by L A Cotton
He glanced down at me, cradled in his arms like a baby, and smiled. “Well, Savanah Parry, you’re home.” Dropping me to the floor, he used the second key card on the small O-ring to open the door. I managed to balance on the wall enough to flick the switch, and then hop to the bed.
“Here, let me take a closer look.” Jackson dropped down in front of me, cradling my foot in his hands. “Ouch, you’ve sprained it pretty bad. You need to rest and elevate it. Do you have a towel?”
I pointed toward the small bathroom, unable to take my eyes off Jackson's back as he walked away from me. His translucent shirt clung to his broad shoulders.
Two minutes later, Jackson came out with two towels. He threw the dry one at me and I started toweling off my hair. The second was damp and rolled up. “It’s not ice, but it should help with the swelling. Hmm, you need help changing?” His eyes flickered back to my chest and I coughed. “Just hand me those pants off the back of the chair and that tank?” I pointed to the desk.
He collected them up and handed them to me. Our fingers brushed, sending tiny sparks shooting through my skin. “Yeah, so umm, I’ll be right over here. Not looking,” he said, more to himself, as he turned away.
Scooting back on the bed, I attempted to peel the wet shirt off my body, eventually managing to wiggle free and yank the clean tank over my head. My jeans were a different matter. They clung to me like a second skin and as I tried to inch them down my legs, my ankle burned. “Damn, that hurts.”
“You okay back there?”
“Yeah. You can turn around now.” I fastened the tie on the slouchy pants and slunk back into the pillows.
Jackson approached the bed, a strained look on his face, as his eyes raked over me. He wrapped the wet towel around my ankle, with enough pressure that I could feel it, but not enough to hurt, and then he grabbed one of the redundant pillows and placed it underneath my lower leg. “There, rest, ice, compression, and elevate. You’ll be as good as new by tomorrow. So, anyway, what were you doing out there?" He left my side and went to sit in the desk chair.
“The party at Dead Man’s Cove, remember.” The one you tried to talk me out of.
His eyes locked on mine and his jaw tensed. I couldn’t decipher what they were trying to say, but he seemed shocked by my omission.
“It wasn’t really my kind of scene, so I left… look how well that worked out for me.”
He rose from the chair and stalked toward me. The look in his eyes caused me to press back into the headboard, unsure of what to expect when he reached me. My heart pounded as his gaze seared into me. His fingers reached for my soggy hair and brushed it out of my eyes. “I better go.”
My eyes fluttered shut and I gulped. His touch had been so gentle, yet I had felt it all the way to my soul. “Okay. Th-thanks.”
His fingers lingered on my cheek and he looked like a guy carrying the weight of the world, like he wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. And then he pulled back, and my skin instantly felt cold at the loss of his touch. Jackson flicked the light switch as he reached the door, plummeting the room into darkness. The only light was the soft glow from the floodlight outside the emergency stairwell, allowing me to just make out his silhouette. The strained tick of his jaw and the lines creasing his brow. He looked so torn up about something.
I waited for him to leave. But when he turned the doorknob and half stepped out of the room, he glanced back at the last minute. “Ana, I’m no good for you. Stay away.” It came out barely a whisper.
But I heard it.
Then he disappeared into the hallway.
Chapter Six
I had spent the whole weekend limping around the dorm room, wincing every time my swollen foot touched the floor. Thankfully, by Monday morning the swelling was down enough that I could squeeze into my old Converse. It had been a long two days. Elena spent most of the weekend with Tyson, so there had been no one to distract me from the painful memories that flooded my mind every time I closed my eyes. Or from the confusing feelings that I felt every time I thought of Jackson and his enchanting green eyes.
As I hobbled across campus to Carver Hall, my stomach was queasy with anticipation and anxiety. Jackson's parting comments on Friday night had scorched my mind, and I had heard the veiled threat loud and clear. Only I couldn't work out why he had said it, why I should stay away from him. And now I had to endure two hours of Gardner's class... with Jackson and the redhead.
