by Abby Brooks
“What if I said I started out slowly? That tonight was just a test run? What if I said there was more I wanted to do to you? Dirtier things? Darker things?”
“Then I say bring it on. Tonight was amazing. If you’ve got more of that hiding somewhere, I am not going to complain.” I push up on my elbow. “Now, will you please help me off the bed and into the shower? Who would have thought lube could be so sticky?”
***
The next couple weeks pass in a blur of sex, laughter, and party planning. Jackson does his very best to prove just how wicked he is, and I continue to be more sexually fulfilled than I’ve ever been in all my life. The night I came home from my spot on WDTN—which went way better than I could have hoped—he and Georgia had dinner waiting for me on the table. After she went to bed, Jackson poured us some wine, lit a few candles, and titty-fucked me before he came on my face. Then he took his time making me come with his mouth before he carried me into bed and made love to me, his eyes locked on mine, my wrists captured in his hands and pinned over my head.
He calls it wicked. I call it wonderful. Either way, we’re both happy.
Finally, the day of the party arrives. I wake up early and climb out of bed before the sun has even begun to think about making an appearance. As the coffee brews, dripping and bubbling into the pot and filling the kitchen with the rich aroma of good beginnings, I sit down at the table and go through my notebook filled with lists and ideas for tonight. Jackson teases me about using a pen and paper instead of my phone or a tablet, but I swear I can think better when I write things out. I flip the pages, looking for anything I could have possibly missed, but everything looks like it’s in good shape. All that’s left to do is drop Georgia off at the Moores, get the decorations put up, get into costume, and get this thing started.
We’ve got food.
We’ve got music.
We’ve got more liquor than is rational.
And we’ve got each other.
What more could we possibly ask for?
The morning passes quickly and the afternoon passes even quicker. Before I know it, we’re standing in the middle of Fantastic Sam’s, staring at the fully decorated space.
“We did it.” Jackson’s smile is incredulous and he looks sexy as sin in his dark suit and tie. He’s the JFK to my Marilyn Monroe.
“Did you doubt we would?” I ask as I fluff my blonde bombshell hair.
“Nope. Not one bit. We’re one hell of a team.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close, bending down to kiss the top of my head.
I squirm in his arms, twisting and turning until I’m facing him. “I want a real one,” I say tilting my face to his.
Jackson bends down and presses a kiss to my lips. His hands come to my waist and I drape my arms over his shoulders. This is nice. Better than nice. This is everything. After the last five years, it still feels surreal, being this happy. Feeling this safe. Knowing just how much I want him and feeling just as wanted in return. This time with Jackson, it feels like a love story. Like the kind of stuff I never believed happened in real life. This is everything I’ve ever wanted and never thought I could have. I’m afraid to blink in case I discover it’s all just been a dream.
He slaps my ass and then grabs it with both hands, pressing my hips forward. A very distinct bulge presses into my stomach. “See what you do to me?” he asks. “You look fucking dangerous in that dress.”
I bite my lip and stare up at him. “The real question is, just what are you going to do about it?”
***
An hour and a few orgasms later, we’re back in our costumes, looking only a little worse for wear. We stumble out of the back room, still tangled up in each other, only to draw up short when we find a crowd gathering at the door. The rest of the staff hasn’t even showed up yet and most of Bliss is waiting outside to get in. The realization that this party is going to turn out significantly bigger than either of us expected starts to sink in and nerves set me moving. By the time Aria arrives, looking delectable as a female Sherlock Holmes, I’ve straightened each and every item on each and every table at least five times.
Turns out, I had nothing to worry about. The party is a raging success. People are laughing, smiling, dancing, and drinking. I haven’t stopped grinning since around the time we opened the doors. Whenever I catch Jackson’s eyes, he looks just as pleased with us as I am. I’m on cloud nine. Floating on exhilaration and happiness and a sense of accomplishment like I’ve never felt before.
