by Stasia Black
Mom’s face goes red. “Do you think we haven’t found out about where you worked while you lived under this roof? Your friend Marcy started forwarding your mail here when she moved out of state for college.”
Mom comes closer, eyebrows narrowed in fury. “I guess you used her address for that job you were rightly too ashamed for us to know about. But we received a tax statement from Hooters,” her face twists in disgust at the name, “and it about killed your father to realize his daughter had been whoring herself out for what? Tips? Then the next thing we know you’re prostituting yourself out to your professors and carrying one’s bastard!”
She lowers her voice. “Do you realize how that makes us look? We worked hard to raise you as a beautiful, elegant girl and this is the thanks we get?”
I barely hear the last bit, because did she just say what I think she fucking said? I get right in her face, feeling like the vein in my forehead is going to explode, I’m so pissed.
“Don’t you call my son a bastard ever again.” I poke a finger hard into her sternum. “And if you were really a good mother, you’d believe me when I tell you that a pervert molested me from the age of sixteen to nineteen.”
I shake my head at her in disbelief at the way she’s responding. “You had to have noticed how I changed. Became more withdrawn. Stopped hanging out with my friends so much except for the nights he came over, when I would do anything to get out of the house. Except that you and Dad started forcing me to stay home those nights. Do you remember? Let me guess, that was at the request of Mr. McIntyre?”
Mom sputters. “You were a moody teenager. Besides, those were family dinners. You know your dad was trying to make Branch Manager. Bill is big on family values, so that’s what we needed to show him.”
Bill. Ugh. Even now, my mom speaks so cozily of my abuser.
I shake my head at her in astonishment. “It isn’t that you don’t see it, is it? It’s that you won’t.” Again, my feet move me away from my mother. The woman who was supposed to love, watch over, and protect me. “You’ll keep refusing to see how Mr. McIntyre always brought over that’s special Kentucky bourbon—”
“He was just being polite,” Mom breaks in. “That’s the custom where he grew up.
“And was it custom to insist that you and Dad have two glasses while he barely drank any? What about the fact that he encouraged you to go to bed while he hung around afterward with your teenage daughter? That didn’t strike anyone as strange? God,” I laugh bitterly, “he barely even bother to be covert about the way he looked at me after the first year.” I shake my head some more, my insides twisting like a pit of serpents.
How could a mother—?
For a split second, Charlie’s face comes to mind.
That does it.
I lurch for the trashcan under the sink right in time to empty the contents of my stomach into it. Just the idea of Charlie ever encountering a monster like McIntyre has me heaving a second time until I’m coughing and sputtering, nothing left.
And no, I’m not pregnant or anything. I got my period during the week, it just finished up yesterday. There’s just this much barf-worthy shit going on in my life and I’ve always had a low threshold hurl hair-trigger.
A soothing hand starts rubbing my back.
Mom—? Does she finally believe?
When I turn my head, I see Shannon instead. She’s running water in the sink and the next second, she hands me a wet paper towel. I take it gratefully, meeting her eyes for a quick second. She’s crying, tears running in streams down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” Shannon says. “I didn’t know.” Her voice breaks on the last word and more tears escape.
She believes me.
I nod over and over, my eyes watering as I wipe my mouth with the wet cloth she gave me. Shan takes my arm and helps me stand back up, which is good because I feel unsteady on my feet. I hate the way throwing up makes me feel like I’ve just been run over by a truck.
I don’t have much more fight in me. I just want to go lay down somewhere for a long, long time.
The door opens and this time it’s Jackson. His face goes from curious to alarmed in zero point two seconds when he sees me no doubt looking pale as hell, propped up by Shannon.
“What’s happened?” he demands, voice clipped.
“It’s nothing,” my mother says, at the same time Shannon says, “Callie was just sick.”
