Chapter 25 - Jackson #2
I swerve onto the narrow shoulder and yank the door open, leaning over and emptying my stomach into the dirt and gravel and frozen grass. I cough, heaving until there’s nothing left and my ribs ache.
My breath fogs in the frigid air as the nausea slowly settles. But the dread doesn’t. It sits heavy in my chest like a stone.
I can’t go to Isaac’s. I can’t face him like this, not yet. Not when I’m still shaking and ashamed.
Closing the door, I get back on the road, turning down the next street to head to my dad’s instead.
I have no idea how else to stand up to Professor Grant without getting Isaac fired, but I don’t know if going to my dad is going to help after the reaction he had to finding out that me and Isaac were together.
But I have to do something.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in front of the door to my father’s study, and this time I am hesitating.
Taking a shaky breath, I knock on the door.
“Come on in.”
My dad’s voice sounds bemused even through the door, but I can’t blame him when I’ve refused to speak to him for weeks.
I open the door and step inside to see him standing beside one of the bookcases at the back of the room with an open folder in his hands. It’s been quite a long time since I’ve been in his study, but I know when he’s in here it means he’s buried in work.
“Jackson.”
There’s a rare, optimistic smile on his face, and I almost feel bad for getting his hopes up. He closes the folder he’s holding and drops it on his desk, which is nearly enough to get my hopes up. He’s always hated being interrupted when he works.
“Look, I want you to know I never meant—”
I raise my hand in the air to stop him. “I didn’t come here to talk about that. I need your help with something.”
His face falls, but after a moment, he nods and gestures to the small loveseat. I walk the few steps over to it and sit down. He joins me, and I can tell he’s actually trying. I don’t remember him ever sitting anywhere in his study except for behind his desk.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he says. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
Okay, so this is a good start, even if it’s a bit strange to see him so willing to drop work to listen to me. And sound sincere about it. I just hope he means it.
I swallow and force myself to focus on what I can say.
Not the emails.
Not Professor Grant’s hand on my thigh.
Not the terror still coiled tight behind my ribs.
“I had a meeting with Professor Grant,” I begin.
I walk him through what I can tell him of it—the threats, the blackmail. The longer I talk, the darker his expression grows. His jaw clenches and ticks, his nostrils flaring. The vein in his temple throbs. He didn’t even look this scary when he threatened to kill Isaac.
“That motherfucker.” He leans over with his elbow on his knee and runs his hand down his face. “That’s why Dylan left.”
“He didn’t admit to it, but…yeah. I’m pretty sure he did the same thing to Dylan.”
And I’m pretty sure that’s not all he did.
But I don’t say that part.
My dad shakes his head before leaning back again and looking at me, his jaw set. “I’ll take care of it.”
My brows draw together.
Was it really that easy?
“You will?”
“I know I haven’t been the best father, Jackson, but no one hurts my family and gets away with it.”
Maybe my dad really does regret hiding things from me and wants to try to make things right. I can’t remember ever hearing him speak this way. There have been very few times he’s surprised me.
“What does this mean for me and Isaac?” My mouth is suddenly dry as I struggle to ask the question I really want to ask. “I mean, do you…”
The tension in his body seems to ease some, and he actually kind of…smiles. “I’m not as close-minded as you might think.”
“So, you don’t mind that we’re…together?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong.” He huffs a quiet laugh through his nose. “I definitely don’t approve. But it’s not because he’s a man.”
The next words come blurting out because I’m kind of in shock. “Are you fucking with me?”
It must be the universe fucking with me because to my absolute disbelief, he laughs.
A real, genuine laugh. It’s an odd sound, only because it’s such a foreign one.
It’s a deep, quiet rumble that sends me back in time.
Have I heard his laugh since Mom died? It suddenly feels like she’s in the room with us.
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about your old man, and I know that’s my fault. But I’m not like half the others in this town.”
“Pretty sure it’s more than half.”
He responds with something like a sad grin. “Probably.”
We sit there in silence for a few seconds while my mind continues reeling. It eventually kicks into gear and sends signals for my body to move. I stand, feeling unsteady for a dozen different reasons, and my dad follows me to his feet.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nods and walks with me to the door. “Jackson.”
I turn back just as I step out into the hallway.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
I offer him a small smile, one I hope says I’ll get there eventually, but I just need a little more time. “Okay.”
As I head down the hallway, I realize this is the lightest I’ve ever felt after walking away from a conversation with my father.
And hopeful.
Maybe it’s the promise in my dad’s voice. Or the fact that he didn’t explode or threaten Isaac again. Didn’t turn this into another disaster.
When I make it downstairs and to the front of the house, something soft and white catches my eye from past the tall windows on either side of the front door.
Snow.
Heavy, steady flakes drift down, already blanketing the ground in a layer of white.
I stand at the bottom of the steps for a full minute, my eyes looking outside but my vision going distant as I imagine driving back to Isaac’s. Walking inside, seeing his face. Remembering the feel of Professor Grant’s hand on my thigh.
My stomach tightens again, and I force the bile back.
Not tonight. Not while I’m still worried he might look at me differently, even though I know deep down he wouldn’t.
The key to the guesthouse still on my keyring feels like permission.
I tell myself it’s just the weather, that I’m just being safe.
But the truth is…I need a shower so hot and so long that it might peel my skin off before I stop feeling that touch.
I take my phone out and send Isaac a text.
Me: I decided to stop by my dad’s tonight. I think we’re going to try to work through things. But now it’s snowing, so I’m going to crash in the guesthouse. It’s just for tonight. I promise. I’m not disappearing, Isaac.
Returning my phone to my pocket, I step out into the snowy night, the flakes melting on my skin as I head to the guesthouse, repeating to myself:
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to him.
Tomorrow, I’ll be okay.
Tomorrow, I’ll keep my promise and stop keeping secrets from him.