JACKSON

by Davis, Siobhan

  “Why? Why did you tell me he was dead? How come he didn’t know about me?”

  I’m not really expecting her to answer, because Mom runs screaming from serious conversations that require her to be honest, but she shocks me by opening up a little. “I was only seventeen when I had you. I was so young. So naïve.” She stares off into space as she talks. “Chris wanted to get married, but I didn’t want to be tied down. He was older than me and getting pregnant was a … mistake.”

  Just when I think she can’t hurt me anymore, she says that. Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight tears. I shouldn’t be surprised I was unwanted. It’s not like she’s done anything to make me feel I was. It’s different hearing it spelled out so bluntly though.

  I am ice. I am snow. I am made of stone.

  I tug my walls up, banishing feeling, reminding myself I am numb to words that can hurt me.

  “If I was such a mistake, why didn’t you tell him? Let him take me?” My voice is so cold I almost don’t sound like myself.

  “I was going to give you up for adoption,” she admits, turning to face me. “But the second you were born, I changed my mind. I took one look at your gorgeous little face, stared into your trusting eyes, and I knew I couldn’t give you away.”

  If I hadn’t bolstered my walls, I’d almost believe the emotion shimmering in her gaze and the tears spilling from her eyes are real.

  “Why didn’t you tell Chris about me then?”

  She averts her gaze again. “I didn’t want to be forced into marriage with a man I didn’t love.”

  Oh, wow. This just keeps getting better and better.

  “I got a job that came with a small studio apartment, and I found a daycare for you. I was determined to look after you. Then, I met Aaron, fell head over heels in love with him, and we were married one week before your first birthday. He became your father then, and I didn’t give Chris another thought.”

  “Fantastic choice by the way,” I sneer. “You couldn’t have picked a worse father for me.”

  I snatch the photo from her hand, slipping it back in my purse. I’ve heard enough. I had other questions, but I can’t stay in her company a minute longer; otherwise, I’ll be up on a murder charge. I got the confirmation I needed, and now, I want to get the fuck away from this bitch.

  “I thought I was doing the right thing.” Her pleading eyes don’t work on me, because I’m immune.

  “Why did you tell me he was dead?”

  “Because he was in all the ways that mattered.” She drains the last of her wine, grabbing the bottle and dumping the rest of it in her glass. “Aaron was a very jealous man. When he asked me who your father was, I lied. I needed you to protect that lie.”

  “How do you sleep at night?” I hiss. “You should never have been a mother because you don’t know the meaning of that word.”

  “I know,” she whispers, and that’s the last thing I hear before I flee the house.

  I pause at my car, bending over as delayed pain rips through my body, crippling me. I clutch my car, squeezing my eyes shut to ward off the tears.

  Fuck her. I hate her and the choices she made that brought me to this point.

  She doesn’t want me. She never has.

  No one ever does.

  Aaron despised me, hurting me repeatedly, in so many ways.

  Jackson used me, and now, he taunts me at every corner, reminding me how pathetic and weak I am.

  It’s only a matter of time before Sawyer gets fed up with me again, and I doubt Abby and Shandra will stick around once they know the real me.

  No one wants me.

  I’m an abomination that should never have existed.

  That’s not entirely true, that inner voice whispers in my ear. Someone does want me. Someone who would’ve loved me if he’d known. Someone who has already done more for me than anyone in my life, and we haven’t even met.

  Drying my tears, I remove the silver cell from my purse and pull up the only number stored there.

  I tap out my first message to my father.

  Me: I got your letter. I’d like to meet too. Love, Vanessa.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Jackson

  “OH. MY. GAWD!” Elle squeals so loud, my eardrums riot. She jumps on the seat beside me, her blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders, as she stares at the Rothwelds’ mansion when it comes into view. Our driver maneuvers the limo around the water feature, gradually slowing down. Elle’s eyes are out on stalks, and her mouth hangs open in a most unattractive manner. Honestly, it’s like she’s never seen a house before.

  Hunt peers down his nose, hitting me with the full extent of his disapproval.

  Get in line, dude.

