by Alisha Rai
Like her, Jackson had been friends with their housekeeper’s son, but he showed little reaction to hearing his name. “You’ve really settled back home nicely.”
Though there was no inflection in his voice, Livvy bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“If it was nothing, you would have said nothing. The fact that you said something means something.”
Jackson tapped his fingers on his knee. “You still think you know me so well, pipsqueak?”
“I will always know you,” she said quietly. I’ll always love you. No matter how far we run from each other and this place.
Jackson’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Why’d you come back here?”
“To look after Mom.”
“Bullshit.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Watch your language. There’s a lady here.”
He snorted. “You always swore worse than me.”
“That’s because I talked more than you. Clams talked more than you.”
He ignored the dig. “Why did you come here?”
“To look after—”
“Bull. Shit.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Fine. I’ll hire a nurse for her tomorrow. Full-time, twenty-four hours. You can leave.”
She eyed him. If Jackson was kicking around prison cells, she imagined most of his money had probably gone to bail and lawyers. If he had money. Lord knew what he did. “How do you have that kind of cash?”
He ignored the question. “So you’re going to leave, right?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I want my family back!”
They both froze at her almost-shout. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Shit, she hoped she hadn’t woken up her mom or her aunt.
Jackson had stilled. “Ah,” he breathed.
After long, tense minutes, she lowered her hand. “I got depressed after Paul died.”
His lashes lowered, hiding his eyes. “How bad?”
She swallowed, aware of what he was really asking. Were you suicidal?
She couldn’t say yes, though it would be the truth. She’d spent a solid week in bed, unable to function, the darkness growing so large it incapacitated her. Thoughts of self-harm had slithered through her brain, finally scaring her enough to pick up the phone. “Not as bad as . . . you know,” she said carefully. That wasn’t a lie. The time after the accident had been the worst episode she’d ever had. Which was not unusual, her therapist had assured her, given all the traumatic upheaval that had preceded it.
“But bad.” Jackson’s lips tightened. “I should have called you.”
She hesitated. Jackson had appointed himself her sole comfort when they were young, but they’d been away from each other for so long. She craved the security of familial support, yes, but that support had to be rooted in something. “Don’t beat yourself up over that. I got help. I’ve been in therapy for a while now.” The first time she’d gone to a psychiatrist, she’d felt vaguely guilty, like she was doing something self-indulgent and silly. But it had helped. It hadn’t cured, but it had helped.
Jackson nodded, but tension had carved lines in his forehead. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
“Yeah. Anyway, I did a lot of thinking and talking and I acknowledged my depression is exacerbated by a lot of things, and one of those things is being so alone.” She ran her hands over her thighs. “We lost one member of our family and it was like we lost everyone. Paul’s gone now, for good. I’ll never fix things with him. But it’s not too late for Mom and Sadia and Maile and Kareem. They’re mine. I want that connection. I need it. Even if I don’t live near them, to know I have that base . . . it would help me.” She could especially use a reconnection with her mom, but she didn’t want to remind Jackson of his own troubled relationship with Tani.
His sigh was long and low. “Oh, Livvy.”
“I know. I’m a marshmallow.”
His shoulder bumped hers, an unexpected show of comfort. “Being a marshmallow isn’t a bad thing.”
“Marshmallows melt.” Weak, soft, blobs of sugar. That was her.
He squinted. “On the inside, but their outsides get all crisp when you stick them in a fire.”
“This is a strange metaphor. I think we should drop it.” She paused. “And, uh, maybe don’t say the word fire around here.”
She was gratified when he smiled faintly. “Probably smart. Have you been by the store?”
She hid her surprise that he could speak about the building he’d been arrested for burning down. She couldn’t drive past it. “Not yet.”
He nodded, like he’d expected that answer. “Have you seen Nicholas?”
It was a lot harder to hide her reaction to that question. She cast a glance at Jackson, noting the direction he was looking. Down the road, at the point where Nicholas had dropped her off. It was clearly visible from the porch. “I—”
“You don’t have to answer. I know.” He gestured at the house. “You don’t get to pick and choose. You face one part of your past, Livvy, you have no choice but to face it all. Around here, everything’s bound up together. And if we’re talking about things that exacerbate your depression . . .”
Hadn’t she thought something similar? Not all painful memories were created equal. Her annual encounters with Nicholas weren’t great for her mental health, no lie.
Livvy bit her lip and nodded. “I know. But I want my family.”
His lips went taut, and he nodded. “I understand, believe me. But you’re better off getting out of here and starting over. Find a nice group of people who love you. Have a house like this in some other suburb.”
“Is that what you did? Start over?”
“Basically.”
“Are you happy?”
Jackson’s eyes gleamed. “I’m alive.”
“Is that good enough for you?”
He didn’t answer that. “You’re going to get hurt.”
Probably. She already had been hurt.
Yet there was today, and her strange lack of hurt with Nicholas.
Pleasure and pain. It’s a circle. You’re just still stuck in the pleasure part of the cycle.
But it felt so good. Dangerously good. The kind of good that could persuade a woman to reach out annually to a man who could only give her his body and nothing else.
