Chapter 30
The TV was playing softly when Liv opened the door to the bedroom where Jackson was recuperating. “Livvy.” His eyes brightened, and he smiled when he saw her.
“I brought you some water. Can I get you anything else? How’s the pain?” she asked in rapid fire.
Jackson chuckled. “Come here.” He gestured, extending his unaffected arm toward her.
Liv stepped closer, her eyes widening slightly as she noticed his topless state beneath the sheets. A playful smirk danced across her lips. “How did you get your shirt off?” she teased.
“I’m not completely helpless. Come here,” Jackson repeated, his voice soft but insistent.
“Stubborn as ever,” she murmured affectionately. With a gentle laugh, Liv closed the distance between them, landing on the edge of the bed next to him. She reached out to caress his cheek.
Jackson grabbed her hand and pulled her down beside him, his mouth covering her “eek” of surprise. His lips pressed against hers, his tongue tasting the seam. She lost herself in him.
Inhaling deeply, she broke the kiss. “I almost lost you.” Her warm tears dropped against his cheeks.
“Livvy, I’m here.” He wrapped her in his embrace, holding her tightly.
Liv relaxed for the first time in as long as she could remember. Tucked in Jackson’s arms, she slept.
* * *
Jackson drifted into a fitful sleep,his mind betraying him, plunging him into a nightmare.
In the darkness of his mind, he found himself standing amidst the flickering flames of the warehouse fire, the roar of the inferno echoing in his ears with a deafening harshness. Heat licked at his skin, searing him with its intensity as smoke billowed, thick and suffocating, around him, blurring his vision.
Frantically, Jackson searched for Liv amidst the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest with a primal fear. But no matter how many times he called out her name, she remained elusive, lost in the swirling fire and smoke.
Panic gripped him in its icy grasp as he stumbled through the smoldering wreckage, his lungs burning with each labored breath, his eyes stinging from the choking smoke. Desperation clawed at his chest, driving him forward even as his limbs grew heavy with exhaustion.
And then, just as he felt himself teetering on the brink of despair, he saw her—a shadowy figure emerging from the flames, her form shrouded in smoke and ash.
But as he drew closer, the figure before him began to shift and distort, its features contorting into a grotesque charade of Liv”s familiar face. Terror seized him as he realized with a sickening dread that he was not reaching for her at all.
With a guttural cry of anguish, Jackson jolted awake, his heart hammering in his chest as he found himself clutching desperately at the empty space beside him. Sweat-soaked and trembling, he gasped for breath, the echoes of his nightmare still ringing in his ears.
* * *
Liv’s heartlurched at the sound of Jackson”s cries piercing the stillness of the night. She had left the comfort of his embrace momentarily to use the bathroom.
As she hurried back to his side, the frantic stomping of feet echoed through the house, signaling the arrival of her mother and his, drawn by Jackson”s excruciating calls for help. With a reassuring tone, Liv called out, “We’re okay. No worries.”
Ignoring the diminishing footfalls of their concerned mothers, Liv settled beside Jackson, her heart aching at the sight of him writhing in pain from his fractured ribs. Gently, she placed a hand on his trembling shoulder.
“I”m right here. Breathe with me,” she coaxed, her voice soft but firm as she guided him through slow breaths.
“It was so real,” Jackson murmured. He dropped his chin to his chest, his eyes tightly shut against the remnants of his nightmare, a sweat-soaked testament to the intensity of his fear.
Sensing his need for comfort, Liv offered him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you in the shower.”
With tender loving care, she guided him under the spray, her touch suddenly a daunting challenge in the wake of his pain. She stood by his side as the warm water cascaded over him, using a bath sponge to soothe the ache in his fractured ribs.
Once Jackson was clean, Liv carefully dried him off and helped him into fresh clothes, her movements slow and careful. She guided him to a chair, ensuring he was comfortable as she set about changing the bedding.
From the chest at the bottom of the bed, Liv retrieved fresh sheets. Finally, as she finished making the bed, she turned her attention back to Jackson. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion yet filled with love and gratitude.
She approached him, her arms open wide in silent invitation. “Come back to bed,” she murmured. “I’ll hold you while you sleep.”
With a weary nod, he allowed Liv to guide him back to the bed, his body sagging with fatigue as he sank into the fresh sheets. In the safety of her arms, he closed his eyes, surrendering to sleep. Assured he was asleep, she fell out too.
* * *
The sunlight streamedthrough the blinds, casting soft patterns across the room. Jackson stirred from his sleep, his eyes shifting to the peaceful form of Liv sleeping beside him. In that quiet moment, as he watched her chest rise and fall with each steady breath, a wave of love washed over him.
He marveled at her strength, recalling Turk”s words about how she was willing to brave the flames to find him during the warehouse fire. The realization of just how much she meant to him settled deep within his bones.
Liv”s eyes fluttered open. “How are you?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep.
Jackson couldn”t help but smile at the sight of her, his heart swelling with affection. “Better this morning, thanks to you.” He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face.
A soft chuckle escaped Liv”s lips as she stretched languidly, her movements graceful and fluid. “Hmm, I should help you shower and change sheets more often if it means waking up to that smile,” she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
* * *
Shortly after,they dressed and made their way downstairs for breakfast, where the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the chatter of Liv”s sisters, Brad, Luke, and Turk as they gathered around the dining room table. But amidst the familiar faces, Liv”s attention was drawn to a figure she hadn”t expected to see—Mr. John, the Waverlys’ butler.
