The Usual Family Mayhem

Chapter Fourteen

A cup of tea and two cinnamon muffins later I showed up at Jackson’s house after a quick warning text. He lived in a condo in downtown Winston-Salem. A loft because of course. The love of lofts appeared to be entrenched in male DNA.

I hadn’t been there since he moved in three years and two girlfriends ago. That time I tagged along with Celia when she dropped off something for him. I remembered white walls, high ceilings, and exposed pipes. Expensive with a fancy kitchen complete with stainless everything. He was on the third floor but still had decent views. I also heard rumblings about a rooftop deck.

He answered the door all sweaty and breathless. His wet shirt stuck to him, showing off broad shoulders. It was criminal to hide those things under stuffy suit jackets. His hair went every which way. Those legs . . . toned and muscular, especially for a guy who sat at a desk twenty hours a day.

He looked adorably messy, standing there holding his earbuds.

I forgot how to use words.

After being subjected to a few quiet minutes of his intense frowning, I coughed up the information about the ledger revision and the now missing locked cabinet in the pantry. At least I thought I did. I could have said anything. My brain was so fuzzy it’s possible I gave him my usual take-out coffee order.

His frowning didn’t ease. “Say that again.”

I couldn’t even if I wanted to. But he could prevent further blurry thinking if he did one little thing. “I can wait if you need to take a shower . . . or find more clothes.”

“What?”

Moving on. I’d pretend he was wearing a clown costume or something similarly sinister. I closed my eyes and reopened them and . . . nope. Still hot and sweaty.

“The stars are gone.”

There. I’d said something comprehensible.

“What does that mean?”

Maybe not so comprehensible. “I went back into the ledger on the computer and—”

“Again?”

Interesting that even in his half-clothed, rumpled state he used a judgmental tone. “I needed more evidence to convince you.”

“So, this is my fault?”

He left the entry hall and moved into the kitchen.

I followed, which gave me an opportunity to check out his outfit from behind. Equally impressive.

“Let’s try this again.”

He took two water bottles out of the refrigerator and handed me one. “I thought we agreed I’d check for information on Delilah’s husband, and you’d stand down.”

I twisted the bottle top but didn’t remove it. Playing with the piece of plastic gave my hands something to do. “No. You said you would look into it. I never said I’d stop investigating. I certainly never agreed to stand down.”

“You’re actively investigating Mags and Celia’s business?”

He stopped right before taking a drink. His hand and the bottle hung there. “We didn’t discuss that.”

“It was more coincidental than active. I was in the kitchen and . . . well, you get it.”

“Okay, look.”

He sighed. “It turns out the heart attack wasn’t a huge surprise. This guy, Delilah’s husband, had a heart condition. High blood pressure and tachycardia.”

Sounded familiar but I hated chemistry and biology as much as law, so my knowledge on health stuff was limited to what I knew about Gram’s previous issue. “Which is?”

“A fast heartbeat. It’s not fatal but it has to be handled or it could lead to huge problems. His medication wasn’t working. He had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for early the next week.”

Now who was investigating? Not bad for a lawyer. “How do you know all of this?”

“I asked around.”

He eyes narrowed as he watched me, suggesting he wasn’t impressed with my nonreaction. “What? I told you I would.”

“I left you fourteen hours ago.”

When did he have time to look into anything?

“Does that mean something?”

“My point is we talked about the star issue last night. It’s Saturday morning. You were obviously exercising, not slithering around searching for clues.”

He stood in front of the counter, facing me. “I went for a run.”

“Why?”

A legitimate question.

We stood a few feet apart. Not too close but not at a safe, non-gawking distance either. He didn’t smell as good as he usually did, but I wasn’t complaining.

“Why do I run? Is that what you’re asking?”

This conversation seemed to be stuck. I blamed his near-nakedness and my wandering thoughts about his near-nakedness. It wouldn’t be hard to strip off that tee and . . . damn. I had to leave this town and fast.

“I can’t understand why anyone would willingly run. If you’re being chased by a bear or a crazed killer, sure. Otherwise, I’m stumped.”

He relaxed against the counter. “I enjoy running.”

Oh, come on. “No, you don’t. No one does.”

“I think I’d know if I didn’t.”