  I face this every single day. All my friends are disgusted with me, and though I am sick of arguing with everyone, it’s not enough to derail my plans. Nessa is proving tougher to crack than expected. Begrudging admiration festers under my skin, but I shove that emotion aside. Admiration and Nessa no longer belong together. I cling on to the last vestiges of my anger, reminding myself of what she’s done, but it’s getting harder to hold on to my hate. Harder to deny myself.

  “I think I just died.” Elle claps her hands, jumping around like a kindergartener let loose in a toy store. Her movement lifts the hem of her cheap, illuminous-pink dress even higher up her thighs, offering a glimpse of her equally gaudy, pink lace panties.

  A shudder works its way up my spine, and I avert my gaze.

  “Pity you didn’t,” Hunt says, doing nothing to hide his comment.

  She’s so tongue-tied over Edward’s impressive red-brick traditional family home, with stately pillars and vine-covered walls, that she doesn’t even hear him insulting her.

  I sigh. It’s going to be a long night.

  Different woman have adorned my arm every day for the past two weeks, and each one has annoyed the fuck out of me. I thought it was worth it to see the crestfallen look on Nessa’s face, but I’m beginning to think the price I’m paying is too high, and Nessa’s expression has gone from devastated to disgusted, so I’m not convinced this approach is working anymore. Their nonsensical chatter and those high-pitched giggles are irritating the fuck out of me. I’m worried my brain has stopped functioning with the lack of intelligent conversation.

  Don’t even get me started on my dick. That sucker hasn’t risen his head for any of them. Not even when I’ve a chick planted on my lap at lunchtime. Shocker, I know. It would be easier if my cock showed some life, but nope, he has zero interest in even attempting to get any of them in bed.

  Chuckling to myself, I imagine Nessa’s reaction to the daily texts I’ve been sending her. I had the biggest smile on my face the time she blocked me. That’s how I knew I was getting to her, so I’ve continued to send her daily pictures. First pic was some chick I slept with from my West Lorian days, but all the others have been photos I’ve downloaded from the web. Let her think I’m sleeping with the women I parade around RU when the truth is I haven’t even locked lips with most of them.

  I’ve forced myself to kiss a couple of girls in front of her, purely to piss her off, yet I fear I’ve pissed myself off worse. Fooling around with these girls is sucking the life out of me, and I can’t do it any longer. I will find more creative ways to ruin Nessa instead.

  “No way!” Elle screeches at the top of her lungs, and my ears protest again.

  If looks could kill, Hunt would’ve just buried me six feet under.

  “They have those servant people carrying floats of champagne.”

  “Do you purposely go out of your way to find lobotomized females, or is it purely accidental?” Hunt inquires as the driver opens the limo door.

  “Their IQ score is generally not on my list of requirements.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Hunt drawls, as we climb out behind my date. “Fake tits and annoying hyena laughs appear to be essential traits though. Can’t say I’m fond of either.”

  “Nor me,” I mutter before I think better of it
.

  Hunt tugs on my elbow, holding me back. Elle skips toward the front door like a kangaroo on speed. “Quit this shit already. You’re dividing the group and pissing everyone off. Keep this up, and you’ll be lucky to have any friends left.”

  “Can we skip the lecture for one fucking night, Hunt? I’m not the only one pissing people off.”

  “Just drop the animosity toward Van. We don’t have an issue with her. Hate her in silence, from a distance, if you must, but give the rest of us a break. We’re not in high school anymore,” he adds as we walk toward the door. “Unless you didn’t get the memo.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I huff, purely to get the fucker off my back before he annoys me again.

  “About fucking time.” He thumps me on the back, and I swing for him. Ducking down, he laughs when my fist meets empty air. He saunters into the house, accepting two glasses of champagne from the haughty-looking waiter standing in the hallway.

  I trail after him, cursing him under my breath.

  “Hey, Elle,” he calls out, and my date stops in front of us, turning around way too fast in those skyscraper heels. She manages to stay upright, but only just. Her eyes are as big as saucers as she takes in the plush surroundings.

