Beloved (23 page)

“Catherine, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He smiles as he gets up and walks over to me. When he leans down to kiss me, I quickly put my hand up to his mouth before he can touch my lips. “You can’t kiss me,” I whisper and look around. I’m still not sure it’s really him. Maybe my mind conjured him up.

“Oh, why not?” He stares at me with one brow raised and that cocky smile I love so much. Awww, fake Jackson even makes the same gestures.

“Well, imaginary Jackson, I’ll tell you.” I lean in real close and somehow get the words out between giggles. “I like a boy and I don’t think I should kiss you.” Ashton is laughing hysterically and I join her, although I’m not sure why we’re laughing.

“Imaginary, huh? And tell me, baby, what’s this boy’s name?” He leans close and places his hand on the back of my head, pulling me against his chest. I lean into him and take a deep breath. Imaginary Jackson even smells the same.

“He’s not really a boy. He’s
all
man, if you know what I mean.” I slur the words and giggle.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Ohhh, you know, six or eight. I can’t remember.” I close my eyes and rest against his strong, hard chest. My mind is a beautiful place right now. “How did you know where I was?”

Ashton speaks first. “I think you’re cut off. Jackson is really here and you are gonna hate yourself tomorrow.”

Imaginary Jackson pulls us to the couch, where I sink into him further.

“Nuh uh,” I retort, drifting to sleep.

Next thing I know, strong hands are cupping my cheeks and lifting my face. My lashes flutter open and I’m staring into Jackson’s—or imaginary Jackson’s—gorgeous turquoise eyes. Damn he’s hot. I so want to break off a piece of that again. He continues to gaze with a fierce intensity—it almost sobers me. Fuck! He’s here!

And I’m drunk—really drunk.

His deep voice breaks through my alcohol fog. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” I say breathlessly.

“Hi! I’m going to bed in case anyone was curious,” Ashton yells, and we all start laughing. “Jackson, it was a pleasure meeting you. Hopefully I’ll see you in the morning.” She winks at me and starts to leave, giving me a thumbs up as she heads to her room.

Jackson scoops me into his arms effortlessly and places a quick kiss on my forehead. “Where’s your room?”

I point at what I hope is my door. “Ummm that one. I think.” He laughs as he opens the door to the bathroom. Oops.

The next door he opens is my bedroom. “Lucky door number two.” He walks over and gently places me on my bed. Crap! Jackson is here—in my room—and I’m not even sober to enjoy it. “I’m going to stay tonight. I’ll be a gentleman,” he whispers in my ear.

“Okay. But feel free not to be.” I laugh since I’ve become a giggly, drunken fool.

I watch as he undresses. At least I’m going to enjoy this! His gaze as he pulls his pants off stops my urge to laugh. Nope. Nothing funny about that.

“I like your room,” Jackson says, looking around.

“I like you naked,” I say, then slap my hand over my mouth.

“Are you sure? Maybe you like imaginary Jackson better.” His brow lifts and his dimple appears.

“I like
all
the Jacksons.” I fall against my pillow as the room spins. Ugh! Please don’t let me get sick.

“I’m glad. I was starting to wonder.” I feel the bed shift as he slides his arm under my head. “Sleep well.”

“Good night.” I nuzzle into his neck as I pass out, suddenly not feeling so sick after all.

I crack my eye open and slam it shut again—too bright! My head is pounding and my mouth feels like I have a million cotton balls in it. I roll over and my hand slaps on a warm, shirtless, rock-hard chest. What?

“That wasn’t very nice,” a deep, husky voice croaks.

I slowly open my eye and see Jackson’s wide grin. Ummm, why is he in my bed and when the hell did he get here? Well, I’m fully clothed so that’s good … I think. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Water. I need water. I look over at my nightstand and see two aspirins and a water bottle. I quickly sit up, groaning as I grab the side of my head.

“Not feeling so hot this morning, huh?” Jackson yells, or at least that’s what it sounds like in my head.

