Chapter 28
BEFORE
April, Ten Years Ago
Alittle over a month after my birthday, Marie took me to take my driver’s test. I had taken the written portion of the test the week of my eighteenth, and had been practicing driving around with Jackson since then.
My knee bounced up and down as I got ready for the parallel parking portion of the exam.
Every time Jackson had taken me to practice driving in his truck, I had struggled the most with parking.
I could never gauge how long the bed of the truck was.
Now, in Marie’s SUV, I had to readjust three times.
I remembered Jackson telling me that each time you readjusted, you’d lose a point.
How many points had I already lost on reverse parking before this?
When I decided I was centered between the cones as evenly as I could be, the instructor motioned for me to get out of the car. I took a deep breath, preparing to hear that I botched it and wouldn’t even be able to take the driving portion of the exam.
“Alright, your mom can get in the backseat. I’ll be in the passenger seat,” the instructor said after walking around the car once.
I had told him already that Marie wasn’t my mom, but I didn’t want to correct him a second time.
I enjoyed hearing her referred to as my mom; she basically had been for the past four years, anyways.
I assumed if I was able to get back in the car, that meant I had passed the parking portion. Marie gave me a wink before opening the back door to get in. I suppressed an excited squeal before getting back in the driver’s seat.
Once I pulled out of the parking lot, the instructor started asking me questions like, “What would be the safest thing to hit if you swerved off the road?” and “What does a blinking yellow light mean?” I answered the first question by saying that hitting a fence with the side of the car was safest, and he nodded like I was correct.
The question about a blinking yellow light I got wrong, saying it should be treated like a yield sign.
When he said that I was wrong, I was convinced he would fail me.
He asked me to turn the radio on and off, and I fiddled with the knob with shaky fingers.
If I failed this test, I was fucked. We were graduating high school next month; I couldn’t keep expecting Jackson to drive me around, and I hated when Sophie had to take us somewhere.
I didn’t know if I would be starting college in the fall or not, but if I was, I couldn’t just ride my bike to campus like I was twelve years old.
When the test was over and we pulled back into the lot, Marie and I sat in silence while the instructor scribbled on his stupid clipboard with his scratchy pen. I almost asked Marie to step out of the car; I was ashamed by the thought of her hearing the instructor say the words, “You failed.”
When he finally looked over at me and told me I passed, I almost cried from happiness. I could get my license now. Thank you, universe! Marie even took a picture of me smiling with the certificate to send to Julie in California.
We immediately went to the Secretary of State so I could get a temporary license.
Marie took me to lunch after, and then surprised me by taking me to a used auto dealer.
I used a huge chunk of my savings to buy an old Buick.
It wasn’t pretty—it was actually a really shitty car.
It had a lot of miles, and kind of looked like a boat.
But I could drive it to work and school, and best of all, it was mine.
I no longer had to feel trapped in the house with Peter.
I could barely contain my excitement. When Jackson texted me that night to invite me to a party with him, I couldn’t believe I had the ability to text back and say, I’ll drive.
***
The party was another bonfire at Paul’s house, the same house we celebrated New Year’s at. When I picked up Jackson without Sophie, I didn’t question him.
We went our separate ways as soon as we entered the party, Jackson heading straight for the kitchen, and me moving toward the already burning bonfire pit.
Two hours later, Jackson was still throwing back shot after shot with the guys while I sat around the fire, watching the group around me share a blunt. I knew better than to take a drag tonight.
Neither Charlie nor Scott were present, and I was glad I didn’t have them here as a reminder of how I acted at the last party.
Jackson wobbled over, falling into the chair next to me. His beer splashed over his cup onto his hand, and he licked it off with a quick swipe of his tongue before turning to face me. I squeezed my thighs together, pretending I didn’t find it sexy.
“We have to go to prom,” Jackson said adamantly.
“Sorry, what?” It sounded like he was asking me to prom. Which I knew couldn’t be possible.
He pursed his lips and nodded. “I know we don’t go to dances, but Sophie has been begging me for weeks. But I don’t want to go if you won’t.”
Of course this was about Sophie. Why was I getting dragged into it?
“No.”
“Addie—”
“I’m not spending a fortune on a dress I’ll only wear once. Pass,” I said angrily.
He made a pssh sound. “You can wear an old one of Julie’s. Please Addison, please, please, please.” He clasped his hands together and gave a puppy-dog pout. I almost fell into the temptation of those deep-brown eyes.
I said no again, and he genuinely looked sad. I had to look away.
“Addison,” he whispered in a plea again.
Ugh, he was using my full name, and I hated how much I loved the way he said it. I lost the battle.
“Fine, I’ll go. But you have to buy my ticket and help me pick out a dress of Julie’s,” I said.
“God, you’re the best!” He threw himself toward me, wrapping me in a tight hug around my neck.
“Jesus, I can’t breathe, Jackson.” I pushed him off me, acting like the feel of his body pressed against mine didn’t stir something up in my stomach.
“This calls for another shot!” Jackson hopped up, almost losing his balance before running back inside to the drinks.
I spent the rest of the party glued to my seat at the fire.
