Page 29 of Diesel’s Second Chance

"Yes." No hesitation. "I want you, Jackson. All of you. Messy and complicated and completely imperfect. I want to try."

His eyes go bright with something that might be tears. "I want that too."

"Then come back to me tonight," I whisper. "Come back and we'll figure out the rest together."

"I will." He kisses me softly. "I promise, June. I'm coming back."

I believe him. I have to. Because the alternative is unthinkable.

We spend the rest of the morning tangled together in my bed, and it feels both surreal and inevitable. Around noon, Jackson gets hungry and I dig through my fridge to find sandwich ingredients. We eat sitting cross-legged on the bed, him wearing his briefs and me in one of his t-shirts again.

The domesticity of it: of sharing food, talking between bites, wiping mustard from the corner of his mouth with my thumb, makes my chest ache in the best way.

"Remember that time Tommy tried to cook Thanksgiving dinner?" Jackson asks, smiling around his sandwich.

I laugh despite myself. "Oh God. The turkey was still frozen in the middle."

"And he insisted it was fine, that we could just microwave slices." Jackson shakes his head. "We ended up ordering pizza and telling his parents the oven broke."

"Your dad knew we were lying." I set my sandwich down. "He looked at me and said, 'June, honey, ovens don't break by exploding cranberry sauce all over the ceiling.'"

Jackson's laugh is genuine, unguarded. "I forgot about the cranberries. Tommy put the can in the oven still sealed."

"Like a grenade." I'm laughing too now, remembering Tommy's face when it exploded. "We were picking cranberry bits out of the light fixtures for weeks."

The laughter fades into comfortable silence. Talking about Tommy doesn't hurt the way I thought it would. Doesn't feel like betrayal. It just feels like honoring someone we both loved.

"He'd really be okay with this?" I ask. "With us?"

Jackson sets his own sandwich aside, reaches for my hand. "Yeah. He would. Tommy wanted everyone around him to be happy. Used to drive him crazy when I'd work too much, when you'd stress about things you couldn't control. He'd want us living, not just surviving."

I squeeze his fingers. "I miss him."

"Me too." Jackson pulls me closer. "But I don't think we have to choose between missing him and being happy together. Both things can be true."

"Yeah." I rest my head on his shoulder. "They can."

We finish eating and Jackson clears the plates, insisting I stay in bed. When he comes back, he climbs in beside me and we just lie there facing each other, not talking, just existing in the same space.

Eventually his hands start wandering. Trailing down my side, curving over my hip, sliding between my thighs. I'm sore from earlier but I don't care. When he pushes inside me again, slower this time, gentler, I wrap myself around him and let the pleasure build gradually.

We make love instead of fucking. That's what it is this time. Soft kisses and whispered words and Jackson's eyes locked on mine as we move together. When I come, it's a slow rolling wave instead of a lightning strike. When he follows, he says my name like a prayer.

Afterward, we sleep. I drift off with Jackson's arm around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck, and for the first time in years I feel safe.

I wake to his phone alarm at 10 PM.

Reality comes crashing back.

He must leave. Must ride into danger. Has to risk everything we just found. Jackson silences the alarm and turns to me. The fear I've been holding back all day surfaces in full force.

"Two hours," he says.

I press my face into his chest and try not to cry.

Chapter 9 - Diesel

Two hours until I have to leave everything I just found.