  “Picked you up another float.” Hunt raises a glass of champagne, and she instantly downs the one in her hand. Looking around, she dumps her empty flute on a lamp table beside an ornate vase that looks old as shit. In her haste to reach Hunt, her hip collides with the corner of the table, and it wobbles precariously. I react fast, jumping forward and catching the vase before it falls. I’m less lucky with the empty glass though. It shatters into tiny pieces on the porcelain floor, capturing the attention of every person in the hallway.

  I’ll need to get totally wasted if I’m to survive this party with my sanity intact.

  “Oops.” Elle giggles, sipping on her new glass of champagne like she hasn’t just embarrassed herself and me.

  “Elle.” Hunt’s sly tone suggests he’s up to no good. “You wouldn’t happen to be named after Elle Woods by any chance?”

  “Huh?” Elle’s face scrunches up, and she’s looking less and less attractive by the second.

  “She was a character played by Reese Witherspoon in a movie called Legally Blonde,” Hunt explains.

  I chuckle. Xavier’s influence is showing.

  “I don’t think so,” Elle replies, looking thoroughly confused by this conversation, and that makes two of us.

  “She had the same first name. She loved the color pink.” Hunt gestures toward Elle’s dress. “She was ditzy as fuck and … oh, that’s where the comparison ends because she was actually intelligent behind the cutesy exterior and you.” He bores a hole in her skull, and I almost feel sorry for her. “You’re every bit as dumb and annoying as you look.”

  “Sawyer!” Abby’s chastising tone echoes off the high ceiling as she stomps toward us, her heels clicking off the floor as she approaches. “Don’t tell me you’ve resurrected your mean gene too!” She thumps Hunt in the arm.

  “He is mean,” Elle agrees, slurping her champagne like it’s soda.

  Like I said, it’s going to be a long night.

  “I commiserate,” a familiar voice says, raising all the hairs on the back of my neck. “I used to have shit taste in men too until the last asshole helped me see sense,” Nessa adds, ghosting past me like I’m the one who doesn’t exist. Musky, sweet, vanilla scents tickle my nostrils as her hypnotic perfume swirls around me, sending me back to nights when she was wrapped in my arms and everything felt right with the world.

  I’ve never felt more…me than when I was with Vanessa. Her presence in my life soothed my frayed edges, and, for the first time in years, I was happy.

  It was all a lie. The tetchy devil on my shoulder reminds me of what’s important.

  It’s not how fucking hot she looks in that figure-hugging short red strapless dress. Or how long her legs appear encased in gorgeous gold strappy sandals. Or how silky smooth her hair looks falling down her back in sleek sheets. I can’t see her face from this angle, because she’s refusing to acknowledge me, but I know what I’d find if I could.

  Perfection personified.

  A goddess sculpted with the finest hand. A temptress plucked straight from my dreams.

  She’s the enemy.

  She betrayed you.

  Played you.

  Made you fall for her and look like a fool.

  That is the only truth that matters, and I hate that I constantly need to remind myself.

  Of course, my dick refuses to cooperate, stirring to life for the first time since I jerked off this morning to thoughts of her. It’s as if Nessa has cast a spell on my cock, meaning it only gets hard for her.

  She walks ahead with Abby and Shandra, turning the corner like a graceful gazelle, granting me a perfect side view, and God-fucking-damn it, she’s sensational. Hands down, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. My cock hardens painfully behind my zipper, and I silently curse my stupid hormones for not getting with the program. Discreetly, I adjust myself in my dark jeans, cautioning my dick to calm the fuck down.

  She’s only a pussy. Nothing special about her. At all.

  “You look like you need a drink or ten,” Anderson says, clamping his hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t seen or heard him come in, but as soon as Abby appeared, I knew he wasn’t far behind.

  “You’ll need the same once you meet Elle,” Hunt drawls.

  “Elle?” Anderson lifts his brows. “Do I even want to ask?”

  “Jack-sun!” As if on cue, my date materializes in front of me, clutching another glass of champagne, collapsing into my arms.