“Shhh. Too loud,” I whisper and reach for the medicine.

He leans over, swipes the pills, and places them in my hand. “I was whispering, babe. Here. Drink.”

Hopefully this medicine is fast acting, otherwise I’m going to be worthless all day. I lie back down and try to recall what happened last night. We drank. I remember that much. I remember going to the bathroom and eyes … I remember his eyes. I roll over and face Jackson, hoping he can fill me in. “So …”

“What? You like imaginary Jackson more?”

“I …” The puzzle pieces start to click. Imaginary Jackson! Please someone kill me. That would be a lot easier than the embarrassment I’m dealing with now. “Look, I drank a lot. Nothing I said—or did—can be held against me.”

He rolls and faces me, pushing the hair back off my face. “You were adorable and nothing happened last night—well, at least not what I was hoping for.” Jackson’s grin is wide as his eyes shift toward my breasts.

“Hey!” I quickly cut him off. “I didn’t mean that you did anything. I mean I vaguely remember a few things.” My hand makes its way to his chest and I trace the tribal sun. It’s so beautiful. The tattoo on my hip is more of a celestial sun, but his is huge and takes up his entire pec, completely covering where his heart is. My fingers roam the rays and he sighs, placing his hand over mine. “We both have suns,” I observe.

“The sun is constant,” Jackson states.

“I got mine on my eighteenth birthday.”

“What made you get the sun?” he asks.

I could very easily give him a girly answer like I usually do, but I want to share this with him. The sun has great significance to me, even if it also brings a fair amount of darkness. “When I was a child, my father used to sing ‘You are My Sunshine’ to me when I was sad. I always remembered that about him. I still sing it when I need to calm myself.” I sigh and look up with sad eyes. “It’s probably the only good memory I have of him, or at least one I remember. He would either sing it or whistle it if he was upset with my mother. I carried on that tradition, which basically means it’s my theme song.”

“Tell me about him,” Jackson says quietly and holds my hand steady against his chest.

“I don’t really have much to say.” I take a deep breath. “He left when I was nine, on my birthday, and I never saw him again. He walked away while I cried on the floor. Never looked back.”

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

“Well, yeah. I was a kid. I begged him, literally hanging onto his leg.” I pause, remembering how desperate I was for him not to walk away. Unfortunately, that was only the beginning of my heartache. “I would write letters and beg my mom to take me to him. But she didn’t know where he was. He disappeared. It was awful because before he left, he adored me. He told me every day how much he loved me and how special I was. Then he just …” Tears start to leak as I recall my childhood. “I cried a lot in the beginning. Then I would tell people he died because it was easier than explaining he didn’t love me.”

He smiles sadly and presses his lips to my forehead, giving me the strength to say more. I haven’t even touched the surface of the years of damage his absence caused.

“I never understood it. How do you love someone so much and then walk away?” I take a shaky breath and continue, “I wanted him to
want
me. Or explain why he deserted me. If he didn’t love my mother anymore, I could handle that, but to not love me anymore—I still don’t fully comprehend it. I don’t have kids, so I don’t understand a parent’s love. But I’ve seen my friends and there is nothing they wouldn’t do for their children. I thought a parent’s love was supposed to be unwavering.” I hate thinking about this but the floodgates have opened and they don’t want to close. Jackson lies here, staring at me with compassion as he holds my hand and gives it a small squeeze. I sigh before going on.

“There was a time I used to hope he would return and we could just go back to the way things were, but I realized it was never going to happen. I blamed myself for a long time. I thought I did something wrong to make him leave. If I was good enough, or if I didn’t cry all the time, maybe he wouldn’t have left.” Jackson’s calloused thumb catches one of my tears. I’ve never told anyone other than Ashton these things.

“I’m so sorry, Catherine. But you didn’t do anything wrong.
He
fucking decided how to handle it, not you.”

