“Consensual sex?”
A patch of loose threads on the bedcover fascinates me, and I begin to pick at it, shrugging in response to Frank’s question.
“Jackson, did Paul coerce you? Offer you something in return for your affection?”
“I needed to get back into a program. I gave up a full-ride scholarship to come home and help Mom before she died. The cancer was too aggressive.”
“Tell me about your mom.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to talk about her and Paul at the same time. She never knew.”
“All right, let’s talk about Paul. How did he treat you?”
“Great at first. He took me to football games, baseball games, swimming, biking… We went up to Mt. Rainer and played in the snow. Did everything with me Mom couldn’t do, and I was starting to think of him as a dad, I guess.”
“So, he embedded as a father figure for you. How’d that feel?”
“With my grandfather gone, I guess I needed Paul. It made me feel like everything was going to be okay. Mom was just getting sick. I think she was hiding a lot from me. All those things Paul was doing, she used to be the one to do them with me. I was grateful to Paul for helping my mom out more than for him making me feel special.”
“He made you feel special?”
“Yeah, for a long time I was like his favorite kid.”
“There were others?”
“Yeah.”
Frank glances at my lap. At some point, I’ve picked up the old stuffed teddy bear that had been my grandfather’s as a child. I catch myself petting the fur from another century, hugging the soft body to my belly, and I’m embarrassed. I put the toy down. My hands need something to do, so I pick up a football, turning it over again in my hands.
“After a while, it was only me. Paul would take me on trips. Take me to meet real football players.”
“How’d it start?” Frank’s voice is so low, I think I might not have heard him at all, but he waits patiently for me to respond.
“Touching.”
“Touching? Did he touch you?”
I lick my lips and nod. “Yeah.”
“Jackson, I need you to tell me in your words. I can’t lead you along. If you want, you can just talk about anything. Whatever is on your mind, you can tell me.”
“I don’t want Irus to know what I did,” I say, the words out before I can censor them.
“Why?”
“For some reason, he thinks I’m a good guy.”
“You don’t think you’re a good guy?”
“I let Paul do all those things. I didn’t stop him. In college, I slept with him, with Paul. I was an adult.”
“You were a kid who just lost his mom. Listen, Paul is what we call a serial pedophile. He works on his victims, gains their trust, and takes it slow until they’re ready to give him everything he wants. When it’s too late, and the child is already caught in his web, he takes everything from the child, even the ability to say no.”
“I don’t want to be his victim.”
“What do you need to do to change how Paul makes you feel?”
“I don’t know.” The anger seeps from me, down through my chest, wicked away by my loss of perspective. Like a child again, I don’t know which way to turn, but Frank’s voice keeps leading me away from easier routes. Like suicide, or becoming a hermit, giving up football, but I couldn’t give up my life.
What life? What kind of life have I been living since I ran away from Paul? The man had been my entire existence, besides my mom and football. I’m hard-pressed to remember a moment of my childhood without him. Only with the memories of my grandfather and the time with my mother when she wasn’t ill are happy. My moments post meeting Paul are filled with anxiety, loss of appetite, and long nights overworking myself on the football field in an attempt to avoid the man. Even the time spent with the band geeks—with Doug—was fleeting. Paul would be waiting. On the sidelines, in the locker room, and at the showers. The showers. Those times would leave me puking afterward. The taste of that man on my tongue.
The memory brings to mind some of the times with Branson. He liked dragging me into the showers. Branson knew I hated it, and he loved having such power over me. Do I love it? Is that why I don’t want to testify? Working with Paul is killing me, decimating every small part of my soul, one cell at a time. I leave practice feeling miniscule. Too small to stand up to Paul. He’s always had the power. The man eluded trouble the last time I told anyone what he was doing to me, and my punishment was worse than before. If I was good, he was gentle with me; if not…
“Jackson, are you still with me?” Frank asks gently.
“I’m afraid he’ll get away with it again.”
“Again?”