  “Is she drunk already?” Anderson asks, his lips curving at the corners.

  “Yup,” Hunt replies. “Fun times.” He yanks Anderson by the elbow, pulling him away from us. “Enjoy your night, Lauder. Nice knowing you.” Hunt grins, stalking off with Anderson, both chuckling as they leave me to my fate.

  Assholes.

  Taking Elle’s hand, I follow the others into the belly of the house in the direction of the music.

  I’ve got to hand it to Edward Rothweld—dude knows how to throw a party.

  Beats pulse through various speakers mounted around the large ballroom. A celebrity DJ spins tunes from the stage at the top of the room. Waiters carry canapes and glasses of champagne as they move around the space. Partygoers swamp the free bar at the right-hand side of the room. No red cups of warm beer or cheap vodka shots are available tonight. Only premium brands, craft beers, lush cocktails, and expensive champagne will do for the eldest son of one of Rydeville’s most prominent politicians.

  The Rothwelds aren’t one of the founding families, like Abby’s, Anderson’s, or Barron’s families, but they are in the upper echelons of elite society.

  Although this isn’t an official elite event—there’s no dress code, no old perverts in sight, and it’s a mixed college crowd of elite and non-elite—appearances clearly still matter to Edward.

  Elle clings to my arm as we take a quick tour so I can get my bearings.

  Dancers throw shapes on the large dance floor in the center of the room. Circular tables surround the space on all sides. A door at the top of the room leads to another spacious area with a separate bar and more casual seating. Low couches are dotted around the room, mixed with high tables and stools.

  Open French doors lead outside to an impressive patio with more seated areas, bordered by manicured lawns housing an array of colorful shrubs and flowers. The pool is covered, and all the lights are off in the adjoining pool house. It’s clear Rothweld runs a tight ship, keeping revelers away from family heirlooms or places he doesn’t want them exploring.

  Heading back inside, I let my gaze roam the room, looking for an exquisite creature in an eye-catching red dress. Elle wanders toward the bar while I search the crowd because I clearly love punishing myself.

  It doesn’t take long to locate Nessa, and I’m not that surp
rised to discover she’s the center of attention on the dance floor. A muscle ticks in my jaw as I watch the predators circling the girls as they dance, seemingly oblivious to the attention they’re garnering. The flashy diamond on Abby’s ring finger lets them know she’s off-limits. Most everyone at this party knows who she is, who Anderson is, and that Shandra Farrell may no longer be engaged to Drew Manning, but that doesn’t mean she’s fair game either.

  Which leaves Nessa.

  The mystery woman in the stunning red dress, commanding the floor as she sways her hips in time to the music, tossing her long dark-blonde locks over her shoulders, dancing like she hasn’t a care in the world.

  The vultures are salivating as they vie for her attention, and I’m primed and ready to go to war.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jackson

  “STILL DENYING YOU love her?” Hunt asks, appearing at my side. He hands me a beer, and I momentarily consider dumping it over his head.

  “Enough already.” I drain half the beer in one go.

  “You’re going to lose her if you don’t retrieve your head from your ass,” Anderson adds, coming up on the other side of me. His eyes lock on Abby, and from his tense stance, I know he’s ready to go to war too. One stray hand. One flirty smile. One wrong move, and Anderson will wade into the crowd to defend Abby’s honor. Doesn’t matter she’s damn capable of defending her own honor. That’s just the way he rolls.

  “Would you both stop talking like you know how I feel. It’s irritating as fuck.”

  “You think I haven’t been where you are?” Anderson asks, briefly ungluing his eyes from Abby. “I understand more than you realize.”

  “How come you can trust Nessa just like that?” I snap my fingers, finishing my beer, and dumping it on a tray as a waiter walks by. I snag a glass of champagne even though it’s not my drink of choice, but I need to get drunk and fast.

  “I agree with Hunt. She has changed, and everyone deserves a second chance. Even Vanessa.”

  “Have you forgotten the package she received yesterday?” I glance between them. “Wake the fuck up. He just sent her a burner cell. It’s hardly so he can read her bedtime stories.”