Not wanting a repeat of last week, I arrived early. My eyes immediately fell to Jackson's row, but there were no signs of him or the redhead. Pulling the notebook from my bag, I heard him before I saw him. "Briony, leave it," Jackson's curt voice commanded, in a hushed tone as they passed my desk.
"Oh, lighten up. I'm only joking. It's just-" Briony's voice disappeared as they moved to their seats. Jackson shook his head sternly as he sat while Briony pouted like a petulant child. They obviously disagreed about something. Arguing like a couple might.
I observed her. She was undeniably beautiful. Tall, slim with big eyes, and glossy, untamed, red curls framing her oval-shaped face, she looked like a model straight off the catwalk. My stomach bottomed out as I tried to imagine Jackson actually turning her down. Someone who looked as good as she did.
As if he heard my thoughts, Jackson glanced over his shoulder and our eyes locked. He stared back at me for a few seconds before his lips curled up in a slow smile. Gardner's voice interrupted our moment as class began, and Jackson turned back to face the stage.
Less than forty-eight hours ago, he had warned me to stay away. But when he looked at me, it was like his eyes were trying to convey something different. I dropped my head onto my folded arms, letting out an exasperated sigh. Being confused over a guy wasn't part of the plan; the get-your-life-back-on-track plan. I was supposed to escape to Chastity Falls, keep my head down, and blend. Dr. Simmonds said that I needed a fresh start, a chance to find myself again. She never said anything about meeting a guy. It was always a topic off-limits after the meltdown I had the first time she mentioned Danny's name.
Danny.
I closed my eyes, breathing in a deep breath.
"College is going to be something else, Ana. Just you, me, and our very private dorm rooms." His breath tickled my neck as he nuzzled into me. I squealed as his lips gently sucked the skin just below my ear. "Keep that up, mister, and we'll never make the movie."
Spinning me in his arms, Danny brought his lips down to mine, feathering them in soft, firm kisses. "Just you and me, Ana, always."
Someone coughed a few seats down, ripping me from the memory that made my heart crack just a little more. At least you're not crying. It's progress, right, Dr. Simmonds? The faintest feeling of accomplishment settled in my chest.
"Ana, over here," Elena called out from across the cafeteria. She was sitting in the curve of Tyson's huge arm.
Paul looked up and smiled as I approached. "How was Gardner today?"
"Dull." It wasn’t a total lie. I had almost fallen asleep, twice, lulled by Gardner’s monotonous voice. But for most of the class, I had battled the urge to watch Jackson and Briony like some infatuated lovesick puppy.
I dropped onto the bench beside Paul and picked at the suspicious looking mac and cheese with the plastic spork. "What is this stuff?"
Tyson looked up and laughed. "That, my friend, is gross."
"How's the ankle, chica?"
"Better. Still hurts a little but at least I managed to fit into my shoes this morning."
"You should have called. I would have come back." Elena pursed her lips. She had been more than a little pissed off to find me holed up in bed Saturday morning with an ankle the size of a balloon. There was a whole Latina meltdown, including many high-pitched Spanish words that I didn’t understand. I guessed it was her way of showing me that she cared.
"Really, it was fine. A guy from my class helped me back. No harm done."
Paul bristled next to me, almost choking on his fry. "Guy? What gu
y?"
"Down, Deputy Dad." Tyson threw a chip at him and Paul batted it away with his hand. "What? I'm just concerned. You've heard the stories."
"What stories?" My ears pricked up at his words.
"Nothing, Ana. The guy is paranoid." Tyson glared at Paul, sending him a message that I didn't understand.
Paul slung an arm around my shoulder and said, "Just looking out for my girl. Friend, I mean, friend... my friend."
Tyson and Elena broke into fits of laughter while Paul turned a shade of beet red. I didn't join in; I was too busy trying to fight the urge to shrug out of his arm and make a run for it.
It wasn't Paul, it was all me. He was a nice enough guy. He just didn't stir anything in me, not like the flutters—the ones I tried my hardest to ignore—that stirred to life whenever I was around Jackson.
