by Penny Reid
Jackson placed his knuckles under my chin, tilting my face up and placing a hot but sadly closed-mouth kiss against my lips, saying as he lifted his head, “Then let’s go not sleep together.”
Chapter 16
*Raquel*
“Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life.”
Sophia Loren
We didn’t speak on the drive back to Sienna’s house. He’d pulled me close after buckling himself in and starting the truck’s engine, kissing me and making me dizzy all over again before saying, “There’s a center seatbelt.”
I took that to mean, Stay right here.
Once I’d finished strapping into the lap belt, he’d put his arm around my shoulders, tugging me against his side and encouraging my cheek to rest on his chest. His scent surrounding me, soft and fluffy feelings followed, and I discovered how much I loved being held while in a truck, next to Jackson, on a drive.
Fluffy feelings weren’t why we didn’t speak, though. I could guess why Jackson wasn’t in a chatty mood, probably something to do with the persistent outline pressing against the front of his jeans.
My bout of silence, on the other hand, had everything to do with crazy ideas and irrational internal musings.
No rule existed that said I could only act in movies. Maybe I would start taking stage roles, in Knoxville, if the local theaters were interested. Or I could get a different job, start a new career. I didn’t have a college degree, but I could go back to school. I could become one of those legendary stories talked about at Hollywood parties, the A-list actress who dropped off the face of the earth, went back to college, and became a . . .
I could become a . . .
Maybe I could go back to school and major in . . .
My mind blanked.
I’d never wanted to be anything but an actress and work in film. When other kids in high school were going to football games and getting drunk at bonfires afterward, I’d been making movies, figuring out camera angles and line of sight logistics, recording myself running through monologues, critiquing my performances, using makeup to turn myself into an elf, or an ogre, or a 1920s flapper. And then trying again the next day to do everything better.
You don’t have to figure this out right now.
Jackson’s body shifted as he turned the steering wheel. I felt the flexing and roll of his muscles beneath my side, and I tucked all my worries and planning away for later. Much, much later. Tomorrow morning maybe, after Jackson and I spent all day and night in bed together. Then we’d figure it out. Because, short of an act of God, Jackson and I were definitely having—
“Oh my God. What is that?” Jackson pressed on the brake.
Frowning, I lifted my head, and I saw it. Them!
“Oh no!” I lowered immediately to his lap, hiding from view. Cars were parked up and down the two-lane road for what looked like miles. Clustered in front of Sienna’s long driveway and along their fence was a giant swarm of paparazzi.
“Keep driving. Don’t slow down, just keep driving. Drive past them.”
“I can’t. They’re blocking the road.” He sounded irritated. “This is a safety hazard. All these cars need to be moved.”
“Jackson, listen to me. You have to keep driving.”
He didn’t accelerate. “There’s a bunch of people up at the main house too. Like ten limos.”
I groaned, covering my face. “Oh no.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“That must be Sasha. But why are there—she wasn’t supposed to—dammit!” I didn’t have my phone with me to call her. Jackson’s phone wouldn’t help because I didn’t have Sasha’s number memorized.
“Wait!” I pulled my hands away from my face. “Where’s your phone?”
“In the glove box.”
“Can I use it?”
“Yeah. Yes.” He honked his horn. “I’ll give you the password.” Glaring out the windshield, I suspected he was giving someone—or a few someones—a dirty look. “This is a mess.”
Hurriedly, I pulled Jackson’s cell from the glove box, typed in the password he dictated, and scrolled through his contacts. “Do you have Sienna’s number? Or Jethro’s?”
“No. But I have Cletus’s.”
“Yes, I see it.” I typed out a message.
Jackson: Cletus, this is an emergency. I need Sienna’s phone number. (This is Raquel Ezra using Jackson’s phone)
Cletus: What kind of emergency? And how do I know you are who you say you are? Tell me something only Raquel Ezra would know.
Despite the situation, a shocked laugh burst out of me.
