Chapter Eleven #4
I pulled into the driveway and Maria remained frozen in the passenger seat even after I parked. As I helped her towards the house, I realized she was also shaking like a maraca. My mom called from the living room, “You girls are home super early!”
As she turned to face us, her face fell.
She rushed towards us, and I was surprised when she got on Maria’s other side, helping me support my friend as we all but carried her to the couch.
“David! You better get down here!” My mom’s shout was almost immediately followed by the thundering of footsteps.
I was still standing, hovering over Maria who huddled on the couch, her pale complexion a violent contrast to the bright colors of her gown, like a cruel taunt.
I turned to my dad as he entered, and something in my face had him crossing the room in three quick strides to embrace me.
I began to shake in earnest, the subtle tremors evolving into a full-blown earthquake as adrenaline ravaged my body.
He held me tight, running soothing hands down my back, and said, “Tell me what happened.”
Maria looked up at him and spoke for the first time since we left the dance, “Jesse. He showed up, like he said he would. Had a bunch of his friends with him.” Her lower lip trembled and she buried her face in her hands as she sobbed, “He ruined everything.” My mom sat on the couch beside her, pulling Maria into her arms.
“I never should’ve left you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Maria looked at me, eyes red and makeup smeared. “It’s not your fault. What were you supposed to do? Wear a diaper so you stayed glued by my side? If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me. I ruined the night for everyone.”
“That’s enough girls. No more apologies from either of you. The only fault lies with that son of a bitch.”
I expected my mom to correct dad’s language, but she simply frowned and said, “Your father is absolutely right. This is not on you. And that boy is going to be in a cell by night’s end, you mark my words.
I will drag him there myself.” Her pretty face was flushed pink in anger and, distantly, I remembered that my mom had responded similarly when I had confessed what Scott Lauren had been doing.
I had forgotten her anger, her fire, when she had decided to start a clean slate in Georgia.
She had swept it all under the rug the second we started packing, deciding for us all that it was done and over.
But she hadn’t stopped to ask if the rest of us were ready to move on.
As the shaking subsided, I saw my mother in a whole new light.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care; it was that she just didn’t know how to be real.
My dad left the room to make calls, and not even thirty minutes later a deputy and August Mills showed up in the living room.
Maria and I gave our statements and then promptly ran upstairs to hide in our rooms. She kept trying to apologize to me, and I kept shutting her down.
I wasn’t mad. I didn’t blame her. How could I?
She was just someone who was trying to stay standing in the face of a hurricane.
I knew how that felt. I helped her out of her dress, and she helped me out of mine.
We both cried, lamenting the loss of what should’ve been a perfect night.
At some point, it grew late and Maria eventually fell into a fitful sleep in her bed, so I snuck out quietly to mine.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, but sleep just wouldn’t come.
Not after all that shouting, not after Jesse’s hand on me; not after Jackson stepping in like that.
My arm still ached, and my brain wouldn’t shut up.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that room.
Still shining like it hadn’t caught onto the ruination of the evening.
And the way Jackson had looked at me, like I mattered.
I hated that it made my chest hurt in some confusing, impossible way.
I tossed and turned, trying to decipher the millions of thoughts racing through my head. But nothing was working.
Before I could fully process what I was doing, I slid my feet into a pair of slippers and grabbed my keys from the dresser. As I headed downstairs towards the front door, I froze at my dad’s voice.
“Just where do you think you are going, bug?”
I turned slowly to find my dad standing with his arms crossed and frowning at me, Mom at his elbow and watching me with a look I didn’t quite understand. “I just…I dunno. I gotta make sure they’re ok.”
They. Who is they? There was only one person on my mind, no matter how hard I tried to shove him out.
My dad opened his mouth but before he could say something, my mom put a small hand on his forearm.
“Let her go, David.” I glanced between them, hesitating.
But at a small nod from my dad, I slipped outside into the cool of the night.
A few minutes later, I sat behind the wheel of Sally, idling in his front yard.
I only knew where he lived cause I had dropped Maria off with Diego a few times.
Now, I eyed the shoddy trailer and tried convincing myself this wasn’t the dumbest thing I’d ever done.
There was no going back without looking like a complete idiot.
I tapped an unsteady rhythm on the steering wheel.
I didn’t care if he was hurt. I didn’t. Scout’s honor and all that.
I just…couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop picturing that fight, fists flying, Jackson taking a hit that knocked him flat, and getting right back up.