“You’re saying I shouldn’t deal with any of it, because I can’t deal with all of it. What if I can? Leave some of my baggage behind when I go?”
“Some things are unresolvable. You’re living in a fantasy land if you think you can have it all.”
Not a fantasy. A fairy tale.
As much as every cynical part of her believed him, she couldn’t stop the tiny kernel of desperate optimism unfurling inside her. “I can’t leave.”
Jackson’s lips curved up, but it wasn’t an amused smile. “I didn’t honestly think you would. You’re so damn stubborn, Livs.”
“A stubborn marshmallow?”
“All marshmallows are stubborn. Nothing that soft could hold its shape if it wasn’t stubborn as hell.” He got to his feet. “I gotta go.”
“Where? Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
“Yeah. I’m expected in New York City tomorrow.”
“For what? For work?”
He only shrugged.
“You didn’t see Aunt Maile or Mom.” Now that she thought about it, she wondered why he’d been lurking in the dark. Had he known Livvy was out? Or had he not been able to risk Maile or Tani answering the door?
He ran his hand over his head. The faint moonlight danced over his black hair. “I didn’t come home to see them.”
She wanted to argue with him, but she wasn’t going to project her own desperate desire for family on her brother. “When will you be back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you .
. . will you come back?”
He thudded down the stairs. The last time she’d watched him stride away from their house, led away in handcuffs, she hadn’t seen him for a decade. She had to bite back a cry for him to stay.
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t a hug or a kiss, but she held that yeah close to her chest. “I’m going to expect to see you then. Soon.”
Jackson walked to the motorcycle and then turned around. “Be realistic and do whatever you gotta do quickly, Livs. It’s not healthy to be here.” His gaze lifted over her head and darkened.
She turned to look over her shoulder and scrambled to her feet. Her mother stood in the doorway, one hand on the door, the other resting heavily on her walker, dressed in a pink nightgown, her hair neatly combed.
How much had Tani overheard?
The woman was motionless, staring after her son, even as the sound of the motorcycle revving and driving off filled the air. Livvy approached slowly. “Mom? I thought you’d be asleep.”
Her mother didn’t respond, and Livvy’s heart clenched. Was that a sheen of wetness in the older woman’s eyes? “Mom?”
Tani blinked and looked at Livvy, and that wetness was gone. “The noise woke me up. I thought it was a neighbor. Then I heard you talking.”
“What’s going on?” Aunt Maile’s voice piped up behind Tani, and then the other woman was there, crowding around her sister-in-law. She tightened the belt around her silk purple robe.
“Jackson was here,” Tani said. There was no inflection in her voice.
“Jackson!” Aunt Maile clasped her hands together. “Where is he? Why didn’t you bring him inside?”
“He didn’t want to come inside,” Tani replied.
There was a snap in her mother’s voice that made Livvy flinch. “He had to go. He’s expected in New York. For work, I think?”
“What kind of work does he do?” Maile asked.
Jesus, no one knew anything about Jackson, did they? “I don’t know.”
“Is he coming back?”
She didn’t want to say yes. What if he didn’t? “I’m not sure,” she hedged. “Come on, let’s go inside. Mom, I can help you get back to your room.”
“I can get to bed on my own,” Tani said stiffly. Ignoring Livvy’s hand, she turned away and made her way slowly down the hallway, to the first-floor bedroom she’d taken for her own while she recovered.
Maile lingered behind, her wistful gaze on the street. “Did he ask about me?”
“He did.” Livvy closed the door.
“How did he look?”
Livvy spoke without thinking. “Like Dad.”
Maile closed her eyes briefly. They were teary when she opened them. Unlike Tani, she didn’t bother to hide it. “If he comes back, you tell him I miss him terribly.”
“If he comes back,” Livvy emphasized. “He’s gone years without seeing me either.”
Maile nodded, her face troubled. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Livvy’s heart squeezed. If she’d reached out at any time over the past ten years, Maile would have been available as a resource and comfort. She hadn’t needed to feel so alone.
It was good to know that. “Not right now, thanks. Why don’t you go back to bed?”
“I was awake, watching television. I didn’t know if you’d need a ride home. You didn’t walk in the dark, did you?”
In all the drama, she’d almost forgotten Nicholas and what they’d done together before he’d given her a ride home. She fought to keep the blush off her face. “No. I got a ride.”
“Good.” Maile turned and walked to the stairs. Her thick hair was caught up in a braid that almost reached her waist. It swished when she walked. “I’ll go watch some more T.V. Or I’ll start that new knitting project. I want to make a sweater for the Kims’ new baby.”
Livvy did her usual circuit, making sure the windows and doors were all locked, before making her way to her room, unable to get her mom’s face out of her mind.
Marshmallow.
Calling herself a fool, certain the gesture would be rebuffed, she went to her dresser and pulled out the sketchpad she kept there. She always kept a few pads on hand, in case of inspiration. Her hand hovered over her box of pastels, but she chose the charcoals.
She went back downstairs to her mother’s room. A light was visible beneath the door, a late-night talk show blaring on the television. She knocked lightly, peeking in at her mother’s response.
