Returning Hearts
Author
Alyson Linker
Reads
94.1K
Chapters
57
August walks back into Jackson’s life like a spark he’s been pretending he doesn’t miss, and suddenly the quiet he built around his heart starts to crack. Their old connection flares fast—sweet, sharp, and impossible to ignore. But trust is a tender thing, and hers feels wrapped in shadows she won’t name. Jackson wants to believe in the “now and forever” they once whispered, yet every lingering touch makes him wonder what she’s hiding. As old feelings rise and new doubts twist around them, he must decide if this second chance is a gift… or the reminder that love can burn just as fiercely as it heals.
Chapter 1: Birthday Un-Celebration
JACKSON
There is something wrong about celebrating a fifth birthday in a graveyard. Jackson feels it with every step he takes.
The fog lies thick, curling low around the headstones and trees, swallowing the world in a muted gray hush. It dampens sound, dulls color—everything except the roses in his hands.
Sixty roses, their deep-red petals vivid against the gloom. They are far too bright for a place like this. He clutches them tightly as though letting go might mean losing something more than flowers.
He does not hesitate as he walks. He never does. He knows exactly where she is.
This is the second March tenth he has spent in this graveyard. And he has thought it would be easier this time, but it isn’t.
The heart-shaped gravestone emerges slowly through the fog. Jackson stops in front of it, his chest tightening in that familiar, unwelcome way, and he glances down at his watch. It’s 10:42 a.m.
A breath leaves him, unsteady despite his effort to control it. “I’m right on time, baby.” He lowers himself onto one knee, placing the roses beside the stone with careful hands, as though the smallest mistake might matter.
He reaches toward the letters of the gravestone. For a moment, his fingers linger there against the cold surface. “I miss you every day,” he says, his voice beginning to give way. “Life is so hard without you.”
The words hang there, fragile and insufficient.
For a moment, he lets himself feel it, the full, crushing weight of her absence pressing in from all sides, as heavy as the fog itself.
The grief comes swiftly then, sharp and unrelenting. He bows his head, shoulders tightening as he tries, and fails, to contain it.
It is only when something shifts in the fog that he forces himself to stop. A familiar thin, dark figure in the distance is moving toward him. One he did not expect to see.
Jackson drags a hand across his face, wiping away the evidence of his pain, and rises slowly to his feet. His breath steadies by effort alone. He presses his lips briefly to his fingers before resting them against the top of the gravestone. “Happy birthday, baby.”
He turns, intending to leave quietly, but slows as he draws nearer to the figure now standing beneath a nearby tree. Even without looking, he knows exactly who it is. “She would be five today,” he says, sounding braver than he feels.
No reply.
He turns to face her. For a moment, he can only stare.
Her familiar green eyes meet his, bright with tears that slip down her cheeks. Her brown hair, once long and wild, now falls just to her shoulders. The black dress she wears seems to weigh her down, making her look smaller than he remembers, more fragile.
“Missing her would be more bearable if I still had you, Auggie.” Jackson stares into August’s eyes as he speaks. “Missing you both is killing me.”
The words hang between them, heavy and unkind in their truth.
He takes a step toward her before he can think better of it.
“Jackson, don’t.” August lowers her gaze to the simple white flowers in her hands, as though they might shield her from him.
But he needs to ask her the same question that he has wondered about for the past two years. “Did divorcing me and moving away get rid of the pain like you hoped?”
Her silence meets him again, but he pushes on. “I have left you alone, signed the divorce papers, and done everything you have asked.” He pauses, his voice tightening despite himself. “Have you found the happiness you were looking for?”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even glance at him.
“Auggie?” he tries again, softer this time.
That seems to reach her.
“Stop calling me that.” She draws in a shallow breath, her voice catching as she turns her face farther away.
Jackson nods once, reminding himself she is no longer his. Her happiness isn’t supposed to be his concern.
He steps closer, though he keeps just enough distance between them, his hand slipping into his pocket as though to stop himself from reaching for her. “August, I’m sorry. You came to see Zuri, not me.” He pulls a tissue from his pocket and holds it out to her. “I will leave you alone.”
She hesitates before taking it. For a brief moment, she looks up at him, and something flickers there, something dangerously close to words, as her mouth opens slightly.
But it passes, and her lips press tightly together. Then her gaze drops quickly to the gravestone. “Zuri would have loved the roses,” she says softly.
Jackson lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, though there is no humor in it. “I always wanted to get her a bike for her fifth birthday.” His gaze drops. “A pink one. With all the tassels and Barbie stickers.”
For a fleeting second, he swears he can hear Zuri laughing. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing the image away, and pushes his hands deep into his pockets as though he can hold himself together by doing so.
Silence settles between them once more.
After a moment, he turns to leave. Then he stops, not quite able to face her again. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and heavy. “I couldn’t protect our family.”
The words pull a sharper sound from her, something between a breath and a sob.
He wants to hold her, but he knows she won’t allow it. So he forces himself to walk away, disappearing into the thick fog.
THE PREVIOUS DAY
“Good morning, Mr. Frame.” The new secretary springs up from her desk the moment Jackson steps through the entry doors, her smile bright and eager. “I like your tie.”
Jackson does not so much as slow his stride. He passes her without a glance, heading straight for the elevator as though her voice has never reached him at all.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t waste your breath on that one,” another woman murmurs as she sweeps past the desk. “He is nice to look at but is hard as stone on the inside.”
