Chapter 12
BEFORE
August, Thirteen Years Ago
The August before sophomore year, Jackson turned sixteen.
Julie’s truck became Jackson’s since it was a family car, and Julie bought a new car for herself.
Jackson said he could start picking me up for school in the mornings even though it was out of his way, and instead of walking to the restaurant on Fridays, we’d drive.
He usually drove Julie and I home after work now, with Julie sitting in the middle so we no longer had a chance to touch in the car.
Even when he picked me up for a shift, we acted completely normal—singing along to our favorite music like always, or talking about something that happened at the restaurant.
The weekend before school started, Marie and Phil went to New York to visit Sam, and Julie was also away, visiting Lake Michigan with one of her friends.
The Saturday they were gone was surprisingly slow, and at nine thirty I was sitting on the kitchen counter, eating a slice of pizza and playing a game on my phone.
Jackson came flying through the kitchen doors, grabbing a rag from one of the bins. “There’s some belligerent asshole sitting at the bar. He came in drunk, and is getting pissed that nobody will serve him.”
I shoved the last bite of pizza into my mouth before jumping off the counter. Jackson held out the rag so I could wipe my fingers on it before we both walked out the swinging doors.
“Which guy?” I asked as we looked over at the bar.
“The tool in the green shirt.”
I moved to the right so I could see where Jackson was pointing.
I almost passed out when I saw who it was.
Peter was at the bar, his chestnut-brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
He was talking animatedly, and swaying where he was sitting on one of the barstools, clearly both drunk and high.
Peter had gotten worse this year; he was still drinking like it was his day job, but now he was also experimenting with harder drugs.
After visiting Mom at Christmas, something darkened in him.
I don’t know what happened while he was there—he never told me about it—but there was a dramatic change in him.
We had just been ignoring each other for the most part, but now here he was, causing trouble at my job.
“I want to whip him with this rag.” Jackson started to walk toward him, and I grabbed his arm.
“Jackson, that’s my fucking brother,” I said horrified.
Jackson’s head snapped toward me, his mouth dropping wide open. “That’s Peter.”
I nodded, embarrassed that this was the first time Jackson was seeing my brother. I’d never told him or his family about Peter’s drinking problem, but now I didn’t have to. It was apparent.
“I’ll go talk to him, get him to leave,” I said as I let go of the death grip I had on Jackson’s arm.
Jackson watched me as I approached my brother. I tapped him on the shoulder and waited for him to turn around.
When Peter’s eyes met mine, it took him a second to realize who I even was before a sloppy smile spread across his face. “Ah, there’s my little sister. Can you help me out? Get them to give me a drink?”
“Peter,” I said slowly, “why are you here?”
He threw his arms out wide, looking back and forth across the restaurant like it was obvious. “I came to see my sister at her job.”
I shook my head at him. “You have to leave, Peter. You’re making a scene.”
He reared his head back. “Me? You’re the one making it a big deal.”
I gaped at him. I could see Jackson watching us out of the corner of my eye, and I felt my face getting hot. My other coworkers were starting to watch now, too. I just needed him to leave—this was my place. He was ruining it, and embarrassing me in front of my coworkers.
I grabbed his left bicep with both hands. “Please, follow me,” I said, keeping my tone as calm as I could manage.
Reluctantly, he got off of the stool, and I pulled him toward the front door while heads turned to watch us. I focused on the door, trying my hardest not to look at anyone as we passed.
As soon as we were outside, I let go of Peter, my heart racing in my chest.
“Okay, how did you even get here?” I looked toward the street parking zone, wondering if his car was there.
“I drove, obviously,” Peter shouted. I took a step back. He looked pissed now. “What the fuck is your problem, Addie?”
“Me? You’re the one who showed up to my job drunk!”
He raised a hand and for a second, I thought he was going to slap me. I flinched, covering my face with my hands. Instead, he grabbed my right forearm so tight I cried out.
“You’re hurting me!”
“If you’re making me leave, then you have to leave, too,” Peter spat at me as he tugged me toward him.
I dug my feet into the concrete, trying to pry his fingers off me.
“Stop!” I was trying to catch my breath as Peter began dragging me down the street.
I couldn’t fight the fat, hot tears running down my face.
A sob escaped me when I felt one of his nails pierce my skin.
Peter had never hurt me before; sure, he yelled at me half the time, and the other half he acted like I didn’t exist. But he had never put his hands on me.
I felt a rush of instant relief as Peter let go of my arm, and I pulled it to my chest protectively. All I could hear was yelling, and when I looked up, someone was clinging to Peter’s back, trying to choke him out as he fought to get their fingers off his neck.
I watched as Peter swung the person off, throwing them to the ground and straddling them as he punched them in the face over and over.
When I realized it was Jackson on the sidewalk, I couldn’t make myself move.
What the hell was he doing? Jackson was a sixteen-year-old kid, and even though he had grown a few inches over the summer and was starting to get bulkier, he wasn’t a match for my stocky twenty-three-year-old brother, inebriated or not.
“Peter, stop!” I cried. He wasn’t listening to me, and Jackson wasn’t giving up on fighting him off. I didn’t know what to do; I felt helpless standing there, watching Jackson take hit after hit from my brother.
Peter looked like he was getting tired at least, and eventually Jackson was able to stop his fists from connecting with his jaw another time.
“What the fuck!?” I turned around to find Rami running outside.
He pulled Peter off Jackson in an instant, tossing him to the side like a rag doll.
I kneeled down to inspect the damage to Jackson’s face.
