by Rachael Wade
People started to yell, the music fading into the background. Glass was breaking, and a group of people to my left started filing out of the side doors.
“Are you okay?” Jace steadied me from behind.
I nodded and regained my balance, bending over with him to help Brian up. His shirt was just as soaked as my dress.
Brian stood to his feet and threw his hands up when he looked down to find the mess. “Damn!” Spinning on his heel, he turned his attention to the shouting in front of us. The entire sea of bodies surrounding us had shifted, pushing us farther and farther to the back of the room, making it impossible to see what was going on.
A flicker of movement to the far left caught my eye as I surveyed the backs of the heads before me, and I craned my neck to follow it, gasping when I zoned in on Whitney’s wide eyes. She was across the room, waving frantically to me, calling out for me to join her.
“I’m sorry, guys,” I turned to face Brian and Jace, “but I have to cut this short. My friend needs me.” Before they had a chance to respond, I darted forward and pushed myself into the crowd, forcing myself through the small gaps of people to get to Whitney on the other side. The yelling grew louder, with everyone trying to peek over everyone else to get a glimpse of the scuffle that had broken out near the center of the room.
I wiggled my way to the clearing and stopped short when I caught sight of Jackson and some guy I didn’t recognize in the middle of a brawl, Jackson’s fist pounding into the guy’s stomach, the guy gripping Jackson’s head and throwing his weight forward to knock him backward. Whitney screamed and waved again, even more desperate this time, and I zipped around the fight, jutting my head back to steer clear of its punches. Ruben appeared next to Whitney and charged forward into the clearing, reaching for Jackson to pry him off of the guy.
Whitney reached forward and locked hands with me, pulling me back into the crowd and as far from the fight as possible.
“What happened?” I shouted. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Jackson. His shirt was torn and his eyes were wild, a nasty smear of blood spread across his cheek. I’d seen him get into shouting matches with people at Pete’s before, but never anything like this. He was unrecognizable.
“I don’t know. But Ruben said that’s Chase Barker. Jackson went to high school with him or something. Guess they have history.”
I cringed when I heard another smack, Jackson delivering a weighty blow to Chase’s side. Ruben shouted at Jackson, working hard to break it up, but he was failing miserably.
“It won’t be long before the staff or the cops get involved,” I said. “Where are Jeff and Enrique? They need to help Ruben!”
“I haven’t seen them. Probably off with Kelly or Michelle and Kayla somewhere, I don’t know.”
All it took was one more glance at Jackson’s rage and Ruben’s failed attempts to tame it, and I knew we couldn’t wait around for someone else to step in. This had to be stopped before things got worse.
Letting go of Whitney’s arm, I nudged past the front row of the crowd—now audience—and jumped into the clearing.
“Em!” Whitney shouted from behind me, but I inched forward, determined to get just close enough so Jackson could hear me.
“Jackson!” I yelled. “Jackson, stop it, damn it. Stop!”
Ruben swung around to meet me. “Emma, get the hell back. Just get back there with Whitney.”
“No, not until he stops.” I took a few more steps forward, pulling the clip from my hair to let my waves fall around my shoulders. The bun I was wearing was giving me a headache, the room’s adrenaline intensifying the throbbing pain in my forehead. It was too hot, and I could feel myself growing dizzy.
Jackson slammed his fist into Chase again and straightened up, his head doing a double take when he saw me. “Emma, get back.” Chase stumbled backward and landed on the floor with a thud, but quickly sprang back to his feet.
“No. Let’s get out of here. Now.”
Chase rebounded and flew toward Jackson with so much momentum, I shuddered at the sight, knowing the next punch would render one or both of them unconscious. This was ridiculous. Dashing forward, I screamed at both of them to stop and flung my body between them, Ruben pouncing on my heels to grab me before they collided.
Jackson caught me first, wrestling me to the side and then shoving me behind him, right into Ruben’s arms.
“Emma, are you insane?” Ruben snapped.