Hard as stone. If only that were true, he thinks as he rides up in the elevator. The office hums with the steady noise of ringing phones and overlapping conversations as he steps out onto the tenth floor.
“Jackson!” Tommy appears at his side almost immediately, falling into step with practiced ease. Tall, dark, and far too energetic for the hour, he grins as though the day holds nothing but promise. “I made us plans this weekend. Me, you, and two of Columbus’s finest women.”
“No, Tommy,” Jackson says flatly, already turning toward his office.
“Come on. Just one drink. Sunday night. Or even dinner.” Tommy follows him inside without invitation.
“No.” Jackson sets his briefcase on the desk and slips off his coat, his gaze lifting just enough to meet Tommy’s.
“But this girl is the one for you. I swear, she has eyes that will make your heart stop beating. And the body of an angel.” Tommy shifts closer, hands tucked into his pockets, his excitement barely contained.
“I already had the one, Tommy.” Jackson’s eyes flick briefly to the window overlooking the city before returning to him. “Stop trying to set me up and focus on work.”
Tommy’s grin fades, though only slightly. “August was great, but it is time to move on, Jax. It’s been two years.”
Jackson lowers himself into his chair, shaking his head. “It has only been a year and a half. I’m busy this weekend anyway, Tommy.”
Tommy takes a step toward the door, then pauses, glancing back. “All weekend? Sitting alone in your apartment, drinking and being depressed doesn’t count, Jax.”
“Bye, Tommy.” Jackson has already turned to his computer.
“Yeah.” Tommy lingers a moment longer, as though there are more words waiting to be said, but Jackson shakes his head. He doesn’t need any more words from Tommy.
With that, Tommy slips out into the noise of the office. The door clicks shut behind him.
For a while, Jackson lets himself disappear into his work. Numbers, emails, deadlines: things that do not ask anything of him except attention. Then the intercom buzzes, breaking the quiet. “Mr. Frame, your one p.m. is here.”
“Send him in, Josie.” Jackson stands, buttoning his gray jacket as he moves toward the door.
It opens almost at once.
“Hi, Dad.” Jackson gives a small nod as his father steps inside, followed closely by his mother. He knew she’d be in tow, but he was still annoyed by her presence. “I see you brought Mom.”
“How terrible is it that we had to call your secretary just to schedule an appointment to see you, our own son?” Rachel pulls him into a tight hug, though her words carry more scolding than warmth.
“Oh, don’t nag the boy, Rachel.” Henry shakes Jackson’s hand with an easy smile. “He is busy being successful.”
“I am not nagging him, Henry. I am being a mother, and a son should never be too successful for his mother. I don’t care how old he is.” Rachel adjusts Jackson’s collar as she speaks. “How have you been, sweetie?”
Looking slightly annoyed, Jackson replies, “I am fine, Mom. Would you like to sit down?”
His dad makes himself comfortable on the couch as Rachel seems not to notice his offer.
“You look so handsome, honey. Brock says you have been working out. Has that been helping take your mind off things?” She looks at Jackson sympathetically.
“Mom. I said I was fine.” Jackson rolls his eyes as he looks toward his father. “But yes, Brock and I work out a few nights a week together.”
“Well, I guess you at least make time for one of your family members. Speaking of family, well, with tomorrow being March tenth, we thought you would like to do something as a family. You, Brock, and us?” Rachel moves over to sit on the couch with Henry and places her hand on his knee.
Jackson shifts slightly, his discomfort showing. “Is that what this is about?”
“Well, your mother thought it would be helpful if we all got together and had a birthday celebration.” Henry’s tone makes clear that he disagrees with the idea.
“Helpful?” Jackson shakes his head as he moves toward the window, looking out over the busy street below. He pauses before responding. “Celebration. For what?” He turns back toward his parents. “She isn’t a year older.”
“A celebration of her life, darling. Just a day to remember her.” Rachel quickly rises from the couch and moves toward her son, but he steps away.
“Mom, I see her face and hear her voice every day. I don’t need another reminder.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I just wanted to do something nice to remember her on her birthday. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Rachel said, clearly upset.
Jackson sighs heavily, massaging his temples as he sits down, trying to steady himself. “I’m not upset. Thank you for the offer, but I would rather spend the day alone, if that is okay.”
“If that is what you need, then we will respect that.” Henry rises from the couch. “You know where to find us if you need us, though.”
“We will be at Mike’s Pizza around noon if you change your mind.” Rachel’s voice softens with hope as she moves closer to Henry.
Jackson sits silently, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“Well, we better let him get back to work. Rachel, let’s go.” Henry guides Rachel toward the door.
Jackson nods, as if coming to a decision. “So, have you already had lunch?”
“No, we were hoping you would join us.” Rachel adjusts her purse on her arm, sounding hopeful.
“I would love to, Mom.” Jackson rises and grabs his coat. “Where should we go?”
“That local pasta house is always a good choice, and I know it is your favorite.” Rachel smiles warmly as she takes Henry’s arm and leads the way out of Jackson’s office.
The last thing he wants is to spend time with his family tomorrow. He knows exactly how it will go. The careful looks. The quiet voices. The same words, repeated as though saying them often enough might make them true.
It wasn’t your fault.
It has been a year and a half since he lost everything. His daughter. His wife.
And no matter how many times people tell him otherwise, Jackson knows the truth. Zuri’s death is his fault.