“Bert, I mean Beulah, caught us in the locker room late one night after a game. He called the cops, but they did nothing when they found out it was Coach Paul. They didn’t believe Bert or me. After they left, Bert beat him up and took me home.”
“What happened after Bert’s interference? Did Paul come back to you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I say, standing to leave.
I expect Frank to push, like Maddox, but instead he says softly, “That’s good for now, Jackson. We can discuss this more after the holiday.”
Chapter Nineteen
Thanksgiving
Jackson McCoy’s House
Irus Beaumont
Auntie huddles over the stove, stirring something in a big pot while Kane pulls out carrots and celery from the fridge. I sit down on a stool at the breakfast bar. My auntie ambles over to finish chopping up some onion. She shakes her head.
“Where’s that boy?”
“Jacks?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Don’t know. He does this sometimes. Goes out into the woods. At least it’s daylight.”
“He takes hisself out there in the dark?”
I nod. Auntie makes a sound deep in her throat and keeps chopping. The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board is louder as her strokes become more violent. Kane comes over to take the knife out of her hands.
“Go sit. I’ll chop,” Kane says.
Auntie settles on the stool next to me. She wants to talk. I can tell, but she’s struggling to begin. Finally she looks at me. “Baby-child, I feel so guilty. Shoulda murdered Phelps.”
Tears water her brown eyes, giving them a high gloss. I grab a napkin and pass it to her. “You couldn’t have known…people just don’t expect something like that, ya know?”
“If I’d known. He brought out a note from his momma. Said she’d gone shopping and ta do his chores. Seemed so normal. An’ I had ta get yur scrawny butt on a plane. Din’t take time. Let tha’ boy slip through my fingers. Shoulda followed up.”
“Auntie, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I din’t protect ’im.” She snuffles. Her nose is stuffy from denying tears, and she blots her eyes. Kane comes around to hug her and shoos me from the room.
“You want Thanksgiving dinner, then get your ass out of the kitchen. Take your sad mug somewhere’s else,” Kane says. There’s an affectionate tone in his voice.
I rub Auntie’s back and kiss her head before I go into the living room. Kane will get her into a good mood. Something that man is good at, for sure. Just wish Jacks would come in from the cold. At least I know he’s dressed for the weather this time.
Garrett sits on the couch, staring at the fire dying down. His lips are tight. I wonder what he’s thinking. I’ve seen his back, warped and twisted with burn scars. Kane has told me about Garrett’s flashbacks. How the man thinks he’s still on fire sometimes in the middle of the night. Truth be told, Kane admits Garrett’s the one who saves him from his nightmares.
I need help. The man who married my ex-boyfriend is probably the most qualified to help me with Jacks.
“Hey, man,” Garrett says. “Are you gonna sit down or not?”
“No. I don’t
think so.” Instead I pace to the fire and draw his eyes from the diminishing flames. “What do I do here?”
Garrett hitches his shoulder, and his eyes return to the flames. “I remember when Kane would flash back. He never wanted to talk about it, but I’d push. I knew the memories would eat him alive. No amount of lorazepam would help in the end. As much as I hated to do it, I had to make him face it to put it behind us.”
“What was it like? Jake—”
“Don’t ever ask, man. You don’t want to know. Shit, I can’t get it out of my head still. Kane’s safe. That’s all that matters. When we need each other, we’re there, and you have to be there for Jackson.”
“With Kane, back then, it was easier. It was all about fun and sex. There was never any talk of love. Until I went off to college and was terrified of never seeing him again. I said everything I could to get him to go with me. Must’ve said ‘I love you’ a million times.”
“Did he ever say it back?” Garrett asks me, a strange expression on his hard, set face, almost like he’s afraid to know the answer.
“Bro, that boy holds everything close to the vest. If he says he loves you once in a while, you’re golden.”
“Pretty much what he says, but sometimes I just wish he said it more often.”
“Is he all over you in public?”