I didn’t have time to answer him. Brian and Jace pummeled through the crowd and past us, surging forward to pull Chase away from Jackson.
“That’s enough, man!” Brian yelled. “Let it go, bro, just let it go.”
Ruben took the intervention as an opportunity and jumped into the clearing again, rushing forward to grab Jackson’s arm.
Jackson pushed him away, turning and veering to the right toward the exit. He broke through the human wall and his head disappeared into the crowd, with Whitney, Ruben, and I rushing to follow him out. I eyeballed the space behind me, catching one last glimpse of Chase’s friends restraining him. He was hunched over and bloody, nostrils flaring wide.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jace said, yelling at people to move aside so they could exit. Our eyes met for a second, confirming our night of fun was over before it even started.
“Holy crap,” Whitney shrieked when we made it out the door. “It was like Fight Club back there. I feel gipped! Where the hell was Brad Pitt?”
We rushed down the hall, side by side, Ruben jogging in front of us to catch Jackson before he made it to the elevator.
He got to him just in time. “Jack, hold up, man. Take a breath.”
“Back off, Ruben.” He let the elevator doors close in his face.
Ruben let out a loud sigh and leaned on the elevator doorway with one hand, his head hanging low while he caught his breath.
“Just let him go, Ruben,” Whitney said. “He needs to calm down. It’s no use talking to him right now. Whatever just went down, you can’t reach him.”
Ruben lifted his head. “You don’t understand. He hasn’t seen Chase in years. And of all times to run into him...” he let out another big breath, “I can’t believe that douchebag is here.”
Whitney and I exchanged looks; neither of us knew what Ruben was talking about, but we were well aware that whatever it was, if it was enough to piss him off, it must mean something. Ruben and Jackson had grown up together and were best friends all throughout high school. I didn’t go to the same school as them, but I’d heard plenty of old stories from the two of them to know that they were inseparable. Ruben always had Jackson’s back, and Jackson always had his. Half of the fights that had broken out at Pete’s due to Jackson or Ruben’s shenanigans were almost always squelched by one or the other, depending on who started the drama in the first place.
The elevator doors slid open again and we stepped inside, no one saying a word until we reached the seventh floor.
Ruben stopped us in front of his room. “You’re the only one he’ll listen to right now, Emma. Please go in there and talk to him.”
“What? Kayla’s in there with him, it’s not my place to—”
“Kayla got her own room, they’re done. He’s by himself. Please, just go in there?”
Whitney opened her mouth to speak, probably to object with me, but the words died on her lips when she saw the concern in his eyes. It was definitely a rare look for Ruben.
I stepped forward and grabbed the room key from his hand. “I’ll do it.”
He released a breath that sounded like it had been held in for a while. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. Work your magic. Whitney and I are going to go find the others.”
I slipped the key into the door, and one glance over my shoulder told me Whitney loved the way he’d paired his name with hers. She looked up at him all starry-eyed, and let him lead her back down the hall. I knew that look well.
I used to give it to Chris.
The door opened and I shut it quietly
behind me, scanning the room for signs of Jackson—or Kayla. Ruben must have been right, because her bags were nowhere to be found. There were no signs of anything feminine in the room whatsoever. A sigh of relief escaped my lips.
Passing the table at the foot of the bed, I tossed my clutch purse down. It landed with a clunk.
“Man, I know you’re trying to help, but can you please back the fu—” Jackson came from the bathroom, freezing when he saw me. “Emma.”
My mouth fell open. His jaw was bloodier than before, already swelling along the side, and his eye was looking puffier by the second. He held a wet washcloth to his cheek, his hair matted down with sweat. “Are you okay?” I narrowed my eyes, cringing at the damage. “Er...stupid question.”
“I’ll live. Go. You don’t need to deal with this shit right now.” He turned and walked back into the bathroom, and I followed, stationing myself in the doorway. He sat down on the toilet seat with a groan, giving his cheek another scrub with the washcloth.
