All of Me: A Confessions of the Heart Stand-Alone Novel

by Jackson, A. L.

  She hiked a shoulder. “What? If you’ve got it, flaunt it, and girl, you’ve got it. You come from a long line of beautiful women. Don’t you know that?”

  There was a gleam in her eyes.

  Light laughter filtered free. “I know, I’ve seen pictures of you. You were a knockout.”

  “Pssh.” She waved her hand. “What are you talking about, was? I am a knockout. You should see all the men fighting for me down at the bingo hall.”

  “Do I need to come down there and whip them into shape? Tell them to back off?”

  As if the spitfire needed the backup.

  “God no. Best night of the week.”

  I shook my head at her, then winced when she dabbed the cloth on my knee, the cut there a little deeper than the rest.

  “You definitely need to get some medicine and bandages on this one. You’re lucky you don’t need stitches.”

  She glanced up at me from where she was bent down to inspect my injured leg. “So, if it wasn’t that two-bit, no-good jackass who likes to pretend he’s a man when he’s nothin’ but a snake slithering up behind you, who was it that sent my girl running?”

  My insides shivered, rushed with the remnants of that strange energy. I still didn’t know what to make of it. I released a heavy sigh. “It was no one.”

  She cocked a questioning brow. As if she’d climbed right into my head and sifted through every single one of my thoughts.

  No doubt, she already knew there was something I wasn’t telling her. That was the problem when you spent your entire life living with a woman like her. She knew you inside out and right back out again.

  Hell, she usually knew what I was going to say before I ever had the chance to say it.

  I huffed and tried not to roll my eyes. She’d been doing this to me since I was thirteen. “Fine. It was a boy.”

  A menacing, terrifying, beautiful boy.

  And there was nothing boy about him. He was all tall, firm, delicious man.

  “Running from a boy?” She tsked with a grin, dabbing a little more at the cut. “He’d better have been a cute boy to make a cut like this worth it.”

  There she was, reading my thoughts again. The sneak.

  “No, Gramma, he was most definitely not worth it. He’s just like the rest.”

  Selfish.

  Arrogant.

  Cocky and brash and after one thing.

  It didn’t matter how gorgeous or sexy he was. How my body had lit up with just the brush of our skin.

  He was dangerous.

  I knew it somewhere deep.

  “Besides, you know I can’t go doing something so foolish as that,” I continued. “There’s too much on the line.”

  “We all deserve to be loved,” she told me.

  “I think I have more important things to worry about right now than getting wound up in the arms of another man.”

  One day, I’d find it. Someone to love me the way she was talking about. Someone who would put me before themselves just the same way as I’d do for them.

  “Besides, it was just one of those chance encounters. I won’t ever see him again. It was nothing.”

  She stepped back, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she studied me. Then she reached out and nudged me under the chin, lifting it. “All in good time, sweet thing. It’ll fall into place. You’ll see.”

  I gave her a nod.

  “You’d better get some rest. Lord knows, I’m worn out.”

  The hint of a smile worked its way to my mouth. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize. It’s my honor. Nothing could make an old lady happier. Believe me.”

  She touched my cheek again before she left me there, shuffling off to her bed.

  Sighing, I pushed to my feet and moved toward the opposite side of the house, walking down the short hall that led to the small room that had been mine growing up.

  I grabbed a fresh pair of pajamas and underwear and went across the hall to the bathroom where I turned on the shower. Steam filled the room, and I stripped myself of the dress. I balled it up, the satiny material nothing but a shredded rag, stained with oil and dirt and blood.

  I tossed it into the trash.

  I stepped into the close to scalding water and prayed it’d have the power to wash away the strain. To soothe away the sting that didn’t have a whole lot to do with the scrapes on my hands and knees. That tomorrow I’d wake and be restored with energy to do this all over again.

  I washed my hair and then squirted a bunch of my favorite body wash onto the loofa, and washed away the disappointing night.

  I wasn’t giving up.

  Not even close.

  I dried, dressed, put a bandage on my knee before I stepped back into the hall, slowing as I got to the last door on the left. I pushed open the door a crack, letting the hall light flood into the room.

  My heart swelled.

  So intense I felt affection crashing over me. Washing me away. Taking me under. Surrounded by the overpowering swell of it, breath stolen, chest full.

  Tiptoeing inside, I moved to the right to the portable crib where Sophie slept on her belly, her little butt in the air, her thumb in her mouth and her cheeks all rosy sweetness. She was almost too big for the small crib, her second birthday coming up faster than I could comprehend.

  Reaching inside, I splayed my fingers through the short locks of her blonde, curly hair, so pale it was almost white, that hope burning inside turning into a brilliant burst of love.

  Quietly, I straightened and headed for the toddler bed that rested on the same wall. Without making a sound, I dropped to my knees at the side of it, leaning down to nuzzle my nose into Mallory’s soft cheek.

  Breathing her in.

  My sweet, smart girl. She stirred, and I cringed, hating that I’d woken her. But I just needed the reassurance, to kiss my babies good night before I could fall asleep myself.