But Shannon doesn’t stop there. “That man.” Tears clog her voice. “He abused my sister for years. And none of us knew. None of us saw.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach for the I don’t know what time tonight. It happens fast. I see the words register. Utter rage fills Jackson’s face. Killing rage. Oh fuck. Just what I was trying to avoid.
I launch myself at Jackson. My legs still aren’t very steady, so it’s not graceful. Jackson was turning toward the door to the dining room, but he has quick reflexes and catches me when I stumble into him.
That embrace I was looking for earlier from my mother? Jackson gives it to me a hundred fold. He wraps me so tight to his chest, I doubt there’s a centimeter of space anywhere between us, collarbone to belly button.
And then his arms. So strong, they curl around my back, one of his huge hands cupping the back of my head until I feel so enveloped, so safe, that for the first time in half an hour, I feel like I might make it out of this night intact.
I know, I know. I’m supposed to be a strong woman. I can make it on my own and all that, blah, blah, blah. And I’m sure I could have and would have. I’d scrape myself up from this blow just like I have every other hit that’s knocked me down in life.
But it sure is so much goddamn easier when you have a partner.
Partner. Holy shit. I never even let myself go there in my head before. But it’s true. I want Jackson as my partner. Like, in life. Does that mean that I…? That I lov—?
I jerk out of the hug. “Get me out of here,” I whisper to him. I’m not able to let go of him completely, no matter how freaked out I am by the realization I’d just had. I’m still holding onto the front lapels of his suit coat and I don’t care how desperate I look. It’s only half of the desperation I feel inside. This night. Too much. It’s all too much. No wonder I’m having crazy thoughts.
Jackson doesn’t say anything and while his face is still mottled with fury, there’s also immense pain knitted on his features. Because of me.
Because you’re poison to everything you touch. For the first time, I realize the voice in the back of my head often sounds an awful like my mother’s. I cringe and cling tighter to Jackson.
“Please. I just want to leave.” I plead with my eyes and his face softens, focus zeroing in on me.
“Of course,” he says.
“No, you don’t understand,” my mother’s voice butts in, conciliatory. “She’s always been so overdramatic and excitable. Always making up stories for attention. I don’t know why she’s saying such terrible things. Mr. McIntyre is a prestigious man. He’s the bank president and her father is quite close to being made Branch Manager. Why don’t we all just calm down and go out and enjoy the lovely meal that I worked so hard to prepare—”
“You’re unbelievable,” I say.
I push away from Jackson and go straight into the dining room. Dad and Mr. McIntyre have already served themselves food, not waiting for the rest of us. There’s a bottle of Kentucky bourbon in the center of the table and Dad’s glass is half full. I know it’s not because only a few fingers were poured, but because he’s drunk the other half already.
“You all have certainly taken your time,” Dad says, his annoyance clear.
I ignore him, walk straight over to Mr. McIntyre. “You’re a pervert and a pedophile and just because I can’t prove it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
I spit in his shocked face, then grab the bottle of bourbon and hurl it at the wall. It smashes in a satisfying explosion of glass and brown liquid. It’s amazing what stress relief sma
shing things is. This moment can’t erase the bone-deep emotional scars this man inflicted, but I’m working on it, and fuck if this doesn’t feel good in the meantime.
I planned not to even look back once, but when I get to the foyer I realize Jackson isn’t beside me. I glance over my shoulder to call for him and get one last glimpse of McIntyre’s wrinkled-ass face just in time to see Jackson’s heavy fist land hard.
Even from where I’m standing, I hear the snapping of cartilage. And I’ve obviously become bloodthirsty, because the high-pitched squeal that comes from McIntyre’s throat satisfies me somewhere deep, deep inside.
Shouts and screams about broken noses follow us as we step over the threshold and out the door, hand in hand.
Partners. That damn tricky word hits me again. It seems like I’ve finally hit on the word that describes the connection I’ve felt with Jackson from the beginning. Working, living, playing, going through life side-by-side with this man as his partner. As a friend. As his lover. Is that possible for someone like me?
