Chapter 42 Leah
Leah
Fury and frustration rioting through her veins, Leah let loose.
“Inspiration? Don’t make me laugh! I wasn’t a muse. I was a punching bag for all your moods.” It felt freeing to let it out. “Living with you was scary, Matt. I didn’t know how to make it better and, financially, it was almost impossible to leave. The pressure nearly broke me.”
The cocky smirk slid off his lips and something, maybe shame, flashed in his eyes. He tucked his hands into his pockets, looking less certain, a little defensive, younger.
“You know nothing about me as a person or you wouldn’t have dreamed of coming here.
And you know nothing about Jackson. Nothing at all.
So don’t even think of mocking him, because he’s one of the best people I know.
” Leah was steaming. She had to get rid of Matt and find Jackson.
She needed to explain this whole mess to him.
“I don’t care what Alistair Hale said to you, but you’ve been played for his own ends.
I won’t be leaving Amity Court until it sells.
And I will never be leaving with you. We were done a long time ago. ”
Matt grabbed her wrist as she tried to push past him. “You’re not thinking it through. There’s good money in this for both of us if we play it out. The Hales are rolling in it. There’s nearly $150,000 in cars sitting on the drive right now!”
“Let me guess. Alistair Hale offered to pay our deposit on a rental somewhere.” Leah snorted in derision. “He’s already tried that with me. I wasn’t interested then and I’m not interested now.”
“He’s offered more than that, Lee, and I need the money. It’ll give me the chance to make it big with my music.” Matt’s grip tightened on her wrist.
“This is not about you!” She almost growled it, pressing into him instead of pulling away, so furious she could feel the anger vibrating in her sternum. “You don’t get to have a say in any of it! Go and earn your way. Do what you want with your music and your life but leave me out of your plans.”
“I’d suggest you let go, sonny. She’s made herself very clear, and I’ve disabled men three times the size of you without breaking a sweat.” Hazel’s voice was steely.
“She’s taught me half of what she knows,” Marjorie chipped in. “Sometimes I get it right. Sometimes I panic and go for the nearest blunt object. I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”
The two ladies filled the doorway like equal-opportunity bouncers. Leah didn’t rate Matt’s chances if he underestimated their resolve. Seemingly, neither did he. He took a step away.
“Smart choice,” Hazel approved. “Let me show you out.”
Matt shook his head. “You’ve never been good at seeing the bigger picture. You’re making a mistake, Lee.”
“It wouldn’t be the only one I’ve made.” Leah stared him down.
With a set jaw and a bitter curse, he stormed out into the foyer. Hazel followed, serenely unflustered.
“You need a drink,” Marjorie assessed.
“I think I need several.” Leah let herself be towed back onto the veranda.
There was no sign of Jackson.
Alistair Hale’s long face blanked a little when he registered the absence of Matthew, but Leah couldn’t bear to give him more than a glance. How Esther had given birth to such a manipulative jackass, she had no idea.
After a couple of quick words with Marjorie, Sam pushed a cocktail into her hand, pink and icy cold. “Take this. Strawberries, lemonade, and vodka. It’s a masterpiece, even if I say so myself.”
“He’s not wrong.” Natalia raised her own glass. “This is my third.”
Leah drained the drink in half a dozen gulps. “Get me another,” she demanded. “If I’m playing catch-up, I might as well get stuck in.”
She didn’t notice when the Hales left, but every nerve ending in her body jangled the second Jackson stepped back onto the veranda.
Leah wrapped her arms around herself, gripping handfuls of her chunky cardigan in nervous fingers.
He radiated danger when he flipped the top on a fresh beer, brushing off Hazel, ignoring Gerry and Marjorie, and blanking Natalia and herself entirely.
Positioned inside the man circle of Sam, Kash, and Oliver, he glowered into his bottle.
“Fuck.” Leah’s breath misted the outside of her glass. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Natalia eyed him, shrewdly. “Uh-oh. We’re back to pre-Leah Jackson.”
“What?”
“Pre-Leah Jackson. Mad at the world and even madder at himself.”
“Yeah. Sounds about right.” Leah drained her drink again. “Wait. What did post-Leah Jackson look like?”
Natalia twirled her own glass thoughtfully in her hands. “Hopeful. And happier.”
It twisted Leah’s heart. “I need to talk to him.”
“You’ll be lucky.” Natalia shot her a sympathetic side-eye. “I’ve seen Jackson in full lockdown many times, and this looks a step beyond any of those.”
Over the top of their glasses, the two women silently took him in. Leah wanted to cry. Granite-faced and rigid, those lovely arms that had held him braced above her were now folded tightly across his broad chest. Jackson ignored her as thoroughly as if she didn’t exist at all.
“I need more alcohol.” She was grateful when Natalia didn’t comment on the crack in her voice.
They drank until the sun set. After a while, Leah swapped to pop.
Alcoholic oblivion, while tempting, wasn’t likely to fix anything.
The night was warm but not sweltering. In the background, ESPN-streamed baseball played on the screen Jackson had rigged up outside.
Scores, stats, and rankings filled any gaps in conversation, and a steady trickle of sports banter was exchanged.
High up in the beech tree, a northern mockingbird let out the occasional soft call, mingled with imitations of a lawn sprinkler.
It could have been an idyllic evening. But nothing about it gave Leah any pleasure at all.