and, where did he learn the skills he used the night he saved me? Was it because he needed them to protect himself on the streets? I blushed when I looked back at his eyes and saw him looking at me. He caught me staring, and I was mortified.
I wanted to go over and talk to him, but before I could, my father appeared beside me. After finding what I was looking at, my father asked if that was the boy who saved me. My mother found my ripped and soiled dressed I apparently hadn’t hidden well enough in my closet. When she saw the fading bruises on my arms from when Arthur held me down, she made me tell her what happened. It terrified me to tell her, but I knew I had no choice. Of course, she told my father, and he was livid. After I explained my rescue and the condition Jack left Arthur and his friends in, he calmed down enough for my mother and me to talk sense into him before he went and killed four boys.
I confirmed Jack was the one who saved me, and my father stalked over to him. His fists were clenched at his sides as he stared down at him. At first, I thought my father was going to hurt him, but then he thanked Jack. Both Jack’s and my eyes were wide when my father then offered him a job as a gardener at our home. I saw the prideful refusal in his eyes, and my heart sunk. I wanted Jack to work for my father because it meant I’d get to see him more. I don’t know why it was so important, but I knew it was. Jack’s eyes slid to me, moving all over my face, before he looked back at my father and said he’d take the job so long as his dog Bruiser could come. My father agreed.
Before we walked off, after giving Jack instructions to be at the house tomorrow morning, my father looked him square in the eye and told him I was off-limits. I’ve got news for my father. Jack is not off-limits for me.
A smile creeps across my face as I read the last two sentences twice. One thing any father should know is, once a girl finds the right boy, there’s nothing he nor anyone else can do to stop her from pursuing him.
With a laugh, I drop the journal on the coffee table and grab my cup to take to the kitchen. As I rinse the dish and put it in the dishwasher, I look out the back window. Lincoln took the kids to his shop earlier today, figuring they’d enjoy helping him work on a few pieces for the Fischer commission. They’re now in the backyard.
A giggle bubbles out of me when Gray sneaks up behind him and jumps on his back. The action stops him from chasing after Gemma, who has the water hose in her hand, trying her best to squirt Lincoln over her shoulder. Realizing her dad is no longer behind her, she spins around. The grin on her face reminds me so much of Lincoln’s when he’s doing something silly. Over his dad’s shoulder, Gray’s wearing the same grin.
A moment passes as Gemma holds up the sprayer. Lincoln takes a step toward her, and she blasts him square in the chest. I can hear all three of them laugh as Lincoln takes off after her, Gray still on his back. Gemma squeals and drops the hose before turning to run away.
I turn away from the window with a smile on my face, feeling lighter than I have in days. Grabbing the makings for sandwiches, I hum to the sound of their laughter as I make my family lunch. By the time I’m done and have the plate of sandwiches on a tray, along with a pitcher of fresh lemonade and some cups, the backyard has grown quiet.
Bumping the screen door handle with my hip, I push the door open. My heart melts at what I find. Lincoln and the kids are lying on their backs looking up at the sky. Lincoln points to one of the clouds and says something too softly for me to hear. They both giggle. As kids, Lincoln and I used to do this all of the time. Since Gray started to understand what we were doing, we’ve done it with him. And the same with Gemma.
Setting the tray down