My breath hitches. Jackson either senses or hears it because he starts rubbing my back as we head toward his car. “I’m three seconds from heading back there and ripping the bastard into pieces. I’m rich enough. I could do it and hire a black market forensics team to make sure there’s no evidence.”
The night being what it has been, his inappropriate words make me giggle. “And what about my parents?”
He glances down at me. “That pair could so obviously be bought.”
That thought sobers me. Because isn’t that what’s already happened? I was bought for the promise of a raise. Or at least it was enough for my parents to look the other way from red flags that should have tipped them off to a bad situation.
“Let’s get out of here.” All of the sudden, my energy is gone. Like back in the kitchen, and I just want to sleep for a week.
Right when I touch the passenger side door to the car though, the front door of the house opens.
I brace myself, ready for Dad to make some horrible speech about what a whore his daughter is. Instead, in the rectangle of light that appears from the open door, Shannon’s slim silhouette appears. Words are being exchanged, that’s obvious from the way she’s gesturing with her hands, but we’re too far away to hear.
The next thing I know, Shannon slams the door and walks toward us, bogged down by all of our luggage. Right. We forgot about bags in our dramatic exit. Jackson hurries forward and grabs his duffel bag and our two carry-ons from her. I stand there, mute.
Shannon just chose me over our parents.
Wow.
She’s always been so adamant about keeping a relationship with Mom and Dad. And here she is, throwing it away for my sake? Just like that?
I go around to the back of the car where she’s loading bags with Jackson. “Shan,” I put a hand on her forearm. “You don’t have to do this. It’s my fight. Just between them and me.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “You think I could continue to talk to them after everything I learned tonight? Oh my God, Callie, if I’d known… Lately things have been different but I was so horrible to you for so long…” She looks anguished and fresh tears streak her cheeks.
Jackson gently tugs the suitcase from her and she throws her arms around me again.
I stand there a bit uncomfortable.
All right already. Enough with the touchy-touchy feely-feels stuff. I’m ready for this day to be over. Done. Finis.
I nod gratefully into her shoulder and then pull away to climb into the car. I vaguely hear Jackson and Shannon’s voices talking while they finish loading up the car and then Shannon climbs in the backseat and Jackson in the driver’s side.
Shannon reaches up from the backseat and hands me a toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and a bottle of water. I huff in surprise at her thoughtfulness. “Thanks.”
I brush my teeth vigorously as Jackson pulls out of my parents’ driveway, making a point of squealing the tires as he peals out. I hope it leaves dark rubber prints on their pristine driveway. At the same time, underneath the anger and weariness, already I can feel how raw I am.
No matter how much I intellectually understand why my parents are the way they are—they’ve become so accustomed to their lifestyle, it’s just unthinkable for them to accept anything that might bring it all crumbling down… But still. I’m their daughter.
A tear escapes my eye and I try to swipe it away before anyone sees. It’s not supposed to happen like this. In the TV specials, when you tell your parents about the horrible secret you’ve been keeping, they believe you. They support you. The entire message of those shows and books is just to get you to tell someone. It’s a given that the parents will listen.
I turn my face away from Jackson and Shannon and watch scenery pass by out the window. There’s not much to see since it’s night out. That’s fine with me. I’m good with losing myself in the darkness for a little bit. Numbing myself, inside and out. Not feeling. Not thinking. All of that takes so much energy and I’m tired. So tired.
I only look up once the lights of the small airstrip come into view. Jackson maneuvers the car down the small driving lane to the fourth hanger, the same one we landed at. We drive straight into the hangar and pull to a stop about twenty feet from the back of the plane.
All the lights in the plane are on and it looks ready to go. Jackson must have called or messaged at some point to get it prepped and ready, though I didn’t catch him doing it. We weren’t supposed to leave until late tomorrow afternoon.
I close my eyes and breathe out a long breath. Well, thank God Jackson took care of getting the plane prepped ahead of us. This means that in a little less than an hour, we’ll be back in San Jose and another half hour after that, I could be curled up in my own bed. Perfect.
