True For You (Boys of the South)

by Valentine, Marquita

Jackson

  I’m driving in my car, excitement coursing through me. The meeting with my agent went better than I ever imagined.

  For some reason, Everett had kept quiet about the real reasons for terminating my contract, but he did make it clear that he still owned the rights to my name.

  My phone rings, and I answer it, using my Bluetooth. “This is Jackson.”

  “Jackson. Henry Vail. Good news. Empire Five wants to sign you immediately. Between you and me, they’ve been waiting for years for this opportunity.”

  “That’s amazing news.” I hit the steering wheel. “I have these songs—”

  “Empire Five already has some picked out for you, but they have agreed to take a look at yours. If they like them, they have absolutely no problem recording, and they’d like to release the album under your real name, instead of buying the Jaxon Hunter brand from your old label. Your fans will follow with your image plastered everywhere.”

  “Fair enough.” It’s not exactly the control I wanted… but at least they’re willing, which was more than I could ever say for Everett. “When do I start?”

  “Tomorrow. Seven am, but only if you’re willing to sign.”

  “Hell yes, I’m willing.”

  He chuckles. “Nelson wants to get you in the studio as soon as possible. He’s shooting for a fall release.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “And Jackson?”

  Yes?”

  “Even if you’d chosen to go with another agent, I’d still say this—it’s a damn good thing you’ve parted with Everett. I know he’s your dad, but you can’t be singing the same songs, the same way, year after year, and expect to stay on top.”

  Ain’t that the damn truth? “Thanks, Henry. I’m looking forward to working with you for a long time.” I turn off my Bluetooth and head home. Bliss is going to love my news.

  Ten minutes later, I’m parking the car and heading upstairs. The elevator isn’t fast enough for me.

  But when I walk through the door, the entire house is quiet. Eerily quiet. I know Bliss is quiet by nature, but this…

  “I’m home,” I call out.

  “In here.” Bliss’ voice sounds strange, all raspy.

  I jog to the bedroom, find the flat screen on, but the sound is off. Bliss sits cross-legged on the floor, a box of tissues in her lap.

  “Did you watch a sad movie?”

  “No.”

  “Scary one?”

  “No.”

  Kneeling beside her, I take her hand in mine. It’s cold to the touch, despite the bedroom being warm. “What’s wrong?”

  “A delivery guy brought a DVD to me.”

  Dread washes over me. “And?”

  “There’s a girl, Tara Flowers, and she’s pregnant,” she says.

  Oh shit. No, no, no. This cannot be happening. “Everett’s a liar. He’s—”

  “I know he’s a liar.”

  The breath I’d been holding comes out in a whoosh. “Then why are you crying?”

  “Because she’s on camera, saying it’s yours, and that you paid her to keep quiet. She even has the paperwork where money was transferred from your account to her parents.” She looks at me, eyes and nose red. “Explain how that’s a lie. Is everyone lying about you? Or am I the only one dumb enough to think you were different? That you were more. Explain that to me!”

  The room closes in on me. “The money’s mine, but the baby isn’t.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Then she stands up and walks out of our bedroom.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jackson

  “Why don’t you believe me?” I ask, chasing after her.

  “Why would I? She looks like your type, you spent time with her, and it’s not like you were faithful to Callie while y’all were engaged.” She stops in the middle of the room. “The only person you ever attempted to be faithful to was Violet.”

  “I was always faithful to her.”

  “You cheated on her with Callie, then you tried cheating on Callie with Violet, but she wouldn’t have it, and then there was me—oh God,” she cries. “I was the other woman. I let you touch me while you were engaged to someone else.”

  “We weren’t really engaged.” My earlier good mood is gone, banished by my past coming to bite me in the ass. “I was her beard.”

  Bliss blinks at me. “What’s a beard?”

  “A disguise. She and my dad were the ones that were having an affair, not me. I wouldn’t willingly have touched Callie. Ever. She was Violet’s best friend, and I never touched her. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as—you know what? I’m done explaining myself. I’m over defending myself to you, to Violet, and to any other woman.” I slash my hand through the air. “For once I’d like someone to believe me, to take my side, and no matter what… to trust me.”

  “But why would you pretend be with her? Why would you do that to Violet, or to yourself for that matter?” She lays her hand on my arm. “Help me understand.”

  “If I didn’t… if I hadn’t pretended, time after time, that all those other women were with me, then my mother would have killed herself, and it would be all my fault.” I look down at the floor. “She hurts herself, Bliss. With razors, with drinking too much, and with pills. I can’t be responsible for that.”

  “You’re going to take the fall again, so your mom won’t hurt herself?”

  I scrub a hand across my face. Of course, Everett wants me to play his game. It’s punishment, for leaving the tour. “I don’t know,” I mumble.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Her grip tightens on my arm, and I look at her. “Jackson, you can’t do this.”

  “So I just let her kill herself?”

  She puts her hands on her hips and lets out a snort. “She’s still alive today, isn’t she?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Last night, your mother accused me of sleeping with her husband, of being his latest floozy. If she really wanted to hurt herself, then wouldn’t she have done it by now?” She blows out a breath of obvious exasperation when I don’t respond. “I’m not an expert, but I think she’s too selfish to do something that permanent.”