"Ana?"
I blinked at Elena, who was staring at me with that look again. "Wha-what did you say?"
"I said you missed some party. Braiden and Pierce made the new guys take dares, like an initiation. Two guys ended up butt naked in the ocean, and one guy had to kiss a fish. I swear I almost peed a little."
I snorted my disapproval. Seriously, who were these guys? "Isn't Braiden a freshman player? Who died and made him boss?"
Elena rolled her eyes. "Have you not listened to a thing Talia told us? Braiden is like royalty in Chastity Falls, his age doesn't matter. He's first string quarterback and son of the richest guy in a fifty mile radius-"
Tyson clasped a hand over her face and she wiggled beneath him. "Baby, enough about Braiden Donohue. He's only been here three weeks and I'm already tired of hearing about the guy. He eats, shits, and bleeds just like the rest of us."
"Haha, dude, don't let The Fallen hear you say that. You know those guys fall in line with whoever is at the top of the pyramid, and Jason is one-hundred percent backing Braiden, or so I've heard." Paul tipped his soda can at Tyson.
"Who is Jason and why do you guys talk about the football team like they're a cult or something?"
Paul cleared his throat, ready to give a speech, and I shook my head incredulously at his dramatics. "Jason O'Hara was the first string quarterback of CFA's football team, also widely known as The Fallen. Notice I say was because, since spring semester last year, Jason was aware of Braiden's arrival and imminent takeover of the team."
"So, Jason was benched just like that... because of Braiden? A freshman?"
Tyson let out a frustrated grunt. "Correct."
"Isn't that a little unfair?"
"Braiden is good, Ana, but he's not that good. He just has the right name. The Donohue family owns this whole damn town. And now their only son owns CFA."
I struggled to process the guys’ explanation. It was just college. Just a game. They made it sound like an episode of the Sopranos. But what confused me the most was that they made it sound so normal, something to just be accepted.
Gardner's class was nothing compared to the torture of sitting so close to Jackson in Shakespeare. After his warning to stay away from him, I thought he might pick an alternative seat, but that didn't happen. Instead, he brushed right past me, dropping into his usual chair and acting as if nothing had happened. I had to fight back the urge to ask him why he had told me to stay away from me. I mean, it wasn't like we hung out. There had been a coffee at the shifty seafront hut…once, and then the embarrassing sprained-ankle-in-the-storm incident.
“Today, class, I want us to look at the character Iago…” Professor Shacks’ voice echoed around the small room. “Iago is the voice whispering in Othello’s ear, playing to Othello’s own paranoia and insecurities around his relationship with Desdemona. Of course, Othello trusts Iago implicitly. Why wouldn’t he trust his long serving friend and lieutenant? A fact that Iago uses to his own advantage…”
Jackson shuffled next to me, and then quickly dropped a white note onto my desk. What now? I sighed, feeling frustrated at his mixed signals.
How’s the ankle?
Okay, thanks.
I balled up the note and tossed it onto his desk, watching him through the corner of my eye. A slight smirk played on his lips, and it was obvious that he was aware that I was pissed at him. He started scribbling a reply, which landed in front of me seconds later.
I’ve heard coffee (or a banana shake) can work wonders for a sprained ankle… healing properties or something.
I scowled at his slightly scruffy handwriting wondering what game he was trying to play with me.
Thanks. I’ll make sure I have a banana shake before bed.
Feeling pleased with myself, I held out the note for him and he plucked it out of my hand, silently laughing when his eyes scanned the words.
How about a shake before bed… with me?
My eyes blinked. And blinked again, feeling the heat of embarrassment wash over my face. Was he flirting with me? I felt thirteen all over again. Mikey Crand used to send me love notes in Biology, and my friend, Lacey, and I would giggle over them. Feeling brave, I handed him my reply.
Are you inviting me for a shake? Or to bed?
Jackson’s eyes widened and he shuffled slightly in his seat. Take that Mr. Confusing. I smirked, pleased with myself.
Are you saying yes?
