by L A Cotton
“Ana…” he whispered, so quietly I almost missed it, his voice no match for the beat of the party on the other side of the door.
“Jack-”
His lips crushed to mine, and all of the fear, the anxiety, and the terror washed away. Lost. It was all lost to him and a kiss that seared its way all the down to my soul. I couldn’t think about the consequences, its meaning, or his motivation…I couldn’t think at all. Jackson’s tongue gently nudged my lips apart as he brought our entwined hands above my head, pinning me to the doorframe. Not that I could have moved if I had wanted to. He had paralyzed me. Completely and utterly ripped me of any shred of rational thought.
He pulled back slightly, grazing my bottom lip with his teeth. “Fuck, Ana. I’ve been waiting to kiss you… I couldn’t wait anymore. Don’t make me stop, please don’t stop me.”
My eyes flew open at his words. Not that it mattered; I still couldn’t see a thing with the black void enveloping us. “Jack-Jackson, are you-”
Drunk? Are you drunk? I had wanted to ask, but his mouth traced the outline of my own, cutting me off, and I moaned softly against him, giving myself over to the sensation.
“PIERCE. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?” The voice boomed from the other side of the door and I tensed a little at the sound of Braiden’s voice, but more loud cheers and the sound of chanting relaxed me slightly. Things were getting crazy out there.
Jackson’s lips moved along my jawline, feathering soft kisses all the way up to my the soft spot of skin just under my ear. My body shuddered and I tilted my head to one side granting him full access. “So fucking beautiful.” He nuzzled my neck, as if he couldn’t get enough of me, still pinning me to the doorframe.
“ANYONE SEEN PIERCE?” Braiden’s voice seemed further away this time, but still managed to perforate my Jackson lust-filled haze.
Jackson continued kissing my neck, but tensed slightly, and then he groaned against my burning skin. “Fuck. We need to stop. I need to stop. You’re not ready for this, we’re not ready.” The euphoric bubble Jackson had formed around us burst, and I stepped to the side, breaking contact with him.
“Ana, I-”
“Don’t. Just don’t.” It came out harsh despite being breathless. I was so tired of being told what I was and wasn’t ready for. Aunt Betsy, Dr. Simmonds, and now Jackson. They wanted me to live my life, to move on, but I wasn’t allowed to do it on my own terms?
“Ana, please, just let me explain.”
I traced the wall, trying to find the door handle. Eventually, my hand found it and I turned it, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves before re-entering the party. Turning back to the dark void, I said, “Let me know when you figure out when I’m ready.” And then I stepped in the hallway.
A group of killer clowns rushed toward me and I stepped out of their way, before turning back to the door. It was closed…and Jackson was gone.
Chapter Eight
Monday morning, I felt like shit. My alarm didn’t wake me—the dreams did. I had hardly slept all weekend, kept awake by the disturbing vivid images of me with Jackson, pressed up against the closet door, my hands clasped around his neck holding on as if I needed him to survive. It was like I watching it from above; an out of body experience, only I could feel everything. His breath teasing my skin, his hands gripping desperately at my waist as if he needed me just the same. And then Jackson morphed into Danny and tears streamed from my eyes as he kissed me tenderly. Lovingly. In the dream, I felt at peace wrapped in Jackson’s arms, in Danny’s arms, but I had felt someone watching us. And out of the corner of my eye, in the darkness, I saw two ice-cold blue eyes staring at us. Braiden. That was when I had awoken, panting and sweating, entangled in the pale green bed sheet.
I had done nothing but think about Jackson for forty-eight hours. He didn’t text or call, but then I hadn’t really expected him to. There was something about the way he lost control—I had felt how much he wanted me, but then he had pulled the cold mask back on and shut down. Pushed me away. Rejected me. Even so, his kiss had imprinted on my brain, replaying over and over. One minute, I had felt warm and tingly inside, but then it turned to regret and guilt. Danny. It was time to move on, I knew that, but how did you move on when you never had closure? Never got to say the things that you wanted to say. How did you move on from the guilt of knowing it was all your fault?