Jackson’s cousins are here. All of them. Which only increases the excitement for everyone else. The Moores might as well be royalty here in Bliss. They either don’t notice it or don’t care, so they’re incredibly down to earth. Which only increases their allure.
While Jackson catches up with his cousins, I notice a couple of bowls of candy on the bar are almost empty. I excuse myself and head to the back to get them filled back up again. Someone follows me in and I turn, expecting Jackson. A vice grip of fear clamps on my stomach when I see Cain.
“Hey, Ashley,” he slurs, brandishing a mostly empty glass of absinthe. “Wicked party.” He licks his lips and leans a hand on the doorframe, blocking my exit.
“You can’t be back here,” I say, trying to sound firm.
“I can be wherever I want to be.” He sneers at me and throws back the rest of his drink.
He advances, stumbling a little over his own feet, and then he’s on me. He grabs my face and presses his lips to mine. In that moment, shock freezes me in place. I don’t struggle, I don’t scream. I stand still, hands at my sides, still full of candy, while I struggle to process what’s happening. It lasts only a second or two, but all it takes is one tick of the clock for everything to change.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” The voice is rough and loud, strangled with anger.
I push Cain away and pull out of his arms in time to see Jackson striding away, his hands threaded in his hair as he disappears back into the crowd.
Chapter Ten
Fucking. Hell. Of all the people in the world, the last one I pegged as a cheater is Ashley Thompson. Rage boils in my gut when I walk into the back and find her kissing Cain. My fists clench and my jaw tightens and I know if I stand here in this damn doorway for one more second I’ll have no choice but to knock that fucker out.
So I’m on the move.
Prowling through the crowd without any real thought as to where I’m going.
Part of me keeps pointing out how unnatural the whole thing looked, that Ashley wasn’t returning the kiss, that her hands were at her sides, not running up his back the way she does mine. But that part isn’t loud enough to speak over the betrayal churning in my heart.
Cheating is intolerable. Trust doesn’t come easily for me in the best of circumstances. The last thing I need is proof that I’m not wanted. That I don’t matter. I can’t handle that kind of duplicity. Not again. Not after thinking I’d found all the answers with Meredith only to come home and find her bent over our kitchen counter getting pounded by some asshole in a cheap suit. I thought she was driven, ambitious. Turns out that was only the face she wore for me. She was nothing more than a whore, drawn to my money and the lifestyle I could provide her.
She laughed when I found her. Laughed at the hurt on my face. Laughed at me for believing I could be worth having a family who loved me. I’ve never been so embarrassed, so hurt, so fucking let down. And then, to find out how blind I had been to who she really was left me dumbfounded. During the divorce, I finally got to meet the real woman I married and she was a heartless bitch. All she cared about were the material things. The fancy paintings and leather sofas. The cars. The jewelry.
All I wanted was my daughter. She could take it all. Everything but Georgia.
My little girl. My daughter. The child I fought so hard to keep but pass off to someone else every night when I come to work. What the fuck have I done? What am I doing here? I could have stayed in the city, kept my job as a stock broker.
Sure, Georgia would have needed a nanny or something while I was at work, but she could have at least spent the night in her own bed. In her own room. Where I tuck her in and tell her bedtime stories instead of passing that off to someone else.
And what if Ashley has been wearing a mask, just like my ex-wife? What if these amazing weeks have been nothing but her trying to dig her claws into me, using my daughter against me, all so she could have a place to stay? So she could spend my money and not face the consequences of her actions? Holy shit, I am so fucking stupid.
“Hey, man.” Someone grabs my arm. I whirl, expecting Cain and find my cousin James instead. He takes one look at my face and his expression darkens. “What happened?”
I shake my head. “Just gotta get my cool before I lose it.”
Of all my cousins, James is the only one with a temper almost as hot as mine. He bobs his head and doesn’t ask any more questions. Stays right by my side, his watchful eyes scanning the crowd like he’ll find the answer to whatever it is that has me pissed off hidden in the throngs of drunken people wearing dumb costumes.