“What did he say?”
I read Cletus’s message.
Jackson, pressing on the accelerator, growled. “Call him. Put it on speaker.”
The phone rang four times before a voice picked up. “Ahoy, ahoy.”
“Cletus! This is Jackson.”
“Ah-ha! I knew it was you. Why’re you pretending to be Ms. Ezra?”
“I’m also here,” I said dryly, still laughing for some reason.
“Oh. Well, in that case, let me text y’all Sienna’s number.”
“Thank you,” Jackson ground out and then gestured that I should hang up. But then a few seconds later, he added thoughtfully, “He is being particularly ornery recently. He must be worried about something.”
Sienna’s number came through with a chime, and I immediately texted her. “Have you and Cletus been close for long?”
Jackson: Sienna, this is Rae. I’m on Jackson’s phone. Please call me.
“Only a few years. He used to not like me much.” Jackson flipped on his turn signal.
“Why didn’t he like you? Did you arrest him?”
This earned me a quizzical look. “No. I wasn’t very nice to his sister when we were in high school. All the Winston brothers disliked me because of it.”
“Ashley?”
“Yes. Ashley.”
I’d met Ashley at dinner last week when we’d all gone to The Front Porch. She’d been absolutely lovely. “What happened?”
He made a face of concentration, taking a curve in the road carefully. “It’s a long story, but here’s the short version: We were best friends growing up, I fell for her, she did not feel the same way, but we were each other’s firsts. I thought that meant we were going to get married. Upon hearing this, she panicked and admitted that my feelings weren’t reciprocated. She wanted to go back to being just friends.”
“Just friends, huh?”
That earned me a quick, narrowed look. He continued like I hadn’t spoken. “I was mad, hurt, so I told everyone our senior year that I’d slept with her and then dropped her. I spread the nasty rumor, trying to tear her down and make myself feel better about being unwanted. Instead, all I did was show everyone why I wasn’t good enough for her and why she was right not to want me.”
I felt my eyebrows inch higher as he spoke. “You—that wasn’t—what a dick move!”
“Correct. It was shameful and petty and small, and I learned my lesson.”
“What was the lesson? Don’t be an asshole?”
He nodded, flipping on his blinker again and taking a right turn. “That was certainly one of them. But there were others, such as: How you treat others defines you more than how others treat you. There’s no such thing as convincing someone to love you, you can’t push a person into reciprocating feelings. No one owes me anything I haven’t earned. Sometimes wanting a thing is bad for me, it makes me a worse person; no matter how much I want it, if it doesn’t make me better, I should let it go. And lastly, give grace when asked sincerely for forgiveness, even if the person’s behavior was shameful, petty, and small.”
I exhaled a long breath, frowning at the stark lines creasing his features. Just like during our drive late last night, when he’d said matter-of-factly that he didn’t have many innate talents, he’d recited the story and his list in a blunt, monotone voice. I got the sense he probably still beat himself up about decisions he’d made in high s
chool.
“That’s a lot of lessons.”
“Yes.” He slowed the truck around a corner. “I’m just sorry I had to learn them at Ashley’s expense.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen. Old enough to know better because my parents had raised me better.”
The phone in my hand rang before I could process all of Jackson’s story. I stared at the screen of the cell, frowning. This isn’t my phone.
“Pick it up, that’s probably Sienna.”
“Oh!” I answered it, remembering why I’d been waiting for her call.
“Rae?”
“Yes. What is going on? Why are all those cars at the house?”
“You tell me.” She laughed, sounding more bemused than frustrated. “I woke up to this. I think your entire staff is here. We have a butler, a nutritionist, two physical trainers, a—”
“Dammit Sasha!” I whispered harshly.
“Yes. She is here too. And she brought some people for you to interview for her personal assistant? What? Why would your personal assistant need a personal assistant? Tom Low’s former PA had PAs, and it always seemed crazy to me. And why would she fly them out to Tennessee?”