Elena wasn’t home. Again. So, I grabbed my bag and left McGinley alone, heading for class. I had almost decided to skip, knowing I had to face Classics with Jackson and Briony first thing. But I didn’t want to be that girl anymore—the one hiding when things got too hard. So, I pulled up the fur-lined hood on my parka jacket and set off in the direction of Carver Hall.
Fifteen minutes into the class, I didn’t know whether to be relieved, disappointed, or concerned. Jackson never showed, and Briony sat with a group of girls who I didn’t recognize, not giving me the time of day. Thank God. I heard the constant rumble of Gardner’s voice, but the words didn’t connect. I was too lost in my thoughts, wondering where Jackson was, replaying the party over in my head. The guarded door, Jackson swooping in just as I was about to try to find out more about Braiden and the team, and the edge to Jackson’s actions, the cold tone to his voice. None of it made sense, but somehow, it all felt connected. Like I was missing one piece of the puzzle, the piece that connected all of the dots.
After class, I found Elena and Tyson sitting at what had become our usual table—well, when I actually joined them and the rest of the guys for lunch.
“Hey, chica, how are things?”
I nodded and forced a smile as I slouched onto the bench next to Paul, who winked in my direction. “Ana, where did you go Friday night?”
“Home. I texted Elena. Didn’t you get the memo, Mom?”
The guys laughed and Tyson held out his palm for a high five. I slapped it, grinning at Paul. I couldn’t resist; he was too easy to pick on.
“Not cool, Ana,” Paul scowled, returning his attention to his sub.
“So, things seemed a little wild at the party?” I emphasized the wild, hoping the guys would catch my hidden message.
“You saw, huh?” Tyson replied, and I shrugged, crunching a chip between my teeth. “It’s college. Alcohol isn’t the only thing that gets you wasted,” he added.
“Yeah, but it’s the team’s house. I thought they took things like that pretty seriously?”
The guys looked at one another with that look again, doing their secret communication thing.
“What?” I asked.
Tyson leaned into the table, closing the distance between us. “Rumor has it now that Braiden is on campus, things will be easier to get ahold of… if you catch my drift.”
Braiden deals? I didn’t have time to ask the question because the cafeteria door slammed open, ricocheting off the wall. The whole room silenced and a sea of heads turned in the direction of the noise. In the doorway stood a mass of white, black, and green. Chastity Fallen football team had just entered the building, and I noticed Tyson stiffen next to Elena, who watched through her saucer-sized eyes. Braiden scanned the room, honing in on someone. And then all hell broke loose.
Before anyone could process what was happening, Braiden had launched himself at the guy, throwing his fist straight into his face. The guy toppled backward off the chair and Braiden landed on top of him, pulling back and driving his fist into him again. I winced as the sound of bone hitting bone echoed around the room.
People seated around the scuffle jumped out of their seats and backed away, and the room filled with a low rumble as Braiden heaved the guy to his feet and roared, “YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCK WITH ME? IN MY COLLEGE? MY TOWN?”
The guy lifted his already bruised face in a challenge and I gasped—along with the whole room—in disbelief. Even in my short time at Chastity Falls, I knew Braiden wasn’t the kind of guy to be messed with. What was this guy thinking?
“You don’t own anything… yet, Donohue,” the guy spat out, his eyes
locked on Braiden’s.
I glanced over at the rest of the team still standing in the doorway, and it occurred to me that they weren’t just here to catch the show, they were blocking the way out…or in.
“OWN THIS, TRISTER.” Braiden leaned back and then cracked his head forward, colliding with the guy’s nose. My stomach churned as the blood splattered out of the guy’s nose, spraying into the air, and my mouth fell open. The guy let out a pained grunt, swaying slightly. It looked as if he was going down, but Braiden held him firmly in place.
I scanned the room. People sat rooted in their seats, staring, whispering, but no one rushed to the guy’s aid. Not even his so-called friends. Why doesn’t someone step in?