“Jackson!”
Ashley pushes her way through the packed bar, desperation in her eyes. Cain staggers along after her, a smirk plastered on his blotchy face. When she gets to my side, she looks so hurt and afraid that I want to swoop her up and make it all better, tell her that I’ve got her, that she’s safe with me. But I don’t. I barely look at her.
“I’m sorry, Jackson,” she says, taking my hand. “But it wasn’t me. He kissed me and I didn’t know what to do.”
James crosses his arms over his chest and sets his jaw as Cain steps into my personal space. “Don’t listen to her,” he says, his putrid breath hot on my face. “She wanted it.”
“He’s lying. I want you.”
“Nah, bro. She’s a lying bitch.” Cain steps back and lifts his jaw. “She needs me. She’s nothing without me. Can’t do shit for herself. She’s too weak. If you haven’t figured it out yet, you’ll figure it out soon enough.”
I don’t know how he thinks he can get away with saying those kind of things about her to my face. Deep in my heart I know Ashley isn’t a cheater. Deep in my heart I know she wouldn’t do something like this. Hell, if I get really fucking honest, deep in my heart I know she loves me.
And to Ashley, love is something rare and beautiful and worth protecting. Not something to throw away on an asshole like Cain. Something I think she’s only ever shared with me.
Cain grabs Ashley by the back of her neck and shoves her forward. “Tell him, babe. Tell him what a worthless slut you are.”
I take one look at the pain in Ashley’s eyes and there’s no time for thought. I punch Cain right in the face. His eyes go blank and he stumbles back a few steps before dropping to his knees, blood pouring from his nose. I rush at him, grab him by the shirt, and haul him to his feet. I get another hit in. Another. And another. And then James pulls me off him.
“Calm down, Jax,” he says. “Don’t do this, man.” It’s the warning of one fighter to another. A man who understands that sometimes, once the rage is unleashed, there’s no putting it away until the fire burns itself out.
The bar has gone quiet. Everyone staring at the new owner of Fantastic Sam’s, a man with throbbing knuckles and blood on his fists. A man struggling to contain his rage. A man who doesn’t belong here.
Without a word, I grab Ashley’s hand and leave the bar, trusting Aria and the others to lock up when the party’s over.
Chapter Eleven
I used to be afraid of Cain because of his temper. Because his anger had a chance of getting out of control. Because he got mad and threw things at the walls and punched pillows. Because he said terrible things to me and threatened to do even worse things to himself. But never once in all those years we were together did I ever see him hit another person.
And now this, with Jackson. The man I thought of as the opposite of Cain in all ways. Loving and kind. Eager to help and protect those who need it. A generous lover. A good father. A good man.
And that good man just beat Cain to a pulp in front of everyone. And when Cain fell to his knees, Jackson didn't stop. He didn't calm down. He didn't turn around and walk away. Oh, no. He dragged that man to his feet and hit him again. And I'm pretty damn sure he wouldn't have stopped if his cousin hadn’t finally intervened.
You might think I'd be used to having a man who just made an ass of himself drag me out of Fantastic Sam’s. It’s happened enough by now. First Cain and now Jackson.
Another man.
Another scene.
Here I thought I had finally found everything I ever wanted in Jackson. Maybe the truth of it is that I just found another version of the same thing. Hell, maybe the whole reason I was with Cain in the first place was because he was another version of Jackson. The boy I fell in love with when I was too young to understand what that meant. The boy who made his point with his fists with everyone but me.
Except where Cain treated me like I was a waste of space, Jackson treated me better than anyone has ever treated me in all my life. Better even than my parents, who were so caught up in their own personal war to realize or even care that I was collateral damage in their battles. Each of them wanted me on their side and neither of them cared what it did to me to be caught between them.
To say I'm confused is one hell of an understatement.