“I’m fine. You’re the one with a busted lip and jaw...and eye...and—”
“You’re the one with the broken heart.” His gaze lifted to mine and I grabbed the side of the doorframe, his words cutting like sharp glass. Times like this, when we were alone, not surrounded by our friends or the busy noise of Pete’s Tavern, I’d wished he didn’t pick me up that night. Wished he’d never known what’d happened when Jen died, or why I’d made the decision to flee from the scene of the accident.
Instead, though, he was the link. The one who knew more about that night—about me—than anyone, even more than my mom and Whitney. I’d confided in Whitney, of course, but only Jackson knew the real weight of my burden. Only he was there to share the experience with me. Instead of my mom or Whitney, I’d chosen Jackson to seek solace during those weeks following Jen’s death. I found a sort of disconnected comfort in his presence, aware I could maintain a level of secrecy with him that I couldn’t with my close family and friends. Eventually I distanced myself from him, but the link remained.
I resented it.
“Here,” I said, changing the subject. I walked back into the room and grabbed the ice bucket from the fridge. When I returned, the blood from his cheek was gone. I grabbed a clean washcloth from the sink and wrapped it around a few cubes of ice, then reached for the hair tie from my purse and slipped it around the washcloth to secure the ice inside. “That’s going to hurt in the morning.” I pressed the icepack to his eye and he winced, cursing under his breath.
“Nothing a shot of whiskey won’t cure.” He looked up at me with a broken smile. “I can’t believe you jumped in front of us. Do you have a death wish?”
“What happened?”
“I fucking lost it, that’s what happened.”
“With Chase, Jackson.” I moved to the edge of the tub to sit next to him, and he slumped over, leaning his arms on his knees while he held the ice to his eye.
“He’s just some asshole I went to high school with. We bumped into each other at the party and he started...instigating.”
“Instigating?”
“Yeah, Em. Instigating. I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I’m cleaning up and getting the hell out of here. I’m gonna drive back tonight.”
Anger surfaced in me, erupting into boiling, uncontrollable waves of lava.
“You can’t drive back tonight. You’ve been drinking. And what about Kayla? You’re her ride home.” And mine, I thought. Damn it.
“I don’t know how she’s getting home. She won’t speak to me; she left and got her own room this afternoon. I guess...after you guys stormed in...” He sat up and averted his gaze from mine, not bothering to finish that train of thought.
“Well I’m not letting you drive home by yourself like this. I’ll drive you.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re upset and you’ve been drinking, Jackson.”
“I had one beer, Emma. I’m a big boy. I can take care of my—”
“I said you’re not driving home by yourself! Do you hear me?” I shot up, my jaw clenching as I straightened out my dress. The lava was in full flow now, claiming the ground beneath my feet, singeing my skin. “Now get your shit and let’s go, or take a hot shower and go to bed and drive home in the morning, after you’ve slept it off. You’re a big boy? Are you kidding me? You just beat the shit out of some kid you knew in high school. Over what, huh? A pissing contest?”
There was that look again. The one I resented. The I-know-why-you’re-overreacting look that made my skin crawl. The worst thing about it was it was so sincere coming from him. It wasn’t full of false sympathy. It wasn’t even a you-poor-little-thing look. No. It was a genuine look of pity that screamed, I know why you’re hurting and I’m sorry. I wish I could fix it and set your world right again.
“Please,” I whispered. “Let me drive you, okay?”
He caught my hand and tugged me back to the edge of the tub, the tension in his face softening. “Sit.”
I choked back the sob that bubbled up into my throat and pushed it down. I won’t lose it now. I won’t.