  I stare at Bliss in amazement and disbelief.

  “Why don’t you talk to someone about it, like a therapist?” she says.

  The tension in the room swells, dips, and then swells again. “Like some head case? No thanks.”

  Her lips smash together. “Then don’t expect me to feel sorry for you, or put up with you pretending to cheat on me.”

  “Do you really think I’d do that to you?” I shout. But I know the truth, and I know my past. I’m weak, and I can’t take the chance that Kathy won’t try to kill herself. I have enough on my conscience.

  “If you could do it to the girl you claimed you loved, the same one you spent months trying to get her to fall back in love with you, then what makes me so darn special?” she asks, her voice breaking.

  “Give me some time, Bliss. Can you do that for me?” Answer a question with a question—that’s me. Actually, that’s the old me. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m begging you. Give me time.”

  She sucks in one of her cheeks. “Okay, I’ll give you time.” Tears fall from the corners of her eyes, and she hiccups. “But I’m begging you. Please don’t hurt me anymore, not like this. My heart can’t take it.”

  Slowly, I move closer to her, and closer still when she doesn’t back away. I take her in my arms, kissing her tears, her nose, her cheeks, and her sexy mouth. For the longest time, it’s just me kissing her, until she sighs one of her sighs and melts against me, arms wrapping around my neck

  “Can I tell you my good news?” I ask between kisses. I’ll deal with Everett and his DVD later. Besides, I still have the flash drive, with the pictures of him with barely legal girls.

  “Everyone wants you to sing for their label?”

  “Something like that.” I nibble on the side of her jaw. “Want to help me celebrate?”
r />   “With cake and ice cream?”

  “Not a bad idea. I could put the ice cream on your nipples and lick it off.”

  “Or I could put it on your nipples and lick it off.”

  I lean back, holding the most perfect woman for me in my arms, and gaze into her eyes. “I swear I’ll fix this.”

  “I’m holding you to that,” she says, her face all vulnerable.

  I swing her up in my arms and carry her into the bedroom. “Baby, I’m going to love you so good, that there’s no way anyone could ever think I’d want any woman but you.”

  *** *** ***

  Bliss

  Jackson lays me down on the bed, undressing me like I’m too helpless to do it myself. Then he takes off his clothes, until he’s standing there, sexy and nude. Grinning like the wicked man he is, he climbs on the bed and takes me in his arms once more.

  “You are the sexist woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He trails his fingers down my neck and onto my collarbone, his tone and face all serious. “The sexist woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of touching.” He moves lower, taking a hard nipple into his mouth and letting it pop out. “Of kissing.” He places open-mouthed kisses down my stomach and abdomen. “Of licking.” My thighs tremble in anticipation. “Open up for me, beautiful girl.”

  I part my legs, and he gives me a sexy smile right before he lowers his mouth and—

  “Oh God.”

  He smiles against my sensitive skin. “I prefer Jackson.”

  “With a mouth like that, who wouldn’t prefer you?” I gasp.

  Then he licks me again, and I forget everything.

  ***

  Jackson and I, after a few hours of make-up sex and cuddling, are shopping. So far, he’s bought me a new backpack, school supplies, back to school clothes, and quite a few outfits that will never see the light of day because they’re so short and tight.

  Now we’re in a snooty lingerie shop. Okay, so the shop isn’t snooty, but the sales girl that shadows our every step sure is.

  “What’s your good news?” I ask, trying to distract him from the table of bras. “You never told me.”

  “I have a new agent and a new record label.” He flashes me a grin and holds up a pair of thongs. “What do you think of these?”

  The salesgirl gives him the eye. “I know what she thinks of them.”

  “I don’t care what she thinks.”

  The salesgirl sashays over, pale hair perfectly smooth. My hair will never be that straight and smooth. Ever. Then she runs a hand down the front of her outfit, outlining how toned she is. I’ll also never be that skinny. Ever.

  Funny how the best friend I ever had was tiny and blond, everything Jackson wanted and yet, I never felt a tenth of the jealousy this salesgirl inspires. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, looking directly at Jackson.

  “Yeah, you can convince this sexy woman to try on these for me.” Jackson winks at me, and I want to die. In a good way.

  She smiles. “I can start a dressing room for you, and bring you whatever size you need.”

  While she waits out here, flirting with my husband. I don’t think so. “No, thank you.”

  “If you don’t, then I’ll pick out everything I like, and you’ll be stuck modeling it for me at home.” Jackson holds up a barely there teddy, in black. “This will be outfit number one.”

  The salesgirl crosses her arms and casts a glance at me. “You better try something on. Or else you’ll end up looking like slutty Barbie’s equally slutty brunette friend that no one can ever remember her name.”

  But I can, because in a sea of pale skin and blond hair, she actually looked like me. Well, now that I’m older, she looks like me, but when I was little, she looked like my mami.

  “Her name is Teresa, and she’s not slutty. She’s classy and likes to look good for her man.”

  I march over to the table, grabbing about ten pairs of panties and matching bras, each more transparent than the next, and practically throw them in her arms while she stares at me, at a loss for words.