As Jackson and Liv entered the room, Mr. John rose from his seat, his expression serious yet determined. Liv”s brow furrowed as she addressed him, “Mr. John, what brings you here?” Her curiosity was piqued by his unexpected presence.
Mr. John took a deep breath. “I”ve been following the news closely,” he began, his voice grave with concern. “And I couldn”t stand by any longer while Waverly Junction suffers from the pain and destruction caused by these fires. I believe I may know a way to put an end to them.
“Sinclair Waverly,” his voice remained steady, “was a man of great influence and power in Waverly Junction many years ago. He helped build our town as it is today, along with the visions of his grandson Christopher in the more modern days.
“But with power often comes darkness,” he continued. “Sinclair Waverly is not without his flaws. He wielded his influence with a heavy hand, and there are secrets that have remained hidden for generations. Rumors abound regarding Mr. Waverly”s involvement in acts of corruption and deceit. And, sadly, most are true,” Mr. John revealed.
“He is also a man who keeps detailed records of that influence. He has a large safe where he stores ledgers recording these acts, though some have not been recorded. The only evidence of these acts is their impact on the lives damaged by them.”
A chill ran down her spine as she contemplated the extent of Sinclair Waverly’s depravity. “Mr. John, whose lives are you speaking of?” She wasn’t going to offend the butler by asking why he stayed in Sinclair’s employ or stayed quiet. She needed information.
“Sinclair loves hunting. His prey: women,” Mr. John continued. “He grew worse when his beloved wife, Edna, passed away. She was the real power behind the Waverly name. Sinclair was forty-five when she died in 1976. He grew angry and hungry for power and women.”
A knot tightened in her stomach as she contemplated the countless women who had fallen victim to his predatory nature.
“He used money, blackmail and threats to control them,” Mr. John asserted.
Liv asked, “How about three specific women? Do you know their stories? Jule Waverly, Rainey Ashcroft, and Emily Moore.”
Mr. John nodded. “Mrs. Jule—she’s not a weak woman. She married Mr. Silas for money and power. She seduced Mr. Sinclair after Mrs. Edna passed. They have a mutually beneficial relationship.” He paused, his expression turning sad. “Miss Rainey—she joined the household for money. Mr. Sinclair proved she was a grifter. She researched and impersonated an Ashcroft. He was able to prove the Ashcroft line died in 1953 with Cassandra Ashcroft, who was a missionary in Africa.
“Sinclair loved Christopher. He also loved Rainey. He planned to keep her secret.” The butler’s eyes teared up. “She became pregnant and gave birth to a boy. He knew the child was either his or Christopher’s. He was thrilled the child was a Waverly. That fire broke him. He lost the three most important people to him. After the tragedy, he wanted to insure the child’s future.
“Sinclair has always believed Silas to be weak-willed, incapable of living up to the responsibilities of being part of their family. And, with Rainey”s baby in the picture, his resentment has only grown stronger. Sinclair always said of his son, ‘Weakness runs in his veins, and I won”t have it tarnishing the future of this family.’
“After Christopher and Rainey died, every time he thought of the child, he was reminded of what he had lost, of the dreams that had been shattered. But as long as Sinclair had a say in the matter, Silas would never lay a hand on that child. He said, ‘I won”t allow my son’s weakness to infect the next generation.’
“He didn’t want Silas and Jule anywhere near that child. He made sure that baby was adopted by a loving family. He’s watched him become a good man.” His breaths came faster. “Mr. Reynolds, you are that baby boy. Upon Mr. Sinclair’s death, you—not Silas—will be named the Waverly heir.”
Jackson shuddered. “That son of a bitch hurt countless people, and somehow I’m supposed to feel good about this?”
“Part of why I’m here. Mr. Reynolds, you’re supposed to live the life your parents taught you to live. And after what I’ve shared with you, it’s about seeking justice and redemption for those who have suffered.”
Mr. John sipped his now cold cup of coffee. “Miss Emily.” He shook his head. “She believed in women’s rights. She was a go-getter. No one in town thought she would win. She’d be the youngest member of the town council.”
Liv’s brow rose. “She didn’t win, did she?”
“No, Mr. Sinclair negotiated that win. I took her home after she paid her debt. She was na?ve; she conceived that night and carried a boy. Mr. Sinclair believes in convenience. The night Rainey gave birth, he made sure Emily did too. The doctors performed a C-section. This way he could see the child without arousing suspicion. The boy was taken from his mother and given to a vetted couple, the Wheatons. They received monthly stipends to help give that baby a good life.”
The name hit Liv and everyone else in the room like a bomb. “What happened to the Wheatons and Emily Moore?”
Mr. John opened his palms. “The Wheatons live in New York. At least that’s where the stipend goes. And Miss Moore.” He clasped his hands. “So sad. Mr. Waverly made sure she was taken care of. She passed at the Hargrove Care Facility around the time you saved that drowning family and received the medal of valor, Mr. Jackson. Miss Moore suffered in the end—a brain tumor.”
Isobel murmured, “That’s the trigger. Mr. John, do you know if the Wheatons told their child he was adopted?”
“I don’t know about that, but Miss Emily knew where her son was,” he revealed.