Chapter 16
Sixteen
The comforting weight of Jacqui’s head rests on my chest, her fingers gliding rhythmically from my pecs down my abdomen. It’s soothing, and if we hadn’t just finished making love, it would probably be a call to action instead.
I crave her touch on my skin, in my hair, on me anywhere.
Rain pelts the roof, gray skies casting a soft light into the bedroom. A perfect, lazy August Sunday. I kiss her crown and my mind drifts as she traces the length of my arm, lulling me further into contentment.
This summer with her ranks in the top. We’ve had the house to ourselves, affording us the privacy and leeway to do as we please.
Sharing meals. Curling up on the couch. Fucking sublimely.
Showering together. When she spends the night, we fall asleep nestled in each other’s arms. The relief and solace that coats me when I wake up and find her next to me is a welcome, foreign sensation.
A wave of grief courses through my mind. Time is running out for us. Summer’s end is in sight, when everything will change. Even sooner. When my mom returns, we’ll lose this freedom, this glimpse into what life could be like longer term.
We still have the Russian River trip—camping and canoeing with my cousins over a long weekend. At least, I hope she’s coming. She hasn’t told me if she’s gotten permission, and I’m aware it’s a sticky subject. Her parents don’t even know about us, and clearly, I’m not her father’s pick.
“Did you ask?” I prompt.
“Not yet,” she murmurs. “I’m worried they’ll say no. I’m strategizing my best angle for success.”
“Is it me?” Dumb question. Of course it’s me.
“They’re not going to let me go somewhere with a guy overnight. It doesn’t matter which guy,” she answers. “I’d love to tell them I can have plenty of sex without spending the night with someone, but that’s probably not a smart tactic.”
I laugh softly, her head bobbing as my chest shakes. “Definitely not.”
“Also, because…my sister—”
“You have a sister?” I shift, searching her face.
“Had. I had an older sister. She drowned when we were little. I was only four. Honestly, I don’t remember her.”
A swath of hair falls across her eyes, and I move it over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jax. That’s awful.”
With a sigh, she sits up, crossing her legs and gathering the sheet around her waist. Understanding this must be difficult for her to talk about, I light us cigarettes, hand her one, then grab the ashtray from the nightstand and place it between us.
“It was…is,” she continues, taking a drag.
“We were at my grandparents’ house in Ventura.
My sister and I were supposed to be napping.
No one realized she’d wandered down to the pool, and by the time they did, it was too late.
My parents were devastated. Never recovered.
My dad turned into even more of a jerk and my mom…
checked out. Pops pills and sleeps most of the time. ”
My gaze stays intent on hers. “It must be hard for them. I can’t imagine what it’s like for a parent to lose a kid, especially in an accident where they probably blame themselves.”
“I get it, but at some point, you’ve got to pull your shit together. I’m still alive. I’ve needed my parents the whole time. Not ghosts. I’ve basically raised myself. How is that right?”
“It’s not. But no one said life was fair, and you get dealt the hand you’re dealt. It’s up to you to play your hand, figure it out, try to come out on top. You’re an adult now. It’s on you.”
Jacqui visibly recoils.
“You’re tough,” I add, gentler. “You’ll transcend it, probably be a great mother when the time comes.” That’s as hypocritical as it gets, since I can’t fathom becoming a father. That only spells disaster.
“You were dealt a bad hand too, weren’t you?”
Way more than a hand. I swallow thickly. I never talk about my past, my pain, my…baggage…but with her, my stalwart reticence dissolves. “My dad was—is—a sadistic motherfucker.” Spite laces my tone as I stub out my cigarette. “I fucking hate him.”
Jacqui’s eyes drift from my face to my knuckles and it’s then I’m sure she’s putting it together.
“What did he do?” she asks softly.
My gaze pierces hers but turns unfocused as the images echo in my mind.
“He was…terrible to my mom. He hit her, berated her, screamed at her. He beat the crap out of me and my brothers. Frequently.” I rake a hand through my hair.
“He’s nothing but a fucking bully and coward.
To pick on someone a fraction of your size, to harm your family, is deplorable. And unforgivable.”
A tear slips down her cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, wrapping her hand across mine and stroking the scarred skin. “These are from him, aren’t they?”
My answer comes in the terse dip of my chin.
“I’ve got plenty of his fucking battle scars.
” I tilt my hand. “These came from his belt buckle, a special treat repeated numerous times for various infractions.” My index finger traces my eyebrow scar.
“He gave me this slamming my face into a kitchen cabinet. Splintered the wood and left me with a concussion.” I jerk my forehead toward my shoulder.
“That’s from him throwing a shovel at me in the backyard.
Hit me with the blade side, cutting me deep enough for eight stitches.
I’ve got another one on my leg where he flung a jack stand at me. ”
“Mick…” she murmurs, pain reflected in those golden eyes.
I shrug. What else is there to say? The devil’s deeds are done.
“How long did you live with him?”
“Too long. It took my mom years to find the guts to leave him. She worried about how she’d support us and hated the idea of sharing custody knowing there’d be weekends we’d be alone with him.
Not that she protected us. She couldn’t even protect herself.
None of us could. She finally summoned the courage to fight for herself and us but after an ugly battle, the courts awarded my parents joint custody.
It was a hard road of back and forth,” I say, scrubbing my jaw.
“My god. How have you dealt with it? I mean, have you…transcended it?”
“I don’t fucking know. Some of it, yeah. It hasn’t been easy. I’m not saying it’s not difficult, Jax. I’m saying we’ve got to try or else they win. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not knuckling under one more second for overbearing, abusive assholes.”
Her eyes well, and her pity is the last thing I want. Another reason I don’t like talking about this shit. “I needed that.”
The rain pounds harshly against the roof, and we both glance outside, the gloom mirroring my own and tugging at the recesses I prefer to keep buried.
“So, you don’t see your dad ever?”
“Not if I can help it.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ready for this conversation to end. It’s souring my mood.
Jax presses her bare body into my back and wraps her arms around my chest, whooshing out a held breath. “I’ll figure out a way to come with you to the Russian River. I want to.”
Something in the way she holds me douses the blackness. I turn, dipping my head. “I want you with me. I love it there and want to show you why.”
The truth is I want her with me more and more.
Even as we head toward nevermore.
I stand and walk to the bathroom, clinging to one thought and one thought only: we’ve still got time.