Then I can take all the time I need to process everything that’s gone down. My parents. McIntyre. What Gentry’s demanding of me. Then there were those unsettling thoughts I had about Jackson. Not to mention that Charlie’s custody trial is now just two weeks away.
Christ. I scrub my hands down my face. Yeah. Sleep. Napping for a week is obviously not in the cards, but maybe a solid ten or eleven hours? With a Benadryl, I can probably swing that.
“Love you, Cals.” I hear Shannon’s voice from behind me and then the pressure of her hand on my shoulder. When I open my eyes, she’s getting out of the car and heading toward the trunk.
Right. Back to the real world.
I reach to unlatch my seatbelt, but Jackson’s large hand blocks me.
My eyebrows narrow in confusion as I look up at him.
“Shannon’s going to take the plane back but you and I are driving the car.”
“Huh?” I ask. Brain too tired to process over here.
“We’re going to drive back to San Jose.”
“But that would take six and a half hours.” My eyebrows scrunch as I search out the clock on the dashboard. “And it’s already eight o’clock at night. That doesn’t make any sense.” I reach to push open the door, but all the doors suddenly lock.
I try to push my own door unlock button, but apparently Jackson has the master lock because nothing moves mine. I turn back to him with a glare. “What the fuck? I’m exhausted. I’ve had a less than stellar weekend, and all I want to do is sleep. What I don’t want to do is be stuck in a car for the next six hours.”
“Me either,” Jackson surprises me by saying. “That’s why we’ll be stopping an hour south of here to spend the night. If you’re tired, take a nap.” He leans over. “I’m betting sleep will be the last thing on either of our minds once we get there.”
Even in the dim lighting of the hangar, I can see his eyes flare at this. I just stare at him, dumbfounded for a moment. Then he reaches out and cups my face before pulling me forward just enough to place a kiss on my forehead.
Before I can say another word, the trunk slams shut. Shannon gives a wave as she walks toward the plane and Jackson zooms out of the airport.
/>
“Wake up sleeping beauty.”
I blink blearily and look around. The car’s pulling into the roundabout of a large hotel that doesn’t tower so much as sprawl outward, its lights a beacon against the night sky.
Before I’m all the way awake, Jackson is out of the car and around to my side, opening my door for me. It’s unnecessary—unlike Jackson, I don’t usually have a driver opening doors for me—but I can’t say something in my belly doesn’t flutter at the gesture. Ridiculous. Belly flutters are for teenagers and girls who haven’t been through all the shit I have.
I must still be half-asleep. That’s all. I take Jackson’s hand as I get out of the car only because it would be rude not to. I drop it as soon as I’m on my feet, though.
I just can’t. Too much shit went down tonight. Sleeping was nice. If I dreamed, I can’t remember any of it and that’s how I like it. I don’t care what Jackson says or what grand plans he has—all I want is to get into the room, make a beeline for the bed and pull the covers over my head. Asleep and numb are really working for me right now.
Jackson gets our bags from the trunk before heading inside. Mutely, I follow a few steps behind him. Jackson keeps checking over his shoulder to make sure I’m there. I try to curve the edges of my mouth up but I’m not sure if it comes off as a smile or a grimace. Can’t really be bothered to care either. But I don’t miss the narrowing of Jackson’s eyebrows that show his concern so I try harder at the smile. Even if it is the last thing I feel like doing right now.
The hotel is super nice inside. An intricate inlaid tile design runs down the middle of the floor. It has open ceilings and interesting architecture too. I didn’t check to see what kind of hotel it was from the outside, but I shouldn’t be surprised that for Jackson, it’s only the best. Even out here in the wilds of northernmost California.
We don’t head to the reception desk. Instead, the attendant on duty, a guy young enough to be just out of high school wearing dress pants, a shirt, and a tie, hurries over to us. He looks like he got into his father’s closet and is playing dress up.
