Death Blow (10 page)

One afternoon, Lila and Jackson were sitting on the back
patio at the Morans’ when her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID:
Dad
.

“Uh,” she said out loud, starting forward in her chair. Her
father had maybe never called, not that she could remember. He’d sometimes sent
texts for money or a ride or something, but that was the extent of their
communication, both on the phone and in life, more or less. So to see his name
on the screen was surreal for Lila. Jackson took a sip of his beer and watched
her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“My dad’s calling me?” She looked to Jackson. He furrowed
his brow.

They’d talked a lot about her parents, especially her dad,
over the last few times they’d hung out. Lila had never had a friend before,
but opening up to Jackson had been so easy. He knew, when she was revealing
stuff to him, that she mostly just wanted someone to listen to her, not give
her advice, and Jackson was a great listener. Lila could see why a girl like
Tiffany would fall for him, and fall hard. Not that Lila harbored any
attraction for Jackson—ever since the amazing oral sex she’d had with Barrett a
week ago, he might as well have been the only man to exist on the planet to
Lila, despite not seeing or hearing from him—but she knew that Jackson was a
catch and a half.

But now, something was happening in the present, not a story
she could tell him or a painful secret she could reveal. This was really
happening right now.

“Don’t answer,” Jackson said definitively.

“No?” Lila asked, still staring at the vibrating phone.

“No. If it’s an emergency, he’ll call back immediately. Or
leave you a voicemail—that’d be better, then you could decide if it’s worth
your time or just another bullshit stunt.” He’d done it again, said exactly
what she needed him to say at exactly the moment she needed it said.

“You’re right,” Lila said, unnecessarily. She silenced the
vibrate and laid her phone back down. “I can’t imagine what he wants,” she
trailed off.

“Don’t worry about it unless he leaves you a voicemail or
calls you back. Then we’ll worry.” Lila sipped her beer and sat back.

“Do you talk to your parents?” she asked, wanting to
distract herself from staring at the phone.

“Not really,” Jackson sighed. “They’re fun sometimes,
they’ve given me everything I could hope for, but I wouldn’t say we’re close.”
He uncharacteristically avoided eye contact with Lila in favor of inspecting
his beer bottle.

The call from her father ended and now she was just waiting
to see what he did next. “Would you say they were good parents?” she probed.

Jackson sighed again, hand up to his hair, and looked at the
afternoon sky this time. “Well, if you’d asked me that a couple months ago, I
would’ve said yeah. After all, they’re the only parents I’ve known. But,” he
paused, taking a sip, “Tiffany’s really opened my eyes up to a lot here, and I
won’t say I didn’t know it before, but I will say I didn’t want to think it
before.”

Definitely no voicemail, unless her dad was leaving her an
incredibly long one. She breathed a sigh of relief. “What’d she open your eyes
to?”

“There’s something…” he gruffly shifted positions in his
chair. “There’s something cold about them. I can’t quite figure out where it
comes from.” Lila thought she understood what Jackson was saying, but she’d
knew that he needed to spell things out for himself, so she let him keep
talking. “Like, maybe they just weren’t ever meant to be parents, or didn’t
really want to be? But sometimes, the way they treat me—the way they’ve always
treated me—I feel like a business opportunity to them. Like a machine.” Lila
wished she could offer up a disagreement—but she’d picked up on that coldness a
little, too. “I don’t know, I guess it’s possible a lot of people don’t feel
like kids to their parents but…”

Lila’s breath caught in her throat and tears welled up in
her eyes. She’d never verbalized it to anyone, but that was exactly how she
felt about her dad, too. Jackson caught the shift in her energy and turned to
look at her. “Agh, sorry,” he groaned, “I’m such a dick, sitting here talking
about that when my parents are way more parents than your dad’s been for
awhile.” Lila nodