More of You: A Confessions of the Heart Stand-Alone Novel

by Jackson, A. L.

  My voice was thin. “I’m not ready for that kind of talk. I’m not sure I’m ever gonna be. It’s too soon.”

  “You will be, Faith. Maybe not today. Maybe not in a year. But someday, you will be. Someday, it won’t hurt so badly and all of this suffering is going to be behind you, and that giving heart of yours is gonna be ready. And whoever you choose to love is gonna be one lucky man. All I’m asking is to make sure he’s worth it. That he deserves it.”

  Her voice shifted into a tease. “And for the love of God, make sure he’s a good man—both in his heart and in bed—because this time, I’m liable to hunt the man down and chop off his dick if he doesn’t take good care of you. Apparently, that’s frowned upon. Just ask Mack.”

  It should have been impossible, but choppy laughter made its way out of me. Courtney just had that way about her. No matter the circumstances, she always found a way to make me smile.

  “You’re insane. I never, ever should have told you about that. Remind me never to share a bottle of wine with you. Things come out that you’re bound to use against me.”

  It was all a soft tease.

  I was nothing but grateful that she’d always been there for me, even when she was saying things that made me turn bright red.

  “Um, yes you should have. If you can’t talk to me about these things, who else are you going to talk to? You don’t have to be ashamed of it.”

  For a second, we both giggled, until she trailed off, and silence filled the space between us.

  It seemed as if maybe she were giving me time to catch up. That was the crazy thing. Time was always marching on. I could feel it pushing one part of me forward, while the other part felt forever chained to the past.

  I just wasn’t entirely sure exactly where I’d gotten trapped.

  “And you don’t have to be ashamed if that man is stirring up feelings in you, Faith. I know you, and I know what you’re thinking. He was your first love. Your life love, which is why I’d gladly maim that pretty face if he’s up to no good.”

  “He left me, Court.”

  A hammer striking a nail rang through the air, a pound, pound, pound that rattled the walls.

  “Sounds to me like he’s back.”

  Seven

  Faith

  Sixteen Years Old

  The door to the office banged open. Faith startled where she was tucked in the back corner behind a tall metal filing cabinet all by herself, sorting the pile of reports the school secretary, Ms. Minks, had left for her to file during her TA hour.

  Rustling echoed from up front, a disorder in the air, and she carefully peeked around the edge of the cabinet.

  Mr. Flores had ahold of a boy’s elbow, trying to lead him inside. Face obscured by a flop of tawny hair, the boy flailed and tried to yank his arm away. “Don’t touch me,” the defiant voice said.

  Faith’s heart started thrumming faster, a rash of discomfort prickling her senses. She didn’t know whether to continue hiding or step out and shout that she was there. Reveal herself since she was feeling like an intruder.

  Mr. Flores grumbled in frustration. “If you’d do what you were asked, I wouldn’t have to. You were told to go to the office, and I found you in the boy’s restroom. I don’t know about where you came from, but that’s not how things are done around here. Now, I want you in Mr. Dagon’s office.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yeah? Well, Mitch said he saw you swipe the sandwich from his tray. At this school, we respect each other, including their possessions. I’d suggest you learn that quickly, or things won’t go so smoothly for you around here.”

  And Mitch was a complete asshole, Faith thought, but that didn’t mean he deserved to have his lunch stolen.

  She hadn’t seen them yet, but the two brothers and their cousin had just moved into their neighborhood on the outskirts of the city and had been the talk of the entire town.

  Rebellious.

  Trouble.

  Trash.

  She’d heard all those words thrown around.

  Whispers about a junkie mother who’d moved them into an abandoned trailer down on Hyde street.

  Faith’s mama and daddy had always taught her to be kind. Not to judge people for what they looked like or for the rumors that flew through the neighborhood.

  To ignore the old ladies whispering everyone’s business as if it were the fifties and they were still wearing pink curlers in their hair.

  She’d been raised to believe you never knew what was really underneath, what someone was going through, or the reality of their situation.

  Admittedly, she was caught off guard when her daddy had pulled her aside yesterday afternoon and warned her to give those boys a wide berth, telling her he didn’t want her anywhere near them and that they couldn’t be trusted.

  Fear tingled across her nape and skittered down her spine as the boy struggled with Mr. Flores again.

  It was the strangest sensation.

  One she had never experienced before.

  Right then, she thought she might understand where her daddy was coming from

  There was something that vibrated through the air that she could taste.

  An omen.

  A premonition.

  Heck, it was probably just basic intuition.

  Some boys were just trouble.

  Bad to the very bone. That expression hadn’t been made up for nothing.

  “I told you, I didn’t do nothin’.” The boy spat the words at the junior English teacher, yanking his arm free.

  “Tell it to Mr. Dagon.”

  Alarm flapped at her ribs. She’d stepped into the middle of something she didn’t want to be witness to. She should cover her ears to shield herself from it all because it sure wasn’t any of her business.