He wiped blood from his nose, and I hoped it wasn’t broken.
He had splotches of red on either side of his jaw that would turn to bruises later, and a split top lip.
I was scared to touch him—to hurt him anymore. We both turned to watch Rami push Peter down the street. I don’t know what he said to Peter, but whatever it was, it worked. He was leaving. I shivered.
Rami walked back to us, helping Jackson stand. “You’re fucking crazy, kid,” Rami said as he pulled Jackson up, patting him on the back.
“He was about to rip her fucking arm out of its socket,” Jackson scoffed, holding an arm out toward me.
My cheeks got hot. Jackson had protected me, taking a beating in the process.
“We should really call the cops. And your parents,” Rami said.
“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” I was crying again, and Rami put an arm around me, attempting to soothe me.
Jackson reached forward and lightly touched his hand to mine. It didn’t linger—he pulled it back quickly, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his work pants. “It’s not your fault, Addie.” Blood was still running down his face, and I had to suppress another sob.
He looked up at Rami. “Please don’t tell my parents. Let’s just let it go. We don’t need to cause an issue for anybody.”
I let out a long, shaky breath, praying Rami would agree.
What would happen if we called the cops and they showed up to my house?
I was only fifteen, and Mom was gone. Could they take me away?
Would Marie fire me for bringing trouble to the restaurant?
I felt like trash—a pathetic piece of garbage who was ruining a nice family’s restaurant.
Rami stared at Jackson for a long time before shaking his head and dropping his arm from my shoulder.
“Next time I’m calling the police,” Rami sighed.
“Thank you, thank you so much.” I threw my arms around Rami, feeling like I could finally take a full breath.
“Why don’t you guys get out of here? I’ll handle closing tonight.” He patted my back awkwardly.
We didn’t fight him on the suggestion, and Jackson and I walked around the block to the truck in the back alley.
When we got in the truck, Jackson didn’t start it right away, and we sat in a pained silence. He was staring down at his hands, picking at some of the now-dried blood from when he wiped his split lip with the back of his hand.
“I, uh . . . really don’t want to go home to Peter tonight,” I said quietly.
Jackson turned on the car without a word, and I let him take me to his house. “Look After You” by The Fray started playing, and I forced myself not to cry, telling myself that the song didn’t mean anything.
We walked through the dark garage and into the kitchen. It would just be the two of us here tonight, since everyone was out of town.
“I’ll grab you some of Julie’s clothes,” Jackson said before sprinting upstairs.
I sat on the couch, stretching my legs out in front of me. I felt exhausted, and entirely depleted.
When he came back downstairs, he had a pair of Julie’s leggings and an old T-shirt in his hands.
“You’re bleeding too, Addie,” Jackson said as he dropped the clothes to reach for my arm. He gently flipped it so my forearm was facing up.
I pulled it back sharply. “It’s just a scratch; it’s not a big deal.”
Jackson let out a sigh. “At least let me get you a Band-Aid.” He left the room before I could argue.
When he came back, he motioned for my arm again, and I slowly lifted it toward him. He held onto my wrist while he carefully placed the Band-Aid over the cut. It felt dramatic. It was just a small scratch from Peter’s nails—nowhere near the injuries Jackson had on his face.
He didn’t drop my arm right away, and his grasp tightened as he stared at my forearm before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to my wrist. I had to bite my cheek to stop myself from reacting. His eyes met mine briefly, then he disappeared to go shower like nothing had happened.
I changed into Julie’s clothes, and was cuddled up on the couch when he came back into the room without a shirt on, his hair still dripping wet. His face was clear of any trace of blood, but he still looked awful. The split in his lip was raw and red like it had split back open during his shower.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Jackson said as he sat down on the opposite side of the couch.
“I can’t help it; you’re hurt,” I said with a scratchy throat.
“You should see the other guy,” Jackson said with a smirk as he grabbed the remote.
We both knew he was the one who lost that fight, and I didn’t like that he was joking about it.
He positioned himself so his head was resting on the opposite armrest, then he stretched out his legs so they rested up against mine.
“I really don’t want to see the other guy ever again,” I said softly. Hopefully Peter was at home cooling off, and maybe—if I was lucky—he’d be too drunk to remember anything by tomorrow.
“Yeah, fuck that guy,” Jackson said. His jaw was clenched, and I could already see a bruise forming where his jaw connected to his neck. He clicked something on the TV, then tossed the remote between us. “It’s time you watched Never Back Down. Best movie ever.”
I faced the television, watching as his favorite movie started. He positioned his legs so one of mine was between both of his. I was hit by that familiar jolt in my heart, and I tried to tamp it down.
“Thank you, Jackson,” I whispered. There was so much to thank him for. For making Peter let go of me, for getting punched for me, for convincing Rami not to call his parents or the cops, and for letting me stay here and taking care of me.
He stayed silent for so long that I thought maybe he didn’t hear me.
“That’s what friends do, Addie. They protect each other.” He let out a long breath before facing me for a brief moment. His brown eyes were so sincere I wanted to burst into tears. “I’ll always protect you.”
I wanted to say something back—to admit that he was my favorite person, that I didn’t know what I would do without him.
That regardless of what Julie said, I wanted to touch him.
I wanted to kiss him to show my gratitude—to kiss his split lip, his hands, the bruises on his jaw.
Instead, I stayed silent, and didn’t move a single muscle.
When the credits of the movie played, Jackson was already asleep.
And when we woke up in the morning, our legs were still intertwined.