I mean, he had helped me get Maria out of there.
So it was only right I thanked him. A little voice in the back of my head whispered I could’ve just sent him a text and I promptly told that voice to shut the fuck up.
I got out of the car, still considering bolting no matter how stupid it made me look.
The door swung open, and there he was—messy hair, bruised cheek, still breathing but looking like he’d been dragged through hell and back. I froze at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him like a robber in the night getting caught red handed.
“Well,” Jackson drawled, shutting the door and leaning against the rickety railing, “if it isn’t Malibu. What are you doing here?”
I crossed my arms, a shield against the way my chest twisted at the sight of him. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“I’m touched that you would lose sleep over me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Just making sure you’re not dead.”
He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sweet of you. Didn’t think you cared.” He made his way down the steps, closer and closer until he was right there. My eyes darted to his busted knuckles and he shoved his hands in his pockets.
God, he could make me want to scream and…
something else. Something I refused to name.
He was so close to me. Why was he so damn close?
He smelled like soap and faint motor oil, and something woodsy.
Everything about being here felt like a mistake I couldn’t stop making.
Like a freight train on a broken track. “I didn’t say I don’t care,” I blurted, words too sharp, too brittle. “I just—”
Jackson looked skyward, like he might find remnants of his patience there. “Just what? We’re at each other’s throats all the time. And even when I do try to be nice, you bite my damn head off. You think I don’t notice?”
My temper flared to life, a safe place to hide and I couldn’t swallow my next words quick enough.
“You think I wanted to sneak out and come here? You think I wanted to worry about you? I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop thinking—” I finally managed to bite down on the words before I confessed what scared me most.
“So, you do care,” he said quietly, like it cost him something to admit.
“I just wanted to say thank you. For protecting Maria. That’s all.”
He blinked at me, and let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Jesse grabbed you, Holly,” Jackson bit out. The muscle in his jaw ticked, and those gray eyes flashed.
My heart stumbled in my chest. “I…what?” I blinked at him, confusion tangling with a rising tide of something else—fear, maybe. Memory. I didn’t want to think about his hands on me, didn’t want to feel that old panic clawing up my throat.
Jackson stepped closer, eyes blazing, his voice rough and shaking like he barely had control of it. “I wasn’t protecting Maria,” he spat, every word sharp enough to cut. “I was protecting you.”
The silence that followed pressed on my chest like a weight.
I shouldn’t be standing this close to him, shouldn’t notice the way his breath brushed my face, the way his lips were just…
there. Easy distance to close. Too easy.
My heart lurched, panic bubbling beneath the pull in my stomach.
Because this was the first time in years I’d felt something like this—a spark, a want—and it terrified me.
After everything that happened before, the thought of wanting someone again felt wrong, broken, like crossing a line I wasn’t ready to step over.
But God help me, I wanted to.
My eyes flicked to his mouth before I could stop myself.
He saw it, of course he saw it, and for one endless heartbeat, it felt like he might lean in.
I swore the air changed between us, heavy and electric, every nerve in my body begging him to move closer.
Close the distance. What would he taste like? Would I regret it?
“Don’t,” he murmured, voice low and rough, like he was holding himself back, too.
My breath caught. “Don’t what?” I whispered, hating how shaky it sounded.
“Look at me like that.” His jaw tightened, eyes dark. “Like you’re thinking about something neither of us is ready for.”
And he was right. I wasn’t ready. But maybe I wanted to be.
The moment shattered when he stepped back, dragging a hand down his face like this whole thing was exhausting to him. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, voice flat now. “I’m leaving.”
The ground tilted beneath me. “What?”
“Georgia. The Saints. All of it. I enlisted. Basic training starts in a couple weeks.”
My throat burned. I didn’t know why it hurt so much, why those words sliced deeper than they had any right to.
It wasn’t like I liked him. Not like that.
Not enough for this to feel like a loss.
Except…maybe I did. And that truth scared me more than anything.
I swallowed it all down. The fear, the hurt, the confusing ache. “Oh.”
Jackson gave another humorless laugh. “Yeah. So, good news, you can stop worrying about me.”
I didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. Not when every thought screamed too loud and not a single one made sense. I turned to leave, and as I walked back to my car, I almost looked back over my shoulder. Almost said something, almost begged him not to go.
But burying it was easier. Safer.
“Night, Malibu,” he said softly.
“Night,” I whispered back, getting in my car and driving away before my heart could betray me any more than it already had.