  Her blue eyes blinked open, and she grinned when she saw me kneeling at her side. She hustled to sit up, pushing the mass of bed-head out of her face with both hands, way too much excitement for after midnight. “Are you still the prettiest princess ever?”

  The child pulled the softest laugh out of me, her awed sweetness my own inspiration. I brushed my fingers down the side of her face, that spot inside blazing so bright I didn’t know how it wasn’t lighting up the entire room.

  She’d insisted her momma was an actual princess when I’d been getting ready, the child’s mind so full of fanciful things that I wondered if I didn’t feed too many of them into her ears.

  But I loved that she looked on the world as if each second held a new wonder. A new promise and a new hope and a new adventure to hold. That was what I told her when she’d wanted to know where I was going . . . on an adventure to a ballroom dance.

  She’d asked if I was going to meet Prince Charming.

  Not even close.

  “No, Mal Pal, I’m just regular old Momma.”

  The tattered dress I’d tossed into the garbage and my throbbing knee were proof of that.

  “Did you dance like a ballerina? I bet you were the prettiest princess there. I know it. Grams said you were gettin’ ready to knock some boys off their feet. Did you do some knockin’?”

  A spurt of laughter almost made its way out. I bit it back.

  “I think Grams was telling you stories.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Storytime is my favorite,” she said in her sweet way, a little drawl and a lot overemphasized and sprinkled with a dash of sass. As if every word was of the upmost importance.

  “Grams read two whole stories, and I read one, but it was really hard, and Thomas said I didn’t know half the words. I think he was way wrong. I think I got more like . . . two-thirds. Two-thirds is good, right?”

  I swore, the little thing slayed me. So danged adorable, the child larger than life, always so excited to take on the world and make it hers.

  “Two-thirds is great,” I promised.

  �
�Next time, I’ll get a hundred.”

  From the side, I felt movement. I should have known when I’d sneaked in that I’d end up waking the whole room. But there was my Thomas, looking rumpled and tired as he slowly sat up at the edge of his bed.

  My big man.

  My sweet man.

  He rubbed a fist in his eye. “You’re home safe?”

  He was also my worrying man.

  My little protector.

  The oldest of my children and the only one who had an inkling about the severity of our situation. That things were bad and there was a chance they could get worse.

  We were riding on a hope and a prayer and fighting with every single thing we had.

  My babies could be taken from me, and there was nothing in this world that was worse than that.

  “Yeah, I’m home, Sweet T.”

  “Did you find someone to help us?” he asked, strain in the heavy bob of his little throat.

  Slowly, I pushed up to my feet and crossed the room so I could kneel in front of him. I set my hand on his face. The gentlest kind of reassurance. “Not yet, Thomas, but I will. I promise that I will.”

  “It’s okay, Tom Tom. Momma knows all the tricks, don’t you, Momma?” Mallory slid off her bed and dug around under it before she pulled out a big drawing notepad, the pages a textured beige and bound in a thick brown stock. “See!”

  She pointed at the pictures we’d drawn.

  It had been the only way I’d been able to explain to her a little of what we were going through without instilling her with fear, a happily ever after waiting at the end the only comfort I could give her.

  The last thing I wanted was to cut down the vitality that oozed from her like a spring gushing up from the earth.

  “Tell us another one?” my five-year-old asked with way too much enthusiasm for the middle of the night. “Oh, please, Momma. You didn’t tell one before you left. You owe us.”

  She grinned.

  Way too big.

  All little teeth with a single one missing in the middle.

  I swore the child could melt a glacier.

  I glanced at Thomas who was still wearing worry all over his expression. I wished I could take it from him, the terror he’d felt when I’d woken him in the middle of the night four months ago and whisked him and the girls away in the darkness.

  Wished I could cover it and conceal it.

  Or more importantly, make it completely go away.

  Instead, I stood and stretched my hand out for him. “What do you say?”

  He nodded, accepted my hand, and took a seat next to me on the floor by Mallory’s bed.

  Criss-crossing my legs, I pulled her onto my lap and wrapped an arm around Thomas. He snuggled into my side, my nine-year-old putting aside his shield of armor that he typically wore in favor of consolation during the late hour.

  Sophie Marie continued to sleep through the ruckus, her tiny breaths filling the air as I opened the book. The pages were full of freehand drawings, and I opened my mouth and whispered the words to my older two children who snuggled closer.

  “Once upon a time, there was a prince and two princesses. They were the most fearless in the land, held hostage by a ruthless king. The prince . . . the prince wore a crown of rubies . . .”

  I squeezed Thomas just a little tighter. I could feel him fighting an affected smile.

  “The baby princess wore a ring of sapphire, and the sweet reigning princess wore a pendant of diamond.”

  Mallory flapped her arms in excitement, lost in the inflection of my voice when her character was woven into the story.

  “But they weren’t only brave, they were also smart. So, one day, they came to their handmaiden who cared for them with every ounce of her being. They were sure she had their best interest at heart and would help them no matter what. They knew she would help them make a plan to break free from the castle. They knew of the endless maze of bushes that grew ten feet tall around the castle, confusing any reckless warriors who dared come against the king. Many had been lost to the maze, their minds sent into a permanent bewilderment that left them wandering throughout their years. But not the prince and the princesses . . . they knew a secret way, their loving handmaiden helping to guide them as they set out into the night . . .”

