26. Jackson
TWENTY-SIX
Jackson
An entire lineup of cars was dropped off early this morning for a new production centered around street racing, which means I’ve been buried under metal bodies, turning them into stunning beauties.
This is it.
An entire movie showcasing my work. It’s what I’ve been waiting for, and it’s why I agreed to take this position in the first place.
Unfortunately, the new workload means I’ve been heading into Donahue Motors before Blakely shows and not coming up for air until after she’s gone. Between that and her busy schedule, we haven’t had time to steal a glance, let alone talk.
The first two nights after our date, I tried to call her. I figured if we couldn’t hang out, we could at least have a few minutes on the phone, but I’m learning quickly when Blakely says every second of her life is scheduled, she isn’t exaggerating.
So we’ve been relegated to texts, but even those are few and far between.
I’ve been telling myself it’s a good thing to have some space. At the beach, I was swept away so quickly, the experience between us so intense, I forgot we were supposed to be taking things slow—the way she wants to and the way I know we should.
Ever since I’ve given in, there’s a desperation clawing its way through my insides, trying to make its way to her, not liking the restraints now that it’s had a taste of freedom. But there’s nothing I can do to change things, so instead of sitting at home and pining over yet another woman who’s out of reach, I’ve been going to the beach every night and reflecting. Trying to work on myself so I can get back to who I’m supposed to be.
The son my mom deserves.
The man Blakely needs.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve lost it. I can barely remember what it’s like to crack a joke or to truly enjoy everything life has to offer—things that used to be my defining characteristics.
Instead, I’ve let myself wallow in this pit of misery and loneliness, running away from Sugarlake and trying to figure out why no one wants me, not realizing that I’ve forgotten how to want myself.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been lost.
After my father’s death, there was this well of hopelessness that opened up in the center of my chest, allowing me to sink into its darkness without knowing its depth. By the time I realized how far I had fallen, it was too late, my feet slipping off the grimy walls of grief whenever I’d try to climb my way out.
But my mom needed me to be the man of the house, to be her pillar of support when she couldn’t stand on her own, and people treat you differently when you don’t paste on a smile. So I hid behind a mask of charm, not wanting anyone to see the monster of despair grabbing my ankles and pinning me down, threatening to eat me alive anytime I tried to leap away.
And that’s how I’ve always been known: Jackson Rhoades, the easygoing charmer. No one ever cared to look a little deeper, happy to accept me at face value. And I liked that they didn’t try.
I’ve worked hard at building ladders to climb out of that hole, and I never want to be back there again—buried so deep it takes years to see the light. So I need to figure my shit out before the whispers of sadness grow limbs and wrap around me, dragging me back down.
Starting with the fact that I have feelings for two women at once. Like my heart grew in Blakely’s presence, allowing her to sneak in and fill up all the cracks. Now that she’s there, everything I feel for Lee is dulled like a ghost haunting the corridors of my memories, hovering between this life and the next.
I still feel her though, like raised flesh on old wounds. Scars don’t disappear just because the cuts begin to heal.
The past few nights, I’ve gone back to the beach, sat in the same spot, and expected memories of Lee to take over every thought. My sweetheart. I’ve been surprised to find it’s Blakely that floods through my mind instead.
I wonder if she’s doing okay. Worry about whether she has someone real with her or if she’s surrounded by the ones who keep her strapped down with “flaws” and “episodes” because they know people who don’t believe in themselves are easier to control.
Then I think of how different our lives really are but how I understand, so well , the need to show someone a different face than the one your soul wears.
I think of how it feels to be the person who draws out her candor, who she lets in to wade through her darkness.
A heavy feeling swims in my gut—a shark circling its prey—waiting for realization to hit.
And then it does.
I don’t want Lee.
Because even when I’ve loved her, have pined for her, it’s never felt like this.
This soul-deep connection, pure in its honesty and raw in its need.
Shocking how quickly it formed. Or maybe it was there all along and my acceptance is what makes it flare so bright. All I know is, suddenly, it’s taking over every waking moment and diving into my dreams, until all I can see, think, taste, touch, feel is the need to be with Blakely.
But even with all of these emotions that rage inside of me and spark off my skin, it doesn’t take away the pain of my best friend, the one I’ve loved for years, treating me like a second choice.
The pain morphs at that realization, going from a longing agony to a stabbing ache, my eyes clearing of the fog.
All the things I’ve been finding in Lee are things that fall short of what I deserve. But I didn’t know there was more to want.
Blakely, she looks at me like I’m the center of her everything. She listens like I’m the most important person in her world. She trusts like she can see into my soul.
So, no. I don’t want Lee. Because the way I feel for Blakely? It’s pounding through my bloodstream and shocking every cell, showing me all the ways life could be if I experienced it with her instead.
Footsteps clack along the concrete floor of the garage, making me look up from where I’m sketching out the design for the 1967 Shelby GT500.
James Donahue strolls between the lifts, glancing at the shells of what will become his biggest production of the year. My heart rams against my chest, stomach tensing into knots, hoping he’s here for business. Afraid that he can see inside my brain and pull out all the ways I’ve been daydreaming of doing filthy things to his daughter.