I sighed heavily, anger swelling in my chest. Sienna’s questions were more than valid. Why would Sasha do this? Why would she bring everyone?
“They’re all inside the carriage house,” she continued. “Jethro turned off the alarm and made them some coffee. Charlotte left her kiddos here and went to Daisy’s to grab some doughnuts for everyone.”
“Thank you. That was nice of him and kind of Charlotte. I’m so sorry about this.”
“Don’t worry about it. Hey, don’t come in the front driveway off Moth Run Road, it’s blocked by the paps.”
I hazarded a peek at Jackson. His features were tense.
“Yes. We saw.” I rubbed my forehead. “Is there another way in? A different road we can take?”
“It’s kind of hard to explain. Ask Jackson if he knows about it.”
He’d been listening in, so he shook his head. “No. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Can you meet Charlotte at Daisy’s? She knows the backroad behind the house.” I heard Sienna turn on a faucet and some dishes clink together; one of her sons asked for juice. “Just a minute, baby. Rae, listen, the family has it well camouflaged. If you don’t know it’s there, the road is impossible to see.”
My heart stuttered, and Jackson glanced down at me, saying in a voice just above a whisper, “We’re past the paparazzi. You can sit up now.”
I nodded, sitting up and feeling sad. And disappointed. And irritated. And helpless. I considered immediately evicting all of my employees from the carriage house and locking them out while Jackson and I spent quality time being friendly. Or asking Jackson to take me back to his place.
But I wasn’t that person. I couldn’t leave Sienna and Jethro and Charlotte to deal with my mess. If I’d called Sasha and talked to her directly instead of sending a message through Domino, then I wouldn’t be dealing with this circus now.
“I know you don’t have your phone, but Jackson knows how to get to Daisy’s. Call Charlotte and let her know you’re coming,” Sienna added, likely misinterpreting my silence as worry over locating Daisy’s.
“Okay. I’ll use Jackson’s phone to text Charlotte. See you soon.”
“Sure, sure. No problem. And don’t worry. It was honestly kind of funny waking up this morning to eight limos in the front yard. Why didn’t they just rent a passenger van?”
Good question.
I clicked off, swallowing thickly as I navigated to Charlotte’s contact information in Jackson’s phone. She wasn’t labeled as Girlfriend, or Ex-girlfriend, or My Love, or anything like that. He had her labeled simply as Charlotte Mitchell. Just her name.
I thought about looking for Ashley’s entry, to see if he had her contact information at all and what he’d called her, but immediately pushed the impulse from my mind. That would be an invasion of privacy.
“Are you texting Charlotte?” Jackson asked. “Tell her I’ll call the station and have some guys come out to clear the street. They can’t park along that road.”
Smiling pensively to myself, I sent Charlotte a quick text, explaining the situation in as few words as possible, asking her to wait for me at Daisy’s, and then navigated back to Jackson’s contacts.
“Did they recognize you?” I asked, typing in my unlisted, impossible for anyone to find phone number. “The paparazzi, I mean.”
“They didn’t seem to,” he grumbled distractedly, glaring at the road like he was deep in thought. “We’re almost there.”
After typing my number, I navigated to Add contact and paused, thinking back to his story about Ashley. A chill traveled down my spine.
“Jackson?”
“Yes.”
“How many people did you tell about our night together?”
He frowned, looking unhappy. “Just Cletus. I didn’t tell him, he guessed that we’d spent the night together after he introduced us. I didn’t share any details, none at all. And I’m sorry he found out. Cletus, he can be sneaky. But I should’ve been more guarded.”
I relaxed, the chill disappearing, replaced with the warm hum I usually felt whenever we were together. One person and no details? That’s actually not bad.
“When did you tell him?” My thumb still hovered over the button that would save my number.
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” I gaped at him. “The first time you told someone was yesterday?”