  She just couldn’t resist this burning curiosity that clawed at her insides. Unfamiliar and somehow urgent. She held her breath, trying to remain unseen as she peeked out around the cabinet again.

  Then she sucked in a staggered breath.

  The most piercing eyes she’d ever seen stared back at her. As if he’d known she was there all along.

  Those eyes held her hostage.

  Scary in their severity.

  They were almost red. Orange maybe. Like an apple and an apricot had been crushed together, then whipped up in a blender with a full container of bronze glitter dumped in.

  Striking and shiny and . . . and . . . and . . .

  Angry.

  Oh, the boy looked angry.

  Raging mad as he tried to tug away from Mr. Flores, who’d latched on to him again. Every bitter action of the boy was lined with a stunning sort of sadness that Faith could feel feeding the vibrating hostility in the room.

  That fear in her chest expanded, her pulse a thug, thug, thug.

  It felt as if time had been stopped as the boy glared back at her.

  As if he were issuing her a challenge.

  To judge him, too.

  Hate him the way the rest of the world did.

  She found she couldn’t look away from him.

  His jaw harsh and sharp, nose defined, his lips almost too full for the narrow oval of his face.

  His shoulders were wide while the rest of him was almost gangly, as if he were just waiting to grow into the aggression that wrapped him just as tightly as his tattered, dingy shirt.

  A shiver rolled through her, head to toe.

  He was beautiful.

  Terrifyingly beautiful.

  As if looking at him alone should have come with a warning.

  No wonder her daddy had given her one.

  Mr. Flores jostled him. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  “Harder than it needs to be?” The boy scoffed, tearing his attention from Faith as if he hadn’t even noticed her gaping from there in the corner. “You don’t know anything about things being hard.”

  “I don’t need to hear any excuses for your actions because there’s none for stealing f
rom another student. Now move it.”

  Incredulous laughter snorted from his nose. “Whatever. You’re all the same. Every town. Every city. Every asshole.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  Footsteps scuffled along the floor, and the principal’s door slammed.

  Faith held back, trying not to eavesdrop through the thin walls as she continued to file her papers. But she could hear every word they said as if they were amplified in her ear.

  “Did you take it?”

  “No.”

  “Mitch says you did.”

  “Do I look like I give a shit what Mitch said?”

  The squeak of a rocking chair. “You know the consequence for stealing, don’t you, son? We expel kids for that around here.”

  “Go ahead. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Mr. Dagon sighed a rough sound. “I’m just trying to help you here. Confess what you did, apologize, and I’ll give you a second chance. I know you’ve had it rough.”

  The boy huffed. “You don’t know anything. None of you do. Don’t pretend like you give a crap about us.”

  There was so much anger in his words. Faith was sure that kind of anger had to physically hurt. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could shield herself from having to listen to it.

  From feeling it.

  Experiencing it.

  Because right then, she was sure she could. She could feel that ragged boy’s pain. It was breaking on every lash of his tongue.

  More squeaking of the office chair, and Faith’s nerves gathered right at the base of her throat. She shouldn’t have kept listening, but she felt desperate . . . desperate to know what would happen next.

  The principal sighed. “Fine. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. This one time. But the next time you end up in my office, I’m not going to go so easy on you.”

  She barely made out the sound of surprise, the boy’s voice so quiet when he said, “Thank you, sir.”

  She thought she could physically feel the anger drain from the space.

  A breath taken.

  A break given.

  She was shaking when the boy appeared in the doorway again. His face was contorted in a way that twisted her up on the inside. Agony and regret. Grief and guilt.

  So much guilt.

  As if he thought he were dirty.

  She could feel it—the shame radiating off him.

  He lurched to a stop when he saw her, as frozen as she was before he jerked away and his expression morphed into one of pride and indifference.

  She was pretty sure it was the fakest demonstration she’d ever seen.

  He blew out the door. The heavy glass and metal banged shut behind him.

  She didn’t even know what in the world she thought she was doing as she haphazardly shoved the rest of the files into the drawer, feeling frantic as she gathered her things and flew out the door behind him five minutes before she was supposed to leave.

  He was already gone when she raced out into the deserted outdoor courtyard, fifth period still in session.

  The enclosed area was lined by classrooms, and a bunch of concrete tables took up the grassy space in the middle.

  She exhaled heavily, air puffing into her bangs on a sigh of defeat and frustration. It was stupid, anyway, chasing him out there.

  She slung her backpack over her shoulder and started for the restroom, figuring she probably should soak up the sweat that had gathered on her brow before the bell rang and she headed to her next class.

  She trudged up the narrow walkway and started to turn the corner, only to stumble a step when she heard the quieted voices coming from the backside of the building.

  Holding her breath, she inched that way, pressing her back to the brick wall as she was hit with another rush of that fear.

  That warning fluttering through her insides as if it were carried on wings, which was kind of funny, considering there was no chance she could turn away.