  Only our story wasn’t so much a fairytale.

  It was our reality.

  My children nothing but pawns in an elaborate game. In the end, I knew I’d be the expendable one.

  All signs pointing to a tragedy.

  For them, for us, I refused to let that happen.

  I wouldn’t stop until we found our way out.

  Five

  Ian

  I’d been sitting in my office for the last four hours with the contents of a file spread out in front of me. Pretending I could focus on reviewing the details for a case that was going to court next week rather than the fact I was actually sitting there, all spun up and feeling like I was going to go right out of my mind.

  A fucking pussy who couldn’t shake the feeling that had been chasing me down for the last two days. This cagey urge to get wrapped up in the middle of something that I had no tie to. No binding or connection to the situation other than a random encounter at a bar.

  But when I closed my eyes and the only thing I saw was that stunning face, it made me feel like I was. Like I’d already stumbled into something that I couldn’t climb out of.

  Her wallet was burning a goddamned hole in my pocket, and not because I was itching to spend the whole fifteen dollars she had stuffed in there.

  I was going to take it and that bracelet to her, make sure she was okay, and then get the hell out of there.

  Put the girl out of my mind.

  My phone rumbled on my desk, and I exhaled, thankful for the distraction, even though the chances were stacked high that it would be some stupid question that I’d have to grin and bear. Teeth clenched tight while I pretended like I cared as a client droned on about something insignificant or irrelevant.

  But at least I could allay the annoyance, knowing a five-minute call was an easy five-hundred made. You’d think they’d stop with the inane bullshit when they realized how much their stupidity was costing them.

  Guessed I shouldn’t complain.

  But this grin? The one that spread across my mouth when I saw who was calling?

  It was real and unstoppable and knocked down a piece of that wall.

  Immediately, I reached out and accepted it.

  A face that was so much like mine popped up on the screen. The two of us resembled each other so closely that I felt like I was looking into a mirror when I looked at him.

  That was where our similarities ended, though. My brother was made up of courage and strength and loyalty. I was built of greed and immorality.

  I could only wish I could be as good as the guy smiling back. But I gave up on that idea a long, long time ago. It wasn’t gonna happen. Some things were just embedded bone deep.

  Still, I admired the asshole, the guy carving himself out a spot in my bleak, black heart. For being the one who’d kept it beating for all those years.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my big brother, Jace. Tell me how life is in the middle of insanity.”

  My voice was totally wry.

  Because that was what that shit had to be.

  Insanity.

  The guy had his phone in one hand, holding it out so I could see him, all the while trying to wrangle a squirming, squalling baby in the other. The only part of the kid showing up on the screen was a tiny fist that waved its fury in front of his face. He tried to angle his head around it.

  Still couldn’t believe that my brother had made his way back to the girl who he’d loved since he was seventeen. The path sure hadn’t been easy for him to get there, littered with treacherous shit, twists and turns and dead ends, but it was a road he’d deemed worth traveling.

  The guy was married to a girl named Faith and lived in this huge plantation that they’d
restored and now ran as a bed and breakfast over in Broadshire Rim.

  Lucky bastard had gotten one of the good ones. His wife, Faith, had this blooming heart, just fucking glowing.

  Women like that should be impossible. She was the kind of mother every kid deserved. One in a billion. But if anyone deserved a love like that, Jace did. I was just about as happy for him as I was petrified that he might lose it.

  Love precarious. Lost so easily.

  The guy had taken up the family life like that was where he’d been heading all along.

  Faith had given birth to their son just a few weeks ago. Not to mention, Jace had inherited Faith’s little girl, Bailey, in the process.

  I didn’t get it.

  Not at all.

  Risking being responsible for life. Bringing more of it into this vile, vile world.

  My heart skipped a nervous beat when he angled his phone a little so I could get a full view of my nephew.

  Benton.

  Tiny, scrawny legs flailing.

  Jace chuckled a self-deprecating sound. “Things are perfect in the land of madness.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Jace bounced his baby boy. “He’s just screaming, demanding his mother, who handed him over so she could get a shower. Five minutes, and the kid is having withdrawals. What can I say? My boy has good taste. I fully understand his pain.”

  I shook my head, a tease winding to my lips. “Never thought I’d see the day when my badass big brother handed over his balls. That’s gotta hurt.”

  “Pssh . . . you just wish you were man enough to handle all of this. You’re just jealous you’re missing out on the good things in life.”

  “Uh, yeah, no, but thank you. I’ll leave all the manning up to you. Monogamy is for the brave. Or the weak. However you want to look at it. All I know is I want no part in it.”

  He laughed. “You just haven’t found a reason to take part.”

  My lips twitched up at the side. “I’ll just keep enjoying the hunt.”

  “You goin’ huntin’, Uncle Ian? My daddy told my mama you nofin’ but a dog.” All of a sudden, Bailey was right there, jumping up and trying to get in front of the camera. My heart gave another one of those pangs when I saw her adorable face, all the while hoping her innocent ears hadn’t been privy to me busting my brother’s balls.