The smokers around me switched the weed for cigarettes, and I took three puffs before coughing my lungs out and throwing it into the fire.
We started playing a game of never have I ever, and when it hit midnight, Jackson came and found me again, asking me to take him to Sophie’s.
He dragged his feet across the pavement on the way to my car, off-balance and zig-zagging down the block. I had to help Jackson get in my car. He was swaying so much I was sure he was going to face-plant right there on the cement.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so drunk, Jackson. Are you okay?” I said as I buckled his seat belt for him. I thought I’d seen Jackson at his drunkest before, but nothing compared to tonight.
“I’m grand!” he said sarcastically before clicking a song on his phone and throwing it in the center consol. I walked around to the driver’s seat, looking at Jackson warily.
“I Have a Problem” by Beartooth was blaring, and Jackson was angrily singing the lyrics.
I could feel the bass in my skull, and the entire car was shaking from the pulse of it.
I didn’t like the song—how heavy it was, or the lyrics he was screaming.
He was tapping his hands against his thighs, like he was playing his drum set.
“Are you and Sophie fighting?” I asked tentatively as I lowered the music.
“Yeah, ‘cause what else is new?” Jackson lifted his feet onto the dashboard, running a frustrated hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray. We were just talking about prom two hours ago; he’d finally agreed to go with her, so what could they possibly be mad at each other about?
I let out an annoyed breath. “What this time?”
“Because you’re at the party and she’s not.” He sang along to the song for a second, turning it up and then turning it back down so I could hear him talking. “You know what, fuck it. Don’t take me to Sophie’s. I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.”
I stared out the windshield, gripping the steering wheel tighter. I didn’t know what to do. A part of me liked that he wanted to stay with me, and he probably needed to go home instead of to Sophie’s, but I didn’t want to make Sophie any more pissed off than she already was.
“That’s not a good idea. You already told her you were coming, so we’re going,” I told him.
Jackson groaned and stomped his foot against the dash like a little kid. “I just want to be with you, Addie.”
My eyes snapped to his, and I wished I hadn’t looked at him, because he looked so sincere. It didn’t sound like he wanted to just be here with me right now; it sounded like he actually wanted to be with me.
“You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” I whispered.
He threw his arms out. “Why not, hmmm?”
I scoffed at him. “If I was your girlfriend and you said that behind my back, I’d be really hurt.”
He’s just drunk—he probably didn’t even mean any of it. He’s always acting like this when he’s drinking.
“If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t have to say things like that.” He said it so adamantly, and my heart jammed against my rib cage. If you were my girlfriend. Does that mean he thought about it?
I had to remind myself to keep breathing.
When I looked at Jackson, he just looked sad, and I felt bad for Sophie. But in a way, another part of me lit up, because when had he ever admitted it like this?
“Stop, Jackson.” I couldn’t take it. It started to hurt. It hurt so badly that he was with her and not me. She could touch him and I couldn’t.
“What!?” Jackson was yelling now, and I startled, flinching in my seat. “I can’t touch you, I can’t hangout with you, and now I can’t even tell you how I fucking feel? So what exactly can I do with you, huh?”
I slammed my foot on the breaks, causing both of us to jolt against our seat belts as they locked.
“Linger” by The Cranberries started playing, a giant contrast to the song that was playing before.
I’d almost missed the turn onto Sophie’s street because of how badly this conversation had fucked with my brain.
My heart was beating even harder than before.
So what exactly can I do with you? My entire body was on high alert, frazzled sparks fraying and sizzling at each of my nerve endings.
“You’re hurting me,” I whispered, so quietly I wasn’t even sure he could hear me. “And you need to stop.” I couldn’t even look at him.
My fingers were shaking, and I took a deep breath before putting my foot back on the gas and turning onto Sophie’s street.
“You think I’m not hurting, too?” he mumbled. I didn’t even respond. I couldn’t do this anymore.
I pulled into her driveway, the gears squeaking as I put the Buick in park.
Jackson didn’t move to leave, and when I turned to face him, his arms were crossed and he was staring me down.
He looked mad—madder than I had ever seen him.
It pissed me off, because he couldn’t possibly be as mad as I was, or as hurt.
“Jackson, we’re here. Get out,” I said firmly.
His eyes didn’t move from my face. “No.”
I sucked in a large breath of air through my nose. I was losing my patience with him. “Jackson, please, get out of my car.”
“No,” he said again with his teeth clenched.
“Get the fuck out of my car, Jackson!” I wasn’t sure I had ever yelled at him before, or if I had ever been so angry with him. He was hurting me; I couldn’t look at his face for a second longer.
His jaw dropped open at my outburst. “Leave!” I screamed in his face again, before reaching across him and opening the passenger door by myself, unbuckling his seat belt for him.
We stared each other down until he finally gave up and got out of my car, slamming the door as hard as he could before putting his hood over his head and walking up to Sophie’s front door.
When I looked up at Sophie’s house, I saw her standing in the front window, watching me. I knew, somehow, that she had seen our entire interaction. Fuck.
I backed out the driveway as quickly as I could.