He holds my hand in his as I rest my other on his shoulder. I try not to react as he places his free hand on my waist, but it’s impossible. My pulse quickens at our proximity. As the seconds pass, my body aches for him to pull me closer as we sway in a slow circle.
Can he hear my heartbeat pounding in my chest? Does he feel the zing of energy when we’re this close? Does it scare him the way it does me?
As the song ends, I step back, my gaze averted as heat creeps up my cheeks. The track changes to the next song, this one upbeat and fun.
“How old were you when you got this CD?” I question.
“Ten or eleven.”
“Wow.” My eyes bug as the singer belts out lyrics about a toxic co-dependent relationship. A bit mature for a child.
Jackson chuckles. “If Pops had caught me listening, that entire collection would’ve ended up in the trash.”
His observation about his dad lines up with all the comments and stories I’ve heard over the years about the older Wilder.
“He had a temper?”
“He didn’t tolerate anything he didn’t understand.” Jackson shrugs. “He was old-fashioned.”
“But you and your siblings aren’t like that.”
“I think as we grow up, we get to decide to be better than our parents, or continue old patterns. They did the best they could with what they had. But as an adult it’s clear to see my parents were only human, with complicated pasts and faults of their own. It’s my responsibility to heal the hurts they caused so I won’t do the same to the people I love.”
I’m too stunned to speak. I feel the same. Yet, it’s rare to meet a man who’s so in touch with his feelings, or has done the work to deconstruct the pain of his childhood.
“How’s he doing?” Maeve doesn’t talk about her dad much, but that doesn’t mean his condition doesn’t weigh heavily on the family.
“Good, I guess? What is good when a person has dementia so severely, they don’t even recognize their own son?”
“Oh, Jackson.” My heart aches on his behalf.
“Maybe it’s better? He doesn’t realize he’s been taken from his home. He can’t understand his own suffering. I guess there’s some peace there. But when I think of him living out the rest of his days without us . . . he doesn’t know we abandoned him, but I have to live with that guilt.”
“You didn’t abandon him.” I shake my head and reach out to rest my hand on his forearm. “Jackson, he requires twenty-four-seven care none of you are able to provide. And you all made sure he got into one of the best memory facilities that money can provide.”
“Is that true? Really? Should he be there when he could be in the only place he ever lived? I get why everyone else couldn’t put their lives on hold—they have families, and Wild his career. But when things got bad with Pops, I could’ve quit the ranch to stay with him. I could’ve, but I never offered because I was too selfish. The idea of giving up my life . . . I couldn’t make that sacrifice, and now I live every day wondering if I made the worst choice.”
“I’d bet he wouldn’t want that for you.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes are glassy as they meet mine.
“I didn’t know him well, but of everything I’ve heard, your dad wouldn’t want you to give up your life for him. He would be pissed if you did.”
“Yeah.” He presses his lips together before exhaling in a rush. “You’re probably right. Do you think I’m a bad person?”
“No.” My answer is immediate. “And I bet it’d make him proud to see you carrying on his legacy with this ranch, alongside Ryan.”
“You’re right there.” He chuckles, but there’s a pain to his laughter. “Growing up, we joked that he loved this land more than us kids.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
“I don’t know. We gave him hell.” Jackson scrubs a hand through his hair. “Fuck. That got dark real fast. I’m not high enough for this conversation.”
My brow furrows. “You’re high?”
“Not yet.” He walks over to the sofa and reaches up to crack open the window above it. He retrieves a joint from the sill and turns to meet my stare with a smile. “This is what I brought us up here for.”
“To smoke weed?”