“Yes. And I apologize.” His voice had deepened with regret, and when he looked at me, I could see he was sorry. Very sorry. “I want you to know, I told him nothing. I would never betray your privacy like that.”
“Jackson, no. I know you would never betray me. I’m just—” I was going to say surprised, except I wasn’t. The Jackson I knew was circumspect and responsible, diligent and hard-working, and fun. HE made me feel comfortable, safe. As I reflected on it, I would’ve been surprised if he had told more people. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“No. It is. I told Sienna.” I hesitated, thinking, then added, “And Charlotte.”
He muttered a curse word under his breath, his forehead coming to his hand. “You told Charlotte?”
Yikes.
The anxiety in his voice gave me heartburn. “No details—not really—just that we’d hung out one night, years ago, and that we didn’t have sex. But she brought up your legendary tongue.” Oh God. Shit.
Now I felt like a jerk.
“I see . . .” He squirmed in his seat, his jaw tight.
I am such a jerk. “Are you angry with me?”
He shook his head. Then he glanced at me and gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No. Course not.”
I didn’t believe him, and the tempo of my heart increased. “Jackson, please don’t be upset. I really didn’t say much.” Just that I’ve been pining for you for over five years. Other than that, not much.
We drove in silence for a while. I fretted, and he stewed. Unlike last night, this silence wasn’t as comfortable. Staring at the screen of his phone, I debated whether or not to add my number. Would he even want it now?
Clearing my throat, my eyes on the Add contact button, I asked, “Have you done anything like that to anyone else?”
“Pardon?” I’d obviously pulled him out of some pretty deep thoughts.
“What you did to Ashley in high school. Have you treated anyone else that way?”
“No.” He heaved a sigh, his tone solemn. “I don’t do that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?”
“I don’t push anyone for anything.”
I looked up from the phone and studied the side of his face, noticing how—since I’d asked him about Ashley—he’d pushed himself against the driver-side door, leaning his arm against the windowsill, sitting as far away from me as possible in
the small space. We weren’t touching anymore. The realization unsettled me.
“And—” he swallowed, looking pained “—I’ve been the subject of gossip. At first I didn’t mind, I leaned into it. I was flattered, even. But then I learned having a reputation as a playboy can get you laid, but it doesn’t get you a date to a wedding, or anyone’s respect.”
Ugh. I understood exactly what he meant.
“Folks around here, they get an idea in their head, and it’s hard to modify it. Someone who sleeps around might be an honorable, respectable person, but it doesn’t matter. That’s all people see. It’s just as hard to alter an idea as it is a first impression.” His voice barely above a whisper, I surmised he was speaking to himself more than to me. “I might change, but that doesn’t mean I can change people’s minds about who I am, because the idea persists, even if it’s faulty. My father has a saying, warning about this.”
“What does he say?”
“It’s something like, ‘Your mistakes and missteps will reinforce people’s unflattering ideas about you, and your good deeds will be explained away by nice weather.’”
I wanted to reach out and touch him, hold his hand, or squeeze his leg—or better yet, wrap him in a hug— but he was so far away and turned in on himself. I hesitated.
Picking my words carefully, I said, “You know, it’s okay to want things. To want people to see you clearly, for who you are.”
Wow, Rae. That’s some good advice. Perhaps you should take it.
“I know,” he said.
I didn’t believe him, so I pushed the issue. “There’s a difference between fighting for something you want and pushing another person to do something—or be something—they don’t want.”
Look at you, Rae. Wisdom-ing your wisdom all over the place.
He nodded, flipping on his blinker again and pulling into the parking lot of the diner. “We’re here,” he said, cutting the engine, unclicking his belt, and pulling the driver’s side latch. “Let’s go find Charlotte.”
Jackson was out and had shut the door before I could respond.
My stomach sank, and I studied his phone screen, the cursor waiting for me to label myself in Jackson’s phone. Hurriedly, before he finished walking around the front of his truck, I finally clicked Add contact and labeled myself as Sunny.