“They don’t want to end up with a mark painted on their backs, too,” Paul whispered under his breath, and I realized that I must have said it out loud.
Braiden pushed the guy back against the wall, lifting an arm to his neck and crushing his windpipe… and still no one moved an inch.
Something stirred in me. Outrage. Anger. Sheer disbelief.
Without thinking, I pushed up off the table and stood. No one around me noticed at first, unable to look away from Braiden, who was whispering something to the guy whose eyes had started to roll into the back of his head.
“Chica, what the hell?” Elena said under her breath. Paul noticed me standing beside him and grabbed my hand, trying to yank me back down, but I shrugged him off and started moving toward them. Someone had to do something, to try to put a stop to this craziness.
Braiden delivered a kidney blow and the guy slumped between the wall and Braiden’s arm, which seemed to be the only thing holding him up. He was a mess, but that was not what terrified me. It was Braiden. A look of pure evil gleamed in his eye…he was enjoying this.
The whispers grew louder as more people realized what I was doing. My hands were trembling, my whole body vibrating with nerves. I had no clue or idea what I intended on saying or doing when I reached them, but someone had to step in. Someone had to do something.
I moved quicker, almost reaching them, just as Braiden pulled back his fist to deliver another blow, which I felt sure would do serious damage. There was a commotion somewhere behind me, over by the door, and then someone was running and calling out. “Braiden, dude, chill. Fuck. BRAIDEN.”
Braiden blinked as if snapping out of a trance, and turned his head slightly toward me, toward the voice. His eyes narrowed on me and sparked with recognition, but quickly shifted over my shoulder. “Pierce, I had to teach this fuck a lesson.”
Someone was standing directly behind me, but I was frozen. Paralyzed. That voice, the voice that had called out to Braiden, had rooted me to the spot. It felt like all the chips were falling, the dots finally connecting. I turned in slow motion to face the person who had managed to pull Braiden from his violent rage. The guy was wearing a number thirteen Fallen jersey. It hugged his broad shoulders and trim waist to perfection, hanging over the slim fit jeans covering his strong legs. His eyes met mine and softened. But they were full of something else...regret.
He didn’t take his eyes off me as he spoke directly to Braiden. “Braiden, man, we need to get out of here. You might be untouchable, but assault? On campus? Whole other ballgame, dude.”
Braiden released the guy, who dropped to the floor in a bloodied mess. Some guys rushed to his side and dragged him to a table, fussing over him. Now they care, I thought to myself, disgusted. He stormed in our direction but stalled just as he reached us. He glanced at me, something flaring in his eyes, and I stiffened, watching him look from me and back at number thirteen. He was also connecting the dots.
His teammate.
His best friend.
Pierce.
But I didn’t know number thirteen as either.
I knew him as Jackson.
Two hours later, I still felt sick. Jackson was Pierce—Chastity Fallen’s star linebacker and Braiden Donohue’s best friend and sidekick, by all accounts. Pierce was my Jackson. The second my eyes had fallen on Jackson, all the little signs made sense. His warnings, the way he tensed every time that I asked questions, or the one time that I had mentioned Braiden. And yet, so much still didn’t make sense.
I had heard all about Braiden and Pierce; the parties, the girls, the fights, the stunts and pranks, but I had let it roll off me because it didn’t affect me, it had nothing to do with me. I couldn’t imagine the Shakespeare loving, hot chocolate drinking Jackson being that guy. He wasn’t that guy, not to me. But then I didn’t know the real Jackson. I hadn’t even known his surname, for Christ’s sake.
Jackson Pierce had brought me back to life… so, without him, where did that leave me?
“Ana, please, chica, tell me what’s the matter?” Elena dropped onto my bed, her big brown eyes pleading with me.
“I just can’t believe no one did anything. The whole room just sat and watched. What is wrong with this godforsaken place?”
She frowned. “Fights break out all the time, but it was Braiden, Ana, Braiden.”
I groaned, rolling onto my side and away from her puppy dog eyes. I was so sick of hearing about Braiden Donohue. It was like the universe had hand-delivered me to my karma. Not only had Braiden scared the living shit out of me at that first party, but he was also the reason there would never be a Jackson and me. At that moment, I hated him—more than I hated myself.