  “We’ll take these and anything else my husband wants me to wear.” Then I toss my head and march over the sofa usually reserved for the guys that come in here and sit down, crossing my arms and my legs.

  Jackson doesn’t miss a beat. He hands her a see-through teddy and starts going to all the tables, picking up everything. “I want her to wear this and this.” He actually bites his knuckles at one point, groaning, and I stifle a giggle. “Definitely this one. Do you have another one like it in pink? And where in the hell are the matching thigh highs?”

  Obviously realizing that Jackson doesn’t give a rat’s tail about what she thinks, and I’m sure the money he was about to drop doesn’t hurt, she starts gathering everything he points at. Pretty soon, another sales girl joins us, then the manager comes by and offers me something to drink and eat.

  I sink into the cushions, eating shortbread cookies and drinking hot tea, while feeling exactly like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jackson

  After the best shopping trip of my life, I’m heading to the one place I’d rather not go. In fact, I’d rather be back at that lingerie shop, making sure I didn’t miss anything for Bliss to wear.

  However, I have to get this over with. I have to take control of my life back from my dad. There’s no way in hell I can do to Bliss what I did to Violet. I’m not that guy anymore, and I’m praying Bliss is right about my mother.

  “Wait in the car,” I say to Bliss as we pull up to my parents’ house. “This won’t take long at all.”

  “Are you sure about this?” she asks, leaning toward me. Her lemony scent steals over me, simultaneously calming me and giving me courage to be the man I so desperately want to be.

  “I’m sure about you.” I kiss her, wanting a few more minutes before I go inside and make all hell break loose.

  “I can come inside with you, be your backup?”

  Pulling the flash drive out of my coat pocket, I hold it up. “I have all the backup I need.” There’s a copy of it in my safe at home, too. And a third in a security box at Nashville Credit Union.

  “What’s that?” she asks.

  “Our guarantee to be left alone.”

  “You can do it, Jackson. I have faith in you.”

  “I’ll make you proud, baby doll.” Cutting the engine, I open the door and make my way to the front of the house. To be honest, I’m actually nervous. The last time I stood up to my dad, he choked me so hard that I almost passed out. That was barely a month ago.

  Ringing the doorbell, I wait for Kathy or Everett to answer. The door opens, and Everett steps back.

  “Took you long enough.”

  I don’t bother to answer him. Instead, I draw my fist back and hit him in the jaw, sending him crashing to the ground. “Listen to me, old man. I have your flash drive, lots of copies of it, in places you can’t get. If you want those pictures to stay private, here’s what’s going to happen—one, you’ll make this Tara Flowers thing go away. I don’t care how you do it. Just make it happen and make sure she’s well taken care of, from your bank account, not mine. Two, leave Bliss the hell alone. Three, don’t call me, don’t text me, or even email me. Forget that I’m your son, because I’ll be doing exactly that.”

  “Some son you are, sending your mother to an early grave,” he says, but I notice he doesn’t get up. Maybe the element of surprise got him. Maybe I finally had enough anger and righteousness on my side to take him down.

  I shake my head. “Not anymore. That’s all on you. I’m done.”

  Then I take one last look at the house I grew up in and walk out the front door.

  Bliss is waiting for me by the car, not in it, but I don’t care. She runs up to me, hugging me tight.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers.

  “But you weren’t there; you don’t know what I said or did.” I smooth her hair
down her back.

  “I heard what you said, all the way out here.” Tears fill her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You chose us. You chose me.”

  I breathe in her lemon and flower scent. “I’d choose you every time. Now let’s get the hell out of here, before Everett has me arrested for assault.”

  *** *** ***

  Bliss

  The next day I go with Jackson to the recording studio. We’re introduced to Patrick and Bean. Why Bean is called Bean, I have no idea, but they both seem professional and knowledgeable.

  Inside, it’s darker than I expected, and without any frills, just a soundproof room, with a stool, some chairs, a piano, and a couple of guitars. A few mics hang from the ceiling and there’s one in the center, by the stool.

  I stand in the booth, watching as Jackson practices with a tall woman, with dark hair and even darker skin.

  “If Winona doesn’t love him, then he’s sunk,” Patrick says, pressing buttons. There are about a thousand of them, all lighting up at different times.

  I cross my fingers and my toes, hoping that this Winona loves the crap out of him. They stop singing, and Winona nods.

  “Looks like we’re in business,” Bean says.

  I clap, smiling so big that I think my face will crack. Finally, Jackson can get on the path to being free, and he’s doing it all on his own.

  “Ready to get started?” Bean asks, holding down a button.

  “Ready when you are.”

  Jackson picks up his guitar and straps it on. He’s wearing dark jeans, brown boots, and a graphic tee with a beanie covering his strawberry blond hair.

  The door swings open and a girl walks in, tiny and blond as can be. Jackson does a double take, and so do I. It’s like she’s Violet’s doppelganger.

  I swallow, my face growing hot, while my body runs cold.

  “Hi, I’m June Carson.” She holds out her hand, and I watch as the man I love takes it, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “Jackson Morgan.”