Garrett laughs. I can see why Kane loves the guy. A voice so rich and deep, Garrett is definitely Kane’s type.
“Kane isn’t afraid of showing affection. He just doesn’t say a whole lot.”
“He never did, not with me or anyone. Kane’s family wasn’t warm and fuzzy. He came from dysfunction. Give him time,” I say.
“I do. Just feeling a little jealous I guess.”
“Of me?”
“No. Hardly.” Garrett laughs again.
“Jackson?”
“It’s like a secret club.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s not one I want to join. You?”
Garrett shakes his head. “It’s gonna be bad, man. For a while, anyway. If you stick with him, I don’t have to tell you how worth it…how truly fantastic it is to have the man you love sleeping next to you every night. I don’t care how gay it sounds.”
“Can definitely tell you’re the straight guy.”
“Shit, have you ever slept with a woman?”
“Me? Never. They didn’t interest me, and I was too busy with football to pay them any attention.”
“Well, you must love Jackson, the way you wake us up at all goddamn hours of the night to talk about him.”
The heat in my face surprises me. “Yeah, I do, but I never realized he carried so much around with him. He’s always cracking wise and being the nice guy in the locker room. Even when I hated him, he’d push my buttons with kindness. He’s legit, ya know? Not fake. He means all the nice things he does. I would’ve never suspected.”
“I don’t know why it surprises you. Kane’s the same way. Two truly nice guys carrying around a shit ton of pain, and you fall in love with them both.”
“What do I do?”
“You can only have one of them. With those photos being leaked, sounds like you already made up your mind, but now things are murky. So what’re you gonna do about it? How far will you go to save the man you love?”
Garrett tried to kill a man to save Kane. “As far as I need to go.”
“You know that in your heart? Feel it in your fucking gut?” Garrett asks.
“Yes.”
Garrett stands, crosses to me, and jabs a hard index finger into my chest. He’s only a few inches taller, but right now he seems like a giant, staring down with a dark blue glare.
“Don’t fuck it up, and don’t let him go. ’Cuz this shit’s gonna tear him apart before it’s done.”
Laughter from the kitchen, Auntie and Kane causing a ruckus, trying to put together some semblance of a Thanksgiving dinner. Thank God Kane smoothed out Auntie. Garrett smiles.
“It’s hard not to love him,” he says and lopes off into the other room.
The snow is falling from a pale gray sky, dominating the view from the large picture window, and the trees look so still. Tall evergreens turned white. I hate it when Jacks takes off into his woods. I’m left feeling helpless. He’s only been gone about an hour, and he went out bundled up.
I take out my phone. Maddox gave me his number. Without a clear understanding of what I’m doing, I punch the Call button. The device rings a few times. I’m ready to cut the call when a soft voice answers, “Maddox’s phone.”
“Yeah, uh, this is Irus Beaumont. I was just calling to see how Jared’s doing.”
“Jared’s doing fine. He likes the woman we set him up with. Don’t know how much of his swearing he’ll get away with, but at least he’s comfortable.”
“Agent Maddox?”
“No. We met last night. I’m Frank. How’s Jackson doing?”
Frank. Frank who took a bullet to his head. Almost added to the list of Jake’s victims. Kane filled me in on how Jake had used Frank’s own gun against him. After Maddox and Frank left last night, of course. Kane didn’t think it was something they all needed to discuss. Damn, Frank’s recovery is impressive.
“I don’t know. He took off at first light, into the woods, but he does that when he needs to work through shit. I just—I just don’t know if that makes him okay or not.”
“I’m not sure, either. We didn’t get to talk a lot last night, but I’d like to have another session with him.”
“Session? I thought you were a cop?”
“Former cop. Truth be told, I can’t even remember who I was back then, let alone my profession. Long-term memory is improving. I can remember graduating college like it was yesterday. Was going to be a psychologist before Cole got me interested in law enforcement. Today, I help people. Abused kids, troubled teens—adults who were abused as children.”