“Hey.” He laced our fingers together and chucked the pack of ice on the counter, turning to give me his full attention. “I won’t drive drunk. You have my word. You know I don’t drive when I’ve been drinking, Em. I don’t do that shit, you know that. I swear on all of your kinky romance novels and every karaoke song that you love and I hate, I had one beer tonight. Look at me.” He squeezed my hand and forced my gaze to his. “I’m okay to drive.”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
Standing to his feet, he let his head roll to the side and exhaled loudly, a sound of defeat. “Chase started giving me shit about my dad. He always thought he was better than me. Told me I was an idiot for not wanting to go to college, always said I’d wind up like my old man. He was here tonight with some of Whitney’s friends, and I thought he’d keep his mouth shut, but apparently he has no brain-to-mouth filter. We’re 24 years old, for fuck’s sake. I haven’t seen him in five years, and he waltzes up and starts insulting me. Who does that? I’ll tell you who. An idiot.”
As I stared up at him, studying his swollen jaw and the tired lines of his face, I realized I knew nothing about the guy standing before me. Apart from countless nights bickering at Pete’s Tavern or swapping laughs and casual stories over beer and karaoke, Jackson Taylor was a stranger. I might’ve shared one isolated, intimate event with him, one that inevitably bound us to one another—and a handful of intimate moments following that event—but I knew nothing about Jackson, the man. Nothing about him as a person. A safe divide had been comfortably wedged between us, always holding the dam in place and keeping the river’s force at bay.
“What kind of stuff was he saying about your dad?”
He gave me a side glance and started gnawing on the corner of his lip. “Do you want to change before we leave?”
I looked down at my dress. “Huh?”
A smartass smirk crept over his lips, and this time it was me who sighed in defeat. He was changing the subject. “You’re soaked. What if you have killer amoebas all over you, right this moment? What if they’re contaminating your skin and there aren’t enough bleach wipes to—”
“Tell me what he said.” I crossed my arms and pursed my lips to capture my smile.
“I’ll tell you in the car. Let’s get on the road. It’s getting late and I just want to get the hell out of here.”
“We could stay. You could sleep it off and we can still go to Disney with everyone tomorrow. Don’t you want to go to Fantasyland?” I batted my eyelashes.
Jackson ran his thumb and forefinger over his lip, catching his grin and a speck of dried blood at once. The second that grin appeared, it was as if the entire evening’s events evaporated. “Why, Emma Pierce, do you want me to take you to Fantasyland and make all of your dreams come true?” He winked with his good eye. It was painfully adorable.
“It’s merely a suggestion.” I stood. “But yo
u’re not charming your way out of this one. Whether we’re throwing up on the Tea Cup ride together or driving home tonight, you’re telling me why you beat up your high school nemesis.”
“Fair enough. But only because you admitted I’m irresistibly charming.” He raised his hands and strolled out into the bedroom, zipping open his suitcase. He tossed me a shirt and a pair of boxers, then lifted his arms to tear his sweat-stained t-shirt off. I tried to call on every fiber of my being to work up the will power to not stare, but the effort was futile.
“What...what are you...” I stuttered, my cheeks flaming.
“Change.” He nodded to the clothes in my hand. “Unless you want to go back to your room to pick up your stuff and get sucked into an hour-long interrogation with Whitney, explaining why you’re leaving with me tonight.”
Why was I leaving with him tonight? He did seem calmer, and he was definitely okay to drive.
“Your t-shirt and boxers?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
As I turned for the bathroom to change, I knew the answer to that question, as irrational as it might be.
Because I wanted to.
Chapter 4
“Are you sure we should ditch them like this?” I asked, sneaking out the hotel room door and down the hall with Jackson.
“It’s either this or a hundred questions. And I’m not in the mood to answer them. They’re our friends, they’ll understand.”
I clutched my wet halter dress and purse to my chest, hoping we’d make it to his truck before anyone caught me in his t-shirt, boxers, and my black heels.
I was a hot mess.
As we rode the elevator to the lobby, I pulled out my phone and sent Whitney a quick text to let her know I was taking off.
Please bring my bag home? I asked.
What? Why?
I’m driving home with Jackson now. Will explain later.
#kjs8kj!!!
Love you too. x
My phone started buzzing. I flipped the power off and stuck it back in my purse. We reached the parking lot and Jackson opened the passenger door for me, his eyes lingering on my bare legs as I climbed into the truck, then landing on my heels.