Chapter 20 - Jackson #2
The length of his entire body presses into me, all the hard lines of it fitting against mine like it was made for him.
He thrusts his tongue past my lips, taking whatever he wants.
Demanding it. I’m more than happy to surrender to the rough and certain way he pins me against the door.
His kiss isn’t gentle. He devours me, tongue and teeth and heat, the kind of kiss that makes my knees buckle.
By the time the intensity of the kiss slows, we’re both breathless. He leans his forehead against mine, his breath warm and uneven.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice deep and raw. “I’ve been dying to do that again.”
“Me too.” I realize I’m smiling like an idiot, but I don’t even care or try to hide it. “I wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to—”
“Oh, I want to. I was scared you didn’t.”
We hadn’t spoken it aloud since that night by the bridge, and hearing him admit it again sends relief rushing through me.
He kisses me once more, slower, not as urgent. He takes his time, deepening it. It’s exploratory, reverent. He’s tasting me, learning me all over again, and it feels like he’s erasing every day we spent pretending not to want this.
“Fuck,” he breaths, dropping his hands and pulling back with a shaky exhale. “We should probably talk. I just put on a kettle. Would you like some tea?”
“A kettle?” I grin and arch a brow. “How old are you?”
“Watch it,” he growls.
The sound goes straight to my cock, and I’m sure he can tell by the way my face flushes.
“Haven’t you heard? Kettles are in again.” He turns and motions for me to follow him further into the house. “Besides, it’s an electric one.”
He winks at me over his shoulder, and I swear my heart forgets how to beat properly.
Has he always been this fucking sexy, or is it because I’ve been denying myself these kinds of thoughts for the last two months? Either way, I have no interest in trying to make them go away. Instead, I let my gaze linger on his ass as we enter his kitchen.
I take a seat on one of the stools by the granite countertop island as Isaac opens a cabinet and takes out two mugs. The space is warm, glowing from under-cabinet lights and smelling faintly of cedar and Earl Grey.
My bottom lip ends up between my teeth as my gaze roams up and down his body while he places tea bags in the mugs and pours hot water into them from the black electric gooseneck kettle.
Every movement is deliberate, careful. Controlled.
It’s such a stark contrast to the way he kissed me two minutes ago.
Then a knock at the front door brings my private show to an abrupt end.
Isaac’s hand freezes midair. He sets the kettle down, the faint hiss of steam filling the silence between us. He looks at me, brows furrowed.
“You did come alone, right?”
I have no idea what’s with the suspicion, but it slices right through my chest and makes my stomach sink. “Of course.”
“Stay here.”
He leaves the kitchen, and I can’t even enjoy the view of him walking away as dread settles in my gut because…
What the hell was that about?
The moment I hear the front door open, I expect to hear voices, not the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle. A dull thud, a grunt.
Then a furious shout.
“You son of a bitch!”
My body goes rigid.
That voice—
My brain fucking short-circuits when I realize that’s my dad.
My bag slips off my shoulder and falls to the floor as I rush to stand and run out of the kitchen. There’s the sound of another hit and a strangled groan as I bolt down the hallway toward the front of the house. I turn the corner and then—
“Did you really think I’d let you ruin another one of my sons’ lives?!”
The words stop me cold.
The world tilts.
Another son.
While I hear the words just fine, they take too long to make sense. The gears in my brain are spinning, but they’re having a difficult time latching their teeth to move the right parts that would let me understand the meaning of what I just heard.
Another.
Son.
My dad has Isaac pinned to the wall, his fists bunched in Isaac’s shirt, knuckles white.
They scowl at each other like they’ve been fighting for years instead of just seconds.
There’s blood dripping from the corner of Isaac’s mouth, and he appears just as thrown off by what my dad said.
Thrown off, but not in utter shock like I am, a shock that’s threatening to shut down my entire central nervous system.
“Is that what this is?” he snarls in my dad’s face as he shoves him back. “You were just using this son to finally prove whatever it is you think I did to Dylan?”
The glare that Isaac throws at me feels like a knife stabbed right into my chest.
“Using him? You’re the one using him!”
All I can do is watch as my dad pushes Isaac back into the wall hard enough to have a gust of air punched from his lungs.
It feels like it’s a physical, tangible thing, reaching me clear across the entryway, hitting me square in the chest. It’s enough to finally thaw some of the ice in my veins and jumpstart my brain.
“Stop it!”
My voice cracks, but it’s enough to get their attention. Their heads snap in my direction, both out of breath, both still fuming.
“I want to know what the hell is going on.” I narrow my eyes as they bounce between them because I’m not sure which one is keeping the most secrets. My voice is a little steadier now, even if my insides are shaking. “Right now. One of you start fucking talking.”
My dad takes a step back away from Isaac and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. It’s so strange seeing him like this when he’s always so put together. His eyes find mine, and I can see the guilt swimming inside them.