“So why are you answering Maddox’s phone?”
“He’s in the shower.”
“Oh—oh!”
“Didn’t pick up on that last night, huh?”
“My focus was on Jackson. After you left, it got bad. Jacks was angry and drinking, both rarities for him. He’s not very good at either.”
“Jacks usually a nice guy?”
I nod, but realize he can’t see me. “Yeah, most of the time. It takes a lot to get him riled. The prospect of going back to work, dealing with Paul, has him on edge, but when you took Jared away, I think it was too much for him.”
“Cole doesn’t share much of the investigation with me. Not that he’s a by-the-book player to begin with, but with this one, he’s not taking any chances. I tried to talk him out of removing Jared. It’s better for the kid to have some stability.”
The Brooklyn in Frank’s accent soothes me, and I sit on the couch, ready to listen, to learn what I can do to help Jacks. “Jackson needs that stability too. Just in my opinion. Like I said, Cole doesn’t share this one with me too much. I’m working with a lot of these kids, victims of abuse, and I think he’s afraid I’ll see connections that aren’t there. I’m not mistaken about Jackson’s connection, and he knows it. That’s why he brought me last night.”
“I thought Jackson had already told him about Coach Paul?”
“Jackson’s been sidestepping his deposition. Without it, I don’t think the DA is willing to move forward, but I also get the impression the DA is stalling for other reasons. Don’t let Cole know this, but I’ve done some digging. Paul Phelps is a longtime friend and contributor to many of the elected officials in this state. Not just the DA. He’s friends with the governor, has taken his son to football games and fishing. Hell, he and the DA climbed Mt. Rainier last summer. Phelps’s roots dig deep in this community. The people love him. This case could potentially be a career ender for Cole. I don’t know what he’ll do if that happens. He’s had threats.”
“Threats?”
“Anonymous, of course.”
“How? I thought this was all hush-hush. Phelps
doesn’t know.”
“We think Phelps doesn’t know. He hasn’t made a run for it, but I think it’s because he believes himself to be untouchable. No, I think the threats have originated in the DA’s office, but I can’t be sure. Cole says I’ve become a conspiracy theorist since taking a bullet to the brain.”
The way Frank so nonchalantly refers to a gunshot that nearly killed him makes me squirm, and I think about Kane, which leads to Jake. The sick fuck who tried to kill them all. “You have no memory of it, do you? Of Jake shooting you?”
“Bits and pieces. Nothing to make any sense of, if that’s what you mean, I can’t remember the pertinent details. I only know what I’ve been told. Your friend Jackson, though, he remembers everything. Even the parts locked away inside his brain. Beulah triggered the memories.”
“What do you mean? How?”
“Listen, think of Jackson’s mind as a lake, and those memories have been tied to a rock. He threw them out into the dark water, hoping they’d never resurface. Left them to drown because that’s what he needed to survive.”
“Yeah, okay. What’d Auntie have to do with it?”
“She made the memories breach the surface without warning. Jackson was forced to deal with his past as if he were actually experiencing it all over again.”
“So you’re saying these are repressed memories? Jacks didn’t remember any of this stuff?”
“Not necessarily. He may have just been blindsided. Obviously, he remembers what happened, but he has no clue how to deal his emotion. I won’t really know anything more until I can get Jackson into a true session. Once I do that, we won’t be able to talk about this without Jackson’s approval, you understand?”
I get the hint. Nothing here is confidential. We’re just skimming a line. “You think Jacks will go for you shrinking his brain.”
“If you encourage him, he might,” Frank says.
“So, you saying Jacks snapped?”
“Think of it as time travel. For a while last night, Jackson was that kid in the locker room, and Phelps was right there hurting him. Jackson fits the profile. We know Paul Phelps hurt him, but we need him to come forward or this case is done. Phelps will get to continue to hurt kids like Jared. Kids who will suffer the long-lasting effects of sexual abuse. You’ve never seen pictures of Jared before Phelps got to him, have you?”
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