for even being too blunt as he put it. I kept waiting for anything that resembled an apology to come out of his mouth, but before long, I wasn't listening anymore.

Then, I started talking. "Your parents and their opinions mean nothing to me."

He opened his mouth and I held up a hand.

"You haven't been here. But I've seen your mom and dad on more than one occasion over the years... and just like everyone else: they didn't say a word." I tilted my head. "Interesting that now that you're back, now that I'm scrambling to pull things from the gutter, they have so much to say and their opinion--your opinion--is that I should just get married?"

He shuffled his feet. "You're taking it too personally. This is what I'm talking about. You can't run a pack and be this sensitive."

I almost laughed in his face. As usual, Jackson was proving himself to be a typical, stubborn werewolf male, so stuck in his way of thinking that he couldn't even see the lack of logic in it. I supposed nothing had changed from years ago. My lips twitched as I thought about Devin. Perhaps Jackson was just a typical man.

Devin never really apologized, either. I turned away from him.

"Thank you for coming to talk to me. I know you mean well."

Jackson's shoulders relaxed, and he came in to sit beside me, too close for my taste, but I was lost in my thoughts again.

We sat in silence as I watched Richard tire himself out as the soft darkness of night began to grow.

For the next few days, we didn't talk. I could tell it was frustrating Jackson, but I didn't have anything to say to him. We were barely cordial to him. A sense of unease continued to grow. Something had shifted, and it was becoming more apparent with each passing moment.

I could tell if it was my perception of Jackson or Jackson himself, but I saw him... differently.

I was tense whenever he was around, not distrustful, but more like something in me knew I shouldn't be near him-- alone with him. Ever.

As I moved through the house, trying to clear my mind, Jackson seemed to be appearing more and more often. He insisted on helping me with various tasks regarding the pack, offering advice I didn't ask for whenever he heard even a bit of what I was looking into or thinking about accomplishing.

He outright tried to barge in on a meeting I was having with Eason about the pack's appearance. At first, it seemed like an overbearing attempt to make me less angry or get me to talk to him, but as the day wore on, his intentions became increasingly clear.

It started with small, subtle signs. A lingering touch on my arm that lasted just a second too long, the way his laughter seemed a touch too eager, and the constant stream of compliments that felt more personal than friendly.

Jackson wanted me, and I almost wanted to hurl.

I remembered what he was like to his high school girlfriends. He had been the kind of scum I would have stomped the daylights out of once upon a time. He'd continued to be that way into college, and for the sake of our friendship, we agreed not to talk about his relationships. I couldn't help but recall the countless times I had witnessed him treating the girls he liked, the women he liked, like trash, belittling them until they either left him for being an asshole or broke without a second thought.

The realization of Jackson's interest in me left me reeling... And maybe a little furious too.

He couldn't see in me what he saw in those women: someone to mold and force into submission--someone to control. How many times had we fought, physically and not, over the years? My jaw clenched as I thought about Devin.

Had his understanding of what happened with Devin changed his perception of me? Had that been the real reason he'd come back? As my mind continued to spiral, I felt sicker.

Devin had been a mistake of grief and escapism from the moment it started until I decided to free myself. Looking back, there hadn't been a single good thing about it except for my children. They were so similar and I couldn't be dragged into any sort of relationship like that again.

History wasn't repeating itself.

I almost laughed, feeling silly for letting Jackson's comment about getting married again affect me. It was foolish to allow myself to be influenced by his words now that I knew his angle.

I'd seen him do it so many times before.

I felt even dumber seeing the similarities now and still giving in to Devin all those years ago. If I could go back in time, I'd haul my stupid twenty-something-year-old self to some fucking grief counseling not the marriage altar.

That evening when I got home, I retreated to my room, and when I came out I had Richard in my arms or Cecil at my side. It was a terrible thing to do, but it was all I could think of until I could figure out how to let him down easily. Whatever personal feeling he had was nothing in the face of needing his scientific expertise.

Days rolled by, and the awkward dance with Jackson continued. His advances were persistent and not nearly as subtle as he thought they were. It was easy enough to call Kelly to look after the kids and spend my days at Wolfe Medical.

Margaret rolled her eyes as we headed out one day. "Still don't have a backbone anywhere, hm?"

I grimaced. "I'm trying to figure out a way to be diplomatic."

"Don't."

She went back to reading, and I tried to focus on the work too. If it was just Jackson, it wouldn't be so bad, but there was also this cloud hanging over the house, and it wasn't solely due to Jackson's advances.

It was mostly about Charles, his presence at home was becoming sporadic and fleeting. His absence was just affecting me, I could tell that Cecil raved about her new colors and how she and Charles had colored together just a day ago. I was grateful that he was keeping Cecil in the dark about our issues, but I couldn't stand it any longer.

Tonight, Jackson was gone to visit his parents or something. I don't know, and I didn't care, but Charles was coming home late. I stood in the foyer as I heard the car drive up. George drove to the garage around the corner and I braced myself as Charles opened the front door.

He opened the door and looked at me. He paused in the hallway. His eyes, usually so warm, held a hint of surprise and a glimmer of hope. It seemed he had been waiting for this conversation just as much as I had.

"Charles," I said, my voice carrying a mix of determination and trepidation. "We need to talk."