“Dylan is your half brother.”
All the air leaves my lungs.
My face falls, my brows drawing together so tight it hurts.
“You didn’t know?” Isaac asks.
All I can do is shake my head.
His shoulders drop, his gaze lowers.
I look back at my dad, feeling as though my body’s vibrating with all the unanswered questions jumbling into a tangled mess. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? That seems like something I fucking deserved to know.”
“I’m sorry,” he says with more sincerity than I’ve ever heard from him.
The fact that he’s not scolding me for my language shows just how truly guilty he feels.
“I was with Dylan’s mother years before your mom, and there were…
certain circumstances surrounding our relationship that doomed it from the start.
When she became pregnant with Dylan, we agreed to keep it between us.
I helped her out financially, but I was never involved in either of their lives.
Dylan never knew either. No one knew but me, at least until two minutes ago.
I just…” He shakes his head, more deep lines in his face than I’ve ever noticed before.
“This secret’s been eating me alive ever since he left.
After nearly three decades of keeping it, I just couldn’t do it anymore. ”
I blink at him, my head spinning.
I have a fucking brother.
And he’s the same Dylan who disappeared.
“It makes sense now why you were so protective over him,” Isaac says with a slow, pained sigh. “I swear I never hurt him, Keaton.”
“And I still don’t fucking believe you,” my dad snaps.
“Stop!” My shout echoes around the entryway. “I’m the one who gets to be pissed right now! Why do you think Isaac hurt him?”
My dad gives Isaac another glare before looking back at me.
“Dylan’s mother passed away when he was seventeen.
I offered him a job at my firm, but I never had the guts to tell him the truth.
Still, I tried to be there for him as much as I could.
Five years ago, he came to me practically in pieces, terrified, telling me he had to get out of town.
He wouldn’t tell me why, but there were plenty of rumors about his relationship with Professor Kendall.
” He cuts his eyes at Isaac again, a kind of slice that makes his hatred palpable.
“I helped him leave, and I haven’t heard from him since. ”
I can tell how much that kills him, but the fact he blames Isaac for it without any kind of proof makes me angry.
“So, what? You followed me here just as an excuse to attack him?”
“He attacked me first.”
“What?”
Isaac’s eyes close, and he bows his head. While I can tell my dad feels guilty, I’d describe the feeling that Isaac is giving away as shame. Similar, but somehow different.
My dad crosses his arms over his chest while pinning his gaze on Isaac. “Your turn.”
When Isaac’s eyes open and he scowls at my dad, I feel like I should be ducking to avoid all the daggers they’re shooting at each other. He looks at me, and his expression softens.
“I went to your father’s office when I couldn’t get a hold of Dylan, to see if maybe he was just working late, and he told me he was gone. I got…angry. I wanted him to tell me where he went.”
“I didn’t know,” my dad says. “He wouldn’t tell me where he was going.”
“And I’ll believe that when you believe me when I say I never fucking hurt him.”
“Alright, that’s enough.” For the first time since walking in on them at each other’s throats, my feet move as I take a few steps toward my dad. “You need to leave.”
His hands fall to his sides, and he shakes his head. “I’m not letting you stay here. Not with him.”
“I’m not a kid, Dad. You lost the right to tell me what to do when you kept a secret like that from me my entire life.”
He sighs, and his entire body seems to deflate.
He stares at me for several seconds, clearly wishing he at least had the place to argue but knowing he doesn’t.
“You’re right,” he says, and it’s still a strange thing to hear.
Turning to Isaac, his eyes turn hard again, and when he speaks, it’s a slow, deep threat.
“Hurt him, Isaac, and I swear I will fucking kill you.”
The tone in my dad’s voice is enough to send chills down my spine. I’ve never heard him make a threat like that to anyone before, but the scariest part is that it sounds like he means it.
“My word may not mean much to you, Keaton,” Isaac says, “but I would never hurt Jackson.”
My dad doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he’s hit a brick wall. Besides, if anything’s going to make me run away, it’s going to be all these secrets he’s been keeping from me.
Opening the door, my dad pauses at the threshold and peers back at me. “I really am sorry, Jackson.”
Even if I wanted to respond to that, he closes the door behind him before I would’ve had the chance. I look over at Isaac to see him lean his head back against the wall he’s still standing against, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with each slow, deep breath.
“Should I leave too?” I ask, my voice suddenly smaller and more unsure now that my dad is gone.
He opens his eyes, and they find mine. There’s a visceral sadness in them that I’ve never seen there before. A kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from years of heartache and secrets.
“Please don’t.”
I take one step toward him, but he’s already moving, closing the distance between us. His arms come around me, strong and trembling, pulling me in until I can feel his heartbeat against my chest. Holding me tight as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear too.