I inwardly groaned. Jackson: one, Ana: zero. I couldn’t keep this up without drifting into territory that terrified me. Jackson was the first guy—the only guy—who made me smile… made my stomach flutter… made me feel anything since Danny. It wasn’t the plan, not what I ran to CFA to find, but somehow I had found it. Found something—someone—who made me feel again. Was that enough to try and get to the bottom of whatever was going on with Jackson? Of why he had warned me to stay away?
To the shake… maybe
Meet me around back five minutes after class
I was heading for a one-way trip into purgatory because as I discreetly watched Jackson out the corner of my eye, I knew. Knew there would be no way that I could walk away. Right or wrong, sensible or stupid, he had awoken a part of me that I thought I would never find again…and I couldn’t just give that up. Not for all the warnings in the world.
Ninety minutes later, I was sitting in Blacks suffering some kind of post-Jackson whiplash.
“I’m surprised you asked me for coffee again.” I slurped up the thick banana shake.
Jackson watched me; his eyes were more the color of the blue-green ocean today than their usual shade. “Actually, I invited you for a shake,” he quipped back.
I tried broaching the subject during the ride to Blacks, but he just shrugged me off, talking about the weather. The freaking weather. I was done with his evasion techniques. “After you warned me to stay away from you the other night?”
He placed his mug back on its plate and sighed. I watched, captivated, as he ran his hand through his messy dark hair, the longer strands falling back into place, a five o’clock shadow cloaking his jaw. “About that… I may have been a little hasty.”
“Hasty?”
“See, the thing is…” His eyes held mine, smoldering at me, pleading with me. “I’m not sure that I can walk away.”
My lips moved to say something, but nothing came out. Jackson watched me intently, and I gulped. It felt like he was willing me to agree, to accept that there was a reason why we should stay away from each other, but to ignore it. And I got the feeling it was a no-questions-asked kind of arrangement.
“It’d be better for you… for us, if you stayed away from me, Ana. But I don’t want you to. I’m too selfish to walk away.”
“But-”
Jackson cut me off. “No questions. That’s the deal. We spend time together, get to know each other, but you can’t ask any of the questions that I know you have swimming around in that pretty little head of yours.”
“Okay, but-”
His hand found mine across the booth, and his fingers grazed my knuckles. “No questions. That’s just the way it has to be for now.”
I nodded. Unsure of what I jus
t agreed to.
“You won’t regret it, Ana Parry. I promise.”
Chapter Seven
“Balthasar, Romeo and Juliet. C?” I slid my feet further into the sand, feeling the tiny grains seep between my toes.
“Caius Cassius, Julius Caesar.” Jackson offered me the bag of chips, but I shook my head, too focused on the next letter. “D... erm, ahh got one, Demetrius, A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. You’re up. E.”
Jackson shifted next me, pressing himself further into the fallen trunk overturned in the shale and sand. “Easy. Enorbarbus, Anthony and Cleopatra.”
“No way!" I shrieked. "You do not know characters from Anthony and Cleopatra. Are you cheating?” I nudged his side with my elbow, wiggling my eyebrows at him in disbelief.
“Sore loser?” Jackson turned toward me slightly, putting us almost face-to-face. Instinctively, I slouched back against our makeshift seat. Noticing my retreat, he smiled and distracted me from my thoughts. Something he had been doing a lot lately.
“Think you can go another one? F, what do you have?”
I pursed my lips. F was a hard one. “Umm, F… F, umm, got it. Franceso?” I didn’t sound as confident as I had felt seconds earlier.
Jackson cracked a grin, his whole face lighting up. “Got ya. There never has nor will there ever be a Franceso.”
Laughter erupted from me and I relished the feel of its healing power flowing through my broken insides. Slowly piecing them back together. Crack by crack, scar by scar.
This was how it had been for the last few weeks. Twenty-four whole days. That was how long it had been since Jackson promised me that I wouldn’t regret agreeing to his weird no-questions-asked rule. And I hadn't, not yet. And he had wholeheartedly kept up his side of the bargain.