Page 21 of Diesel’s Second Chance

Through the frosted glass panel beside the door, I can make out a tall figure. Broad shoulders. The build I'd recognize anywhere.

It’s him.

He came anyway. Even though I asked for space, even though I told him I'd call when I was ready, he came.

I unlock the door with shaking hands and pull it open.

Jackson stands on my porch looking like he drove straight here without thinking. His hair's a mess, jaw tight, and there's something in his expression that makes my heart skip a beat.

"I know you asked for time," he says before I can speak. "I know you needed space. But I can't give it to you, June. Not today."

"Jackson…"

"Please." His voice is rough. "Let me in. I need to talk to you."

I step back, pulling the door wider. My heart's hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. "What's wrong? You look—"

"I'm fine." He moves past me into the small entryway, then stops and turns. His eyes take me in—the cardigan, his t-shirt underneath, my bare feet, my hair that I haven't brushed. "You're wearing my shirt."

Heat floods my cheeks. "I… I couldn't leave it. I'm sorry, I'll wash it and get it back to you—"

"Don't." He takes a step closer. "Don't apologize. I like seeing you in it."

I wrap my arms around myself and move toward the living room, needing distance. "What are you doing here, Jackson?"

He follows me, stops by the fireplace. For a moment he just looks at me, and I can see him wrestling with something.

"There's a situation with the club," he finally says.

My stomach clenches. "What kind of situation?"

"The kind that means I'm riding out tonight with my brothers to end this war." He runs a hand through his hair. "We finally have solid intel on where the leader of the rival MC is hiding. We're moving on him at midnight."

I sink onto the edge of the couch, suddenly dizzy. I don't know the details of the war, don't know much about names or specifics, but I know it's been brutal. Know that brothers have been hurt, that the whole club's been on high alert.

"That's... that's good, isn't it?" I ask, even though the fear in his eyes tells me it's not that simple. "If you end it tonight, the war is over."

"If we survive it." Jackson's voice is flat. "We're riding into hostile territory to take out a desperate man and what's left of his crew. Our president told us this morning that some of us might not come back."

I press my hand to my mouth, trying to process. "No…"

"I have until midnight," he continues. "That's it. Phoenix told everyone to spend the time with their families, get their affairs in order, say whatever needs to be said." He takes a step toward me. "So, I got on my bike and I came here. Because you told me you loved me last night, and then you ran before we could figure out what that means."

Tears blur my vision. "Don't talk like you're going to die."

"I might." He kneels in front of the couch, and the position, him on his knees looking up at me, makes me want things I shouldn’t. "And I can't ride out there knowing you're sitting here drowning in guilt while I'm wondering if you meant what you said."

"Of course I meant it." My voice cracks. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

"Then why did you run?"

I look away, staring at the framed photo of Tommy and me on our wedding day that still sits on the mantel. "Because I'm terrified. Because saying I love you out loud makes it real, and making it real means I have to face what that means for Tommy's memory."

"June." Jackson's hand finds mine. "Look at me."

I do, reluctantly.

"Tommy's been gone seven years," he says. "Seven years of you putting your life on hold, refusing to move forward, carrying guilt that was never yours to carry. And I've been doing the same thing. Loving you from a distance, telling myself I didn't deserve you, that wanting you was a betrayal." His grip tightens. "But I can't do it anymore. Not when I might die tonight. Not when we finally told each other the truth."