Apparently not. “Running is like kale and quinoa. You’ve all convinced yourselves you like these things because someone told you that you should, but there’s no way any sane person would partake in any of those choices absent undue pressure or the threat of bodily harm.”

I’d thought about running a lot over the years and felt comfortable with my assessment. No one could convince me otherwise. I ran exactly one time in my life outside of a high school gym class. Peer pressure motivated me. I worked at that awful bank and wanted to fit in.

The couch-to-5K challenge. The way my calves seized. The uncontrollable wheezing. That stabbing pain in my right side. Basically, I felt like I was going to die after running three blocks. That was the beginning and the end of my running career.

Another reason to hate that job.

“I run to clear my head,” he said.

Looked like he had all kinds of reasons for the self-torture. “Why is your head so cloudy?”

He snorted. “I wonder.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m not going to ask how or why you went back to the ledger but—”

“Celia left her laptop open.”

I screwed and unscrewed the top of my water bottle. Did it again and then one more time. “The computer was mostly open. I needed more evidence to convince you, so I had no choice.”

He reached over and put his hand over mine. The move made my heart rate spike. I didn’t have tachycardia, so I blamed the unexpected touch of his fingers.

The whole thing lasted a second. Then he held my water bottle and put it on the counter next to him. Now I had no idea what to do with my hands.

A buzzer stopped me. His version of a doorbell. “Are you expecting someone?”

He gestured down the front of him. “Would I be dressed like this if I thought people were coming over?”

Yeah, I wasn’t touching that.

He pushed off from the counter and walked back into the entry hall. Harlan’s voice boomed through the condo a second later. The deep sound bounced off the high walls and those big windows. I couldn’t make out the words, but that wasn’t a problem because he stopped talking as soon as he stepped into the kitchen area and looked at me.

“Kasey.”

No matter what emotion his plastered-on smile was supposed to convey, he didn’t sound happy to see me. That made me want to pummel him with niceness. Maybe add a little bless your heart into the conversation.

“It’s good to see you again.”

It really wasn’t but I said it to be nice.

His gaze moved over me in a you shouldn’t be here kind of way. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“What’s up, Dad?”

“I called and texted this morning. You didn’t respond. We were supposed to meet up and . . .”

Harlan’s gaze switched to me for a second before going back to Jackson. “Discuss some outstanding business issues.”

“We never set a time. Could we meet later?”

Jackson asked.

Harlan’s gaze traveled around the open room. Zipped to the couch then to the stairs. “Are you two going to be long?”

We were now. He would need a crowbar to get me out of this condo. “Possibly.”

Jackson smiled at my response. “I can be at the tennis club at noon. We can talk over lunch.”

Harlan still lived in the big house where Jackson grew up. That sounded like a better place to meet, but what did I know about dealing with a father?

“Fine.”

Harlan didn’t sound fine. He sounded pissed. He was accustomed to people jumping at his command. Jackson didn’t look ready to move one inch in his father’s direction.

Harlan shot me one last glance. Heated behind the fake smile with a hint of you’re in the way here. Then he turned and left. Didn’t bother to say goodbye.

The tension wrapping around the room eased once he walked out the door. Something about his presence made my confidence plummet. I second-guessed every word I said. I didn’t want to give him that much power over me. That meant not letting Harlan see me back down. No overt cowering here.

“I bet he’s not used to you scheduling an appointment to eat with him.”

Jackson shook his head. “That’s not what I did.”

I borrowed one of Gram’s snorts. “Okay.”

“I need to shower and go deal with Dad.”

Jackson looked at his watch. Pressed a few buttons. “I have plans tonight but I can come to the house tomorrow.”

My mind screamed with the need to ask if he had a date and with whom. Questions that weren’t my business. The answers that could lead me to a dark and grumpy place.

No, I did not care. He could do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted. If I repeated that ridiculous thought a few more times I might actually believe it, but probably not. When it came to Jackson my usual ability to stay emotionally detached faltered.

“I’ll text you later and we can figure out a good time,” he said.

Dismissive. That’s how he sounded. The last time a guy talked to me like that, made those assurances, he ended up ghosting me. I couldn’t remember that man’s name or anything about him. I wish I could feel the same way about Jackson because this crush was beating stronger than ever.

If I didn’t leave town soon I could be in trouble.