  She felt drawn.

  Compelled.

  Curious in a way that wrapped her heart in a bow of despair.

  She peeked around the corner.

  The boy was there with another who looked almost identical to him.

  Only maybe a little bit younger.

  The younger boy was stuffing that sandwich in his mouth and crying at the same time, groaning as he devoured it, as if it’d been weeks since he’d eaten.

  Everything inside her clenched in sympathy as the pieces snapped together.

  That was the same second the older boy snapped those copper eyes her direction.

  Shackling her to the spot.

  Glaring with that same hatred and shame. Darkening with the dare. Sure she was going to run and tell.

  Her ribs clamped down painfully, and she blinked at him, wishing her mouth would work, knowing she wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

  Eight

  Jace

  “You went over there after I told you to lie low?” Mack scowled at me as he slammed a stack of papers onto the desk and flung himself into the chair beside me where we were meeting at Ian’s office.

  My brother Ian laughed and rocked back in his executive rocker, taking a pull from the tumbler he’d just poured a finger of whiskey into. “You didn’t actually think he was going to listen to you, did you?”

  I shot a glare at my brother. Thanks a lot, asshole. Thought we always had the other’s back?

  Ian’s brown hair was styled impeccably, face clean-shaven, sleeves of his button-down rolled up his forearms, exposing the ink he normally kept hidden beneath his suit.

  My brother, who was just eleven months younger than me, was a dichotomy of rough and smooth. Sharp tongue and charming words. He could be the guy next door if it weren’t for that quiet layer of intimidation that was scary as fuck.

  I guessed he’d learned from the best.

  “And you knew this how?” I asked, voice dry as I sipped from my own glass of whiskey, looking from Ian back to Mack.

  “My job is to know who’s going onto her property, wouldn’t you think?” Mack demanded.

  I gave a short shrug. “Didn’t come here to sit on my damned hands.”

  “I’m pretty sure Jace here has all kinds of good ideas for his hands.” This from Ian, that punk.

  “I’m helping her with the house. No secret the place has become a fucking shithole. Falling down around her. Plus, I can keep an eye on things. It’s a win-win.”

  I said it like it didn’t matter all that much.

  Like going there in the middle of the night last night hadn’t been one of the hardest things I’d ever done. And still, it’d felt like instinct. Breathing. So goddamned natural there was no place else I could have gone.

  I’d basically stuck around all night, leaving only long enough to go pick up the supplies I’d needed.

  “A win-win for who?” Mack raised a brow.

  “Her. You. That kid.” Nearly choked on the last.

  “And what about you?” Concern had made its way into Mack’s voice.

  “Doesn’t matter what I feel. Owe them.”

  I deserved every punishment and penalty coming my way.

  “That so?”

  No doubt, Mack worried I was going to go over the deep end. Get myself into trouble and drag him right into it with me.

  “Yup.”

  Mack shook his head, and Ian laughed under his breath, words cynical. “Well, aren’t you a regular humanitarian. You should start a charity in your name.”

  He took another sip, muttering under his breath, “God knows, you’ve been giving all your dough to lowlifes for all these years.”

  A growl clanged in my chest. “Don’t,” I warned.

  When my brother and I had moved into town during my senior year in high school, we’d met Mack, who’d been drawn to us. It was like he’d seen the same thing in himself reflected back. My best friend had seen as much trouble as Ian and I had growing up, begging and fighting to survive.

  Mack had
pulled himself out of the poverty. Out of the depravity. Worked his ass off until he had detective tacked to the front of his name, wanting to change the world he’d come from.

  Ian and I had harnessed all that bitterness and anger from our youth, too. Made something of ourselves.

  Though we’d done it differently.

  Against every odd, I’d clawed my fucking way to the top, building an empire so no one could ever hurt us again, doing everything I had to do in order to put my brother through school so his life wouldn’t be set to repeat.

  So he could have something better.

  When we were kids, we’d made dumpster diving a family sport, scrounging whatever food we could steal or find.

  Lucky to have a roof over our heads, even though the places were infested with rats and littered with garbage and our mother was a fucking waste, rotting away with all that poison leaking into her veins.

  Ian had been the one who’d found our mother when she’d finally taken it too far. When her body had finally given up after the years of abuse she’d put it through.

  Even though he’d never admit it, I knew he was scarred from it in ways I could never comprehend.

  Ian’s eyes glinted, my brother rocking back in his massive chair like he owned the goddamned world. “No need to get all up in arms. Talking about myself, brother.”

  Sighing, I scrubbed a palm at my face. “Don’t do that, Ian.”

  “What, tell the truth? There’s no bullshit between us, remember? You, me, and Mack—we tell it straight, and I’m telling you right now that you’re getting yourself involved in something you aren’t going to be able to dig yourself out of.”

  “She’s worth it.”

  “Or maybe you’re worth it. Maybe it’s time you came back here where you belong.”

  “You know better than that.”