Jackson slows and flips on the signal before turning into our driveway.
His driveway.
Hell, I don’t even know anymore.
“Just tell me something, Ashley,” says Jackson as he stops in front of the garage and clicks the button to send the door up. “Did you kiss him? Or did he kiss you?” The accusation in his voice hurts and a low ache settles into my head.
Jackson pulls the car into the garage and kills the engine as I shake my head.
“No. God, no.” I spin in my seat, desperate for him to look me in the eyes and see the truth. “Cain came in and I thought it was you. He just stood there, blocking the doorway. I couldn't get past him and when he walked up to me I didn't know what to do. I didn't think. I couldn't think. He kissed me and I froze. I wanted to push him away. I wanted to scream. But I froze.”
Jackson swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as the motion sensor lights in the garage shut off. “Now that I have calmed down enough to think rationally about what I saw, I believe you.”
“I need you to believe me,” I say. “I need you.” I yearn for his forgiveness with every fiber of my being just as a rush of indignation flows through me. I have nothing to apologize for. I didn’t do anything wrong.
“Trust is hard for me, Ashley. It was hard before I went to New York, it's even harder after.”
I get the sense that Jackson is on the verge of telling me something important. Of peeling back another layer around the things that made him the man he is today. I feel like he's about to tell me the last bit that he holds tight and keeps for himself. I want him to tell me. I want to know him. All of him. But not if he’s the kind of man who loses his temper and drags me out of public places, who makes me feel like I need to apologize for things I didn’t do.
“There's nothing to forgive,” Jackson says and runs a hand through his hair and then slides it down along the back of his neck.
“Your eyes don't agree with you. You haven't looked at me even once since we left the bar.” I feel foolish now, wearing this stupid dress with its plunging neckline. This silly wig and this bright red lipstick. There’s no romance in this costume. Marilyn Monroe slept with a married man and died of an overdose. I want to wipe it all off. Take a shower. Crawl into bed. Sleep until I can make sense of things.
Jackson finally looks at me and there is so much pain burning in his eyes that the entire car throbs and aches with the energy of his sorrow.
“I believe you,” he says. “And I’m sorry I lost my temper. You deserve better than that.”
I nod, not ready to speak because I’m not sure w
hat will come out when I do. We get out of the car and head upstairs. Jackson peeks into Georgia’s empty room, leans on the doorframe and sighs heavily. I pause outside the door to the guestroom, the room that used to be mine but hasn’t been since Jackson invited me into his bed. I don’t know where I belong. In the guestroom? In Jackson’s room? Or maybe it’s time I find my own room in my own apartment where I don’t have to worry about anyone but me.
Jackson takes my hand and leads me down the hallway to the master bedroom. “Sleep with me tonight. You belong at my side.”
My heart surges with gratitude, overjoyed not to spend the night separated from him even as I realize that yet again, a man has me by the arm, telling me what to do and where to go.
***
Days pass and things slowly start to feel normal again, tensions fade and laughter finds its way home. Jackson was afraid people would stop coming to the bar after what he did, but it seems like all of Bliss was just as ready to see Cain get what's been coming to him as Jackson was ready to dish it out. If anything, business has managed to improve.
The first full week of November passes without any issues. By the time Sunday arrives, Jackson seems somewhat restless as we make breakfast—a combination of eggs, pancakes, and bacon that the three of us made together, dancing around the kitchen like the kind of family you see on TV. So happy and content you can’t quite believe it’s real at the same time you truly hope it is.
“You guys feel like doing something today?” he asks around a mouthful of food.
Georgia nods her head frantically. “Yes!” She grins at Jackson. “I like Aunt Diane but I want to be with you guys.”
Pain flashes across his face so quickly I doubt anyone but me would have noticed. He hides it well, his fear that he's not doing right by his daughter. His fear that in his desire to provide everything she could possibly want; he's not giving her the one thing she actually needs.