The room was decorated rather barrenly, like most of the house, with only a bed and furniture. Nothing on the walls. Her mother’s regular room upstairs was pretty much the same. It was a far cry from her childhood home’s master bedroom, which had been graced with priceless artwork.
“Hey. I, uh, just wanted to drop these off. The physical therapist said it would be good to keep your hands busy,” she made up on the spot. “I don’t have any puzzles or Rubik’s Cubes or whatever, but figured you could sketch. Or write letters. Whatever.” She walked into the room and placed the sketchbook and charcoals on the table.
After a quick glance, Tani returned her attention to the television. “Thank you.” The dismissal in her tone was unmistakable.
Livvy hesitated at the door. “Do you want to talk about—?”
“Good night, Olivia.”
She bit her lip, aching inside. Marshmallow. “Good night.”
Upstairs, Livvy removed the bruised petals from her pocket and placed them carefully on the bureau. She shed her clothes and tossed them on the floor while the tub filled. She’d been pretty good at keeping her guest room here incredibly tidy, each article of clothing hung up neatly. She was simply so tired. She’d pick up tomorrow.
She sank into the hot bath, letting the water ease the muscles that had locked up during the day. From hunching over her clients and from the load of tension she carried.
What would it feel like to shed some of the baggage she carried?
She’d be happier, wouldn’t she? That dark emptiness would always be there, but if she could grasp more ways to keep it from swallowing her whole, that was a good thing, wasn’t it?
Do whatever you gotta do quickly, Livs.
Livvy grabbed her phone from the ledge of the tub. She opened a new message and typed out, I’ll see John.
A bubble popped up at the bottom of the screen and she held her breath. Part of her didn’t believe he would actually reply. He never had, after that first time laying out their arrangement.
And then her phone vibrated as the three little dots became three little words.
Is tomorrow okay?
She ran her finger over those words before she caught herself. Nope, no. She was going to be cool about this. This was not a big deal, even if it was the first message she’d gotten from him in a decade.
You can try to work out your issues with him, but that’s it.
She typed with purpose. Yes. I have to work during the day. Say, 5:30?
Perfect. I can pick you up?
No. Then he’d drive her home again and that seemed far too date-like. I’ll drive. I can meet you . . . She hesitated, then finished the thought quickly. I can meet you behind Kane’s. If she could stand to see John, she could stand to see her grandparents’ café as well as the flagship C&O—Chandler’s—across the street, damn it.
She nibbled on her nail, watching the dots pop up on the bottom of the screen. They hovered there for a solid minute, and then came his reply. Okay.
Like a mature, healthy individual, she placed the phone on the ledge of the tub instead of fondling those messages. Livvy tipped her head back, trying to clear her mind.
Some things are unresolvable.
Maybe they were. At this point, though, she wasn’t sure what other option she had but to try.
Chapter 11
NICHOLAS STUMBLED downstairs, exhaustion weighing at his eyelids, his phone glued to his ear. Between his staff, father, and his grandfather calling him about this prison-labor scandal, the damn thing had b
een ringing since the crack of dawn. He’d missed his usual workout, which, combined with his preoccupation over meeting Livvy later today, meant his already stretched-thin patience was in perilous danger of snapping.
He waited until the P.R. guy finished speaking. “Call a press conference for today at noon. In the meantime, we’re at no comment. We’ll talk more once I’m in the office.”
He hung up with a terse goodbye and stalked into the kitchen. He tossed his phone on the counter and reached up to grab a mug from the cupboard. He was so preoccupied, it took him a solid minute to process the loud, out-of-place crunching noise coming from behind him. Instinctively, he grabbed a knife from the rarely used set on the counter and pivoted.
Holy shit.
Past and present overlapped as he stared at the big man sitting at his kitchen table. His heart stuttered, his lips forming a soundless word. Paul.
Except Paul was dead, and Nicholas didn’t believe in ghosts, especially ones who hung around their ex-best friend’s homes to eat cereal.
The Kane siblings had all occupied specific roles. Paul had been the dutiful and charming heir apparent, Livvy the dramatic rebel, and Jackson . . .
Well, whatever role Jackson had occupied, he’d lost it when he’d been arrested on suspicion of arson.
A witness had identified him fleeing from the burning C&O. He’d had motive and opportunity, and a gas can with his fingerprints had been found behind some bushes in the Kanes’ backyard. Though the evidence had been flimsy, it had been enough to arrest Jackson and have him held without bail.
Before he could go to trial, though, the witness recanted his account. Despite the dropped charges, no one had been terribly convinced as to Jackson’s innocence.
Especially Nicholas.
He and Jackson had never been particularly close, but whatever relationship had existed between them had vanished when the man had thrown a Molotov cocktail through the window of the store their grandfathers had built.
Nicholas didn’t care about the physical damage. Someone could have been seriously hurt, and that he couldn’t forgive.
Jackson’s dark, oddly flat gaze moved between Nicholas’s face and knife with the easy skill of someone who had been in more than one brawl. “You gonna stab me?”
