An involuntary shiver stole through her, and her heart started a slow pound in her chest, increasing the anxiety quickening her pulse. The significance of the phrase she’d had Mason tattoo on her was personal and private, and no one had seen it until Jackson. It was a reminder of the journey she’d started over six years ago and the grief and anguish she’d survived. But was she ready to crack open a sealed part of her heart and share those painful memories with this man?
He slowly lifted a hand, and with excruciating gentleness, he brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek in a soothing caress. “Sweetheart, whatever just put that panic I can clearly see in your eyes, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
He was wrong. It was that bad. She inhaled a shaky breath, torn between pushing him away so she could put distance between them and being brave and sharing her biggest, most devastating secret with him. Part of her fear was that he’d look at her differently, that he’d see her more as an ex-drug addict who had no place in his successful life than a woman still trying to find her place in the world.
He was waiting patiently, not pushing or prodding for answers, leaving the end result totally up to her. She’d only known Jackson a short time, but there was one thing she knew without question—he was a man of integrity, one who valued honesty and trust, both of which he’d given to her. If he could allow her insight into his past, to the shitty childhood he’d endured and the betrayal of his ex-wife, couldn’t she do the same?
The initial dread and fear she’d experienced slowly faded away as Jackson gave her as much time as she needed to make her decision. Letting anyone close was difficult for Tara when she was so used to protecting her emotions. Allowing someone to witness her greatest failure, to learn about the stupid choices she’d made that had led to a dark depression of guilt that had nearly swallowed her whole was even more challenging.
But maybe this moment with Jackson, this particular emotional struggle, was also a part of the story—and with that realization, she knew she had two choices. She could let the past continue to keep her from truly being whole and at peace with herself, or she could release the pain and take a step toward her future and the possibility of finding something special and unique with this man.
When presented that way, her decision became an easy one.
The calm that suddenly settled over Tara was exactly what she needed to know that she’d come to the right conclusion. “I think for you to truly understand the entire story, I need to tell you how I grew up.”
He set his hands on her knees, not in a sexual way but as a reassurance that he was right there with her. “Okay.”
“Do you remember me telling you that my father is an army sergeant at Camp Butler in Springfield?” When he nodded, she continued. “Well, growing up with a parent in the military was tough. When I was really young, he was stationed overseas, so I only saw him a few times a year, but around the time I turned eight, he accepted a position at a base close to home, and the dynamic of our family completely changed. I always knew he was strict, because that’s how he treated me and my brother when he was home on leave, but having him living with us full-time, well . . . it was bad.”
Jackson didn’t say a word, but then he didn’t have to. The compassion in his eyes reached out to her, and the calming sensation of his thumb gently stroking her skin right above her knee was exactly the connection to him that she needed.
“My father was very hard-edged and stern, and he had certain expectations of me and my brother that seemed, at times, impossible to live up to. Nothing we did was good enough, ever.” She shook her head as she remembered how beaten down and inadequate she’d felt, how her self-esteem had gradually dwindled along with what little she’d had left of her pride. “Anything below an A in school was unacceptable and we were punished. The chores we were expected to do around the house were endless, but the fact that he found fault in everything I did was what made life with him so excruciating. There was never any positive reinforcement, no praise for a job well done, because in his mind, my brother and I could do better, be better.”
“What about your mother?” he asked quietly.
“My mother was passive and timid and would never contradict anything my father said or did. Even if she knew he was wrong or out of line, she never stood up to him, and that made me so fucking angry as a teenager. Especially when, as I got older, my father would criticize the clothes I wore, the style of my hair, the friends I had . . . and she never, not once, said a goddamn word in my defense.”
Tara’s throat tightened as memories of how hurt and betrayed she’d felt toward her mother during that time resurfaced now. “My mother’
s inability to get a backbone so she could protect me and my brother from our father’s mental and emotional abuse only fueled my rage toward the entire situation. By the time I was sixteen, I was deliberately breaking every fucking rule my father made because it didn’t make any difference if I followed them or not, because I couldn’t do anything right, anyway. By the time I was eighteen, I was running with a bad crowd and abusing prescription drugs because it was the only thing that numbed my emotions and made my life bearable.”
Jackson swore beneath his breath, and he picked up her hands, his fingers so warm compared to how cold she felt. He held her hands as if he wanted her to know that he was right there with her, listening to every word and empathizing with her family situation considering what he’d gone through with the man who’d raised him. Except her circumstance, and the choices she’d made, had led to a tragic ending she’d been too naive to ever see coming.
She forced herself to continue. “By the time I was nineteen, my father had kicked me out of the house because, according to him, I was a disgrace, and he wasn’t going to support a drug addict in any way. Never once did he or my mom try and get me the help I desperately needed to get clean and sober, so I spent the next few years crashing on friends’ couches and doing whatever it took to get ahold of oxycodone so I didn’t have to feel anything . . . and that’s how I met Michael.”
“Michael?” he prompted curiously.
She nodded, trying to maintain her composure as she finished her story, but it was difficult considering what she was about to relive. “Michael, a guy I ended up getting involved with, was from a wealthy family, and he had emotional issues of his own that opiates helped him escape. We were together for a few months, and he had some connections to a dealer who sold the street version of fentanyl, which is one of the strongest painkillers on the market. We didn’t know at the time, but the fentanyl was laced with heroin, and we both overdosed.”
Her voice cracked, and she could feel the swell of moisture burning in her eyes. “Our roommate at the time found both of us unconscious the following morning, and we were taken to the hospital. I survived, but Michael . . . died.” Hot, scalding tears fell over her lashes and tracked down her cheeks. “His family, when they came to the hospital, blamed me for his death. His sister, Brynn, said the most horrible, hateful things to me, and I just wanted to die from the pain I’d caused her family, even though it wasn’t directly my fault. I’ve never felt such loathing and contempt from a person.”
“Jesus, I’m so sorry.” He raised both of his hands and swiped away the wetness with his thumbs, a deep frown furrowing his brows. “Your parents . . . did they come and see you?”
“Not once,” she said, her voice raspy from the painful sob she’d managed to hold back. “They never acknowledged the fact that I nearly died or came to visit me during my stay in rehab after it happened or joined me during my therapy sessions. Regret, sadness, shame, survivor’s guilt . . . I went through it all alone.”
“Ahh, sweetheart . . .” He slid his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace. “You’re not alone anymore.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, her cheek resting on his warm chest as he stroked her back. “No, I’m not. I have Clay, Mason, Levi—”
He pulled back and stared deep into her eyes. So deep she wanted to drown in the emotion she saw there. “And me, Tara,” he said with a fierce conviction she wanted so badly to believe. “You have me.”
Yes, for now she did. And for now, it was enough. “Thank you.”
His hands came back up to her face again, cradling her as if she were a piece of fine china. “You are one of the strongest, most resilient women I know . . . and I’m fucking crazy about you,” he added with a grin.
She laughed, grateful for the bit of humor that served to chase away the depressing memories. “I’m a little crazy about you, too,” she admitted, unable to deny the butterflies in her stomach that accompanied that truthful statement.
“Spend the day with me,” he insisted with a smile. “We can have lunch at Navy Pier, go to a movie, anything you want.”