He stops next to my desk, peering over my shoulder, the smell of cigars and wealth wafting through the air and mixing with the silence, making my gut churn.
“Hmm.” His hand comes down on my shoulder, patting once before he backs away, leaning against the body of the Cadillac El Dorado. I bite my tongue to keep from asking him to move to a different spot.
“I see the new cars came in.” He glances around. “You’ve been working on them for a minute now, yeah?”
Tossing my pencil down, I turn to face him. “Yep.” Excitement spins in the center of my chest like a pinwheel. “I’ve been having a blast. This is why I took this gig.”
His lips twitch. “Well, that makes two of us. The reason I sought you out was for this production.”
“Oh, really?”
He nods. “There’s been a thousand different movies about fast cars and their beauty. I want this one to be different. Your work, Jax…it’s special.”
Pride fills me up like a balloon and my head tilts as I listen to him get lost in his vision. It’s the most he’s ever said in my presence, his passion bleeding through every word he speaks. Passion I didn’t realize he had until this moment. His excitement is palpable and it soars around the room and implants into my brain, the image so clear it’s like I thought of it myself.
The more he talks, the more I see why he’s the biggest mogul on the scene.
There are just some things you can tell a person was destined to become. And James Donahue was meant to be the King of Hollywood. The man hiding in the castle and pulling all the strings.
“When does production start?” I ask.
“Five months. Which is why I need the cars in three.”
I nod slowly, anticipation for the finished product thrumming through my veins, I already knew about the tight timeline, it’s why I’ve been working so many extra hours. “No problem.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” A genuine smile graces his face, crinkling his cheeks and sparking through his eyes, and I’m taken aback by how strongly it reminds me of Blakely.
It’s so interesting, the way it’s possible to not even realize that what someone shows is a mask until they decide to take it off.
“The other reason I’m here is to alleviate some concerns you may have,” he continues.
I stare at him confused. “Concerns?”
“I saw the picture of you and my daughter.”
My blood turns to ice, heart slamming against my ribs. “Sir, I?—”
He waves his hand. “No, no, none of that. I know how this world works, Jax. Media loves to spin a story even where there isn’t one to tell. They don’t know I asked you to keep an eye on her.” His voice sharpens. “And they definitely don’t realize that as my employee, you wouldn’t even think of taking advantage of the situation.”
My gut churns, sensing the warning in the spaces between his words. “Ri—” I clear my throat. “Right. Exactly.”
He lifts his chin. “Right.” A tense second passes when I hold his gaze, not wanting to break the stare, afraid it will showcase my transgressions.
I am taking advantage of the situation, but not in all the ways I want to. Guilt sticks to my insides, teasing the back of my throat until I feel like I might choke.
“She ran away the other night,” he says suddenly, his shoulders deflating.
“Hmm?” I lift my brow, trying to paint a look of surprise on my face. My hand reaches up to grab my necklace, running my fingers along the chain.
How ridiculous that a night on her own is considered “running away.”
“Well, she disappeared without her security.” He sighs, leaning farther into the car’s frame. “I don’t—it’s not like her. She’s never been a child I’ve had to worry about, and now…” He shakes his head.
“With all due respect, sir, she’s not exactly a child anymore, is she?”
His eyes jump back to mine. “That’s exactly what she is, Jax. She’s a nineteen-year-old girl who doesn’t know what’s good for her. If she did, she wouldn’t have run off with no protection. She wouldn’t be making stupid decisions that affect everyone around her. She wouldn’t be gallivanting to clubs and showing off her body like a piece of property up for lease.”
I cringe. The need to defend her—to remind him that it’s her body and she can do whatever she wants with it, that she’s so much more than he’s giving her credit for—rises inside of me, my teeth cutting through the flesh on my cheek.
We both hear the gasp before we see her.
Mr. Donahue turns on his heel, his spine stiffening. My gaze finds Blakely, standing just to the inside of the glass door, her eyes welling with tears and her hand over her chest.
My body burns with the need to go to her. To protect her from the bitter words I know are slicing through her and remind her that opinions don’t define who she is.
“Honey, I—” he starts.
“No, it’s fine,” she interrupts. “Karen told me you were here and I wanted to come say hi.” She sucks a ragged breath in through her teeth. “I shouldn’t have… I just wanted to know if you wanted me to rearrange my schedule and be home for dinner.” Shaking her head, she drops her hands, fists clenching at her sides.
One. Two. Three.
Shit.
She turns on her heel and practically sprints through the door and I wait to see if he’s going to follow. To explain that his words were from his worry, not from a place of hate. As an outsider, it’s easy to see the difference.
He watches the space where she was for a moment before turning back to me. “As I was saying, she’s a child in all the ways that count. So please continue what it is I’ve been having you do, and just…keep an eye on her.”
My heart leaps to my throat, and I’m torn between telling him I can’t and wanting to race after Blakely and give her someone to fall into.
I don’t do either right away.
I simply nod, a sick feeling plunging through my stomach and clinging to my bones.