Chapter 43 Jackson
Jackson
Jackson touches the bags under his eyes with the pads of his pinkie finger, delicately dotting moisturizer there to try reducing the puffiness.
He gazes at his reflection in the mirror; he looks like hell. Hasn’t slept since Sunday night, since he caught Abigail in the throes of it with Alexander. The secret he’s been keeping is acid, burning a hole in his stomach.
How to tell his best friend that her husband is a lying, philandering, asshole son of a bitch?
He’s heartbroken himself over it, having had Alexander on a pedestal all these years.
Jackson truly thought he was one of the good ones.
Not that he can’t sympathize with how much the man puts up with.
Lord knows Charleigh’s a handful and a half—but still.
He thought they were solid. And if they’re not solid, who is?
Their big Fourth of July bash is tomorrow, and earlier today, Alexander helped drag extra lounge chairs across the patio to wedge by the pool, helped Jackson string rope lights from the stately pecan trees.
Alexander whistled while he flitted around the backyard, the whistle of someone who was newly serviced, Jackson thought bitterly.
Every time he thinks he’s landed on a way to break the news to Charleigh, his thoughts spiral, the words that he’s so carefully prepared in his head starting to feel like glass on his tongue.
Hey, Charleigh, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I was out at the enemies’ land, trying to have another rendezvous with Ethan—which, sorry, I haven’t told you about because I knew you’d go apeshit—and I caught Alexander fucking his wife’s brains out.
Charleigh will be devastated, obliterated. Unable to function. The least he can do is let her have her party; then he’ll figure out how to handle it. Because what if it was just a one-time thing? Is it worth detonating their marriage over?
Alexander’s always been one of the good ones; Jackson’s certain of it.
He has a radar for this kind of thing. And as drop-dead handsome as Alexander is, with women tossing themselves at him, Jackson’s never detected a whiff of infidelity.
He’s seen Alexander in action, turning cool to anyone who comes on to him, and, also, how very hot he is for Charleigh all the time.
Almost nauseatingly so. They are one of those couples.
So hopefully it’s just a one and done. A mistake.
Jackson’s also been desperate to talk to Ethan but hasn’t been able to reach him. And it’s not for lack of trying. The very next day, when Charleigh hoisted the Fourth of July party on him, he phoned the Swifts to invite them.
Abigail answered again, but this time, Jackson wasn’t nervous. His knowledge of her indiscretion gave him fuel, somehow making him feel like they were on an even playing field.
Ethan was away again, but Abigail greedily accepted the invitation to the party on their family’s behalf.
“Can you tell him to call me back, please? I still want to talk to him about some leads I might have.”
“Absolutely!”
But so far, Ethan hasn’t called, or if he has, it’s been while Jackson’s out, hustling around town to prep for the party, and Ethan hasn’t left a message.
Each time Jackson walks in the back door, he treads straight over to his answering machine and presses Play, shoulders sagging in disappointment when he doesn’t hear that lusty voice on the tape.
Even though it fills him with trepidation, he can’t wait to tell Ethan, holding out hope that this bomb will bulldoze the shell of the Swifts’ marriage, clear the way for Jackson and Ethan to continue what they’ve started.
Obviously, their relationship will still have to be discreet—Ethan has children to think of, and this tin can town is too backward to openly embrace them as a couple—but they’d sure as hell not have to sneak around as much.
Jackson daydreams about Ethan coming over to his place, the two of them tangled together on the sofa…
He sighs, plunging into bed, pulls his cotton duvet, stuffed with a down comforter, right up to his chin. A splurge from Neiman Marcus last time he was in Dallas. As his melatonin kicks in, making him drowsy, he imagines Ethan right next to him, Jackson’s head resting on that beautiful chest.