Elena finally accepted my unwillingness to talk and left me to head to Tyson’s. I welcomed the solitude. It meant that I could take off the mask, just for a little while. As the door clicked shut behind her, the tears exploded from my body, and I clung to the pillow, shaking from the ugly sobs wracking through my body.
I lay like that for minutes… hours…I didn’t know or care.
A quiet knocking sound roused me from my sob-induced sleep. I wasn’t really asleep, just numb. I heard it again, knock, knock, knock. It was the window next to the fire escape. My sore, bloodshot eyes squinted, trying to make out the shapes past the window. My body shot upright as I saw the outline of a figure at the window… our second floor window!
Throwing back the comforter, I shuffled out of bed, my body drained from all the crying, and hit the bedside lamp. The guy-size shadow reflected around the room, and then I saw it. The faint outline of the number thirteen. Jackson… Pierce.
I hurried to the window and cracked it open. Jackson wasted no time in stepping inside, and I immediately backed up to the other side of the room, needing space. Needing to keep a hold on my emotions.
“Ana, I-”
“You lied,” I said, cutting him off.
“Let me explain. Please.” His voice sounded so torn.
This was my Jackson. The Jackson who I had spent the last month getting to know, but I hugged myself tight, trying to create some kind of barrier, or maybe just trying to hold myself together… I wasn’t sure.
“Everything is so fucked up.” His voice came out calm but with a defeated edge to it. “I wanted to tell you. Since that first night…”
My head whipped up as the memory came back to me. “It was you, at the orientation party. You saved me from Braiden.”
He nodded, and his lips pursed. “I wanted to tell you… but it changes things. It always changes things.”
I groaned at his cryptic message. “He calls you Pierce? They all call you Pierce?”
His eyes dropped as if guilty. “Yeah… it kind of stuck a long time ago. Not many people call me Jackson anymore. I’m usually Jax or Pierce. But not to you…”
The words lingered. It was impossible to try to unravel their meaning. My head was swimming with questions, accusations…all of the lies.
“You’re… you’re like him? Braiden? You use your fists to solve problems? The girls? The parties? Drugs?" I glared at him, trying to ignore my body’s reaction to his close proximity.
Jackson stepped forward, reaching out for me, but I stepped back. My legs hit the edge of the bed, and I dropped down onto the mattress.
It made no sense. None of it made sense. My head couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. “The sneaking around, the discreet messages… who were you protecting, Pierce? Me? Yourself? Braiden?” The color drained from his face, and I knew I had hit a nerve.
“Don’t. Don’t call me that, Ana. Not you. I can’t stand hearing you calling me that.”
I looked up at him. “Why? Why can’t you stand me calling you that? Why does it matter what I think?”
Jackson dropped to the floor in front of me, almost at my eye level. His hand hovered over my thigh, but he withdrew it and shoved it into his pocket. “Because you are different, Ana Parry. You make me believe things can be different.”
“But?”
His downcast eyes told me all that I needed to know, but I braced myself for the words. “They can’t. Braiden noticed. Noticed something between us in the cafeteria. I have to throw him off the scent. If he finds out about you, about us, things could turn to shit very quickly. For both of us. It’s safer for you this way.”
I raised my chin slightly, almost in defiance. “And I don't get any say?”
With one swift movement, Jackson clasped his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me down to him. His face nuzzled into my neck and I felt him breathe me in, and then he murmured, “It’s got to be this way. I fucking hate it, but it’s the only way. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”
“Jackson I- I’m just so confu-”
His lips came down on mine, and I grabbed onto him as if he was my air. As if I needed him to survive. Jackson sucked my bottom lip into his mouth and a soft moan escaped my lips as my body arched into him and my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. I needed to be closer, and our tongues danced and dueled, causing our breathing to become rapid. This wasn’t like the kiss in the closet—no, this was different. It was full of need and desperation… it was goodbye.