“I know I didn’t do anything wrong
now
, but he really fucked me up for a while.” And then it hits me out of nowhere. The reality comes crashing down around me, smothering me. “He’s really dead. He’s never coming back. I’ll never get any answers. Do you know what kind of crushing guilt I’ll carry forever because I never tried? I could’ve tried as an adult. Searched for him. But I didn’t. I gave up.”

Jackson’s arms encase me and he pulls me close as I start to cry in earnest. Tears fall like rain and the last week of emotions pummels me. My dad is gone. I’ll never get a chance to reconcile with him. There will never be a chance of him being a part of my life or my future children’s lives. He’ll never know who I am and I’ll never be able to let this go. I’ll have to carry around all the hurt and pain of an unloved child because he was too selfish to try. He broke me and I’ll never be fixed because he’s dead.

Jackson simply rubs my back and lets me unload years’ worth of unshed tears. After a few minutes, I lean back with red-rimmed eyes and he places a small kiss on my lips. He hasn’t said a word, but there’s pain in his eyes as he closes them. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, baby. I know more about guilt than you can ever imagine.”

I lean on his chest and place my hand on his cheek, gently stroking his face and enjoying the way his stubble feels against my skin. “What do you mean?” I ask timidly.

“I’ll talk about it at some point, but not today. You’ve had a lot to process,” he says as he rolls onto his back, taking me with him. I curl up on his chest.

“Will you tell me about your parents, then?”

He lets out a half laugh. “I’m afraid my story isn’t very interesting. My parents are pretty boring and still happily married. My dad is former Air Force, so he was gone a lot. Even when I was a kid he always emphasized that hard work is essential to any man and I should get used to it.

“My mom is your typical military wife. She was mother, father, friend, disciplinarian, and everything in between. She cooked, cleaned, made sure my sister, Reagan, and I didn’t kill each other, and then she’d replace the alternator in the car when it went out.”

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” I say, looking at him as his grin spreads across his face. I love watching those eyes crinkle when he’s truly happy.

“She really is. She could kick my ass and then turn around and bake cookies for my class. I feared my dad—but Mom, she was a force of nature. You know how mothers always say, ‘Just wait till your father comes home?’”

“Yeah. Ashton’s mother invented that phrase. We heard it a lot. We were kind of a handful. I’m sure you find that hard to believe.” My brow rises, waiting for him to challenge me.

“Not you!” He laughs and tickles my sides. I squirm before he continues on. “Anyway, my mom never said that. It was my dad who probably could’ve said it. She still scares the shit out of me.”

“They sound great.” I’m happy that he has such a wonderful family. No child should grow up without love. It’s obvious his parents have done an amazing job with him.

“Don’t get me wrong, there were times when my dad being away was rough. He missed a lot of birthdays, Christmases, and other holidays. My mom had to make sure Reagan and I didn’t notice or at least that it didn’t fuck up the whole day if we did. That’s the life of a military kid, though. Dad was a pilot, so even when he was home he was usually doing work-ups.”

“Wait. Your name is Jackson and your sister’s name is Reagan?”

“Yes, why?” He looks confused at where I’m going with this.

“I’m noticing the dead president theme going on with your family, that’s all. Am I missing something?”

“Out of everything we just talked about, that’s what you want to ask me about?”

“If my name was Thelma and I had a sister Louise, you would think it was funny too!” I laugh and shrink back.

He grabs me and flips me on my back, hovering over me. I love the playfulness dancing in his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

Batting my eyelashes and tilting my head to the side, trying to feign innocence, I smile. “Who, me? Never.”

With a warm smile playing across his lips, he leans down and gives me a long closed-mouthed kiss as he grips my leg and wraps it around his waist. Enjoying where this seems to be heading, I push up into the kiss. Jackson rolls me so I’m on top of him. The alcohol fog has completely dissipated as the kiss deepens. Our tongues volley back and forth—I couldn’t care less about my head throbbing or anything else. Right when things are about to get better, he stops and slaps my ass, hard.

“Owww!” I laugh, rubbing my butt, and he rolls off to the side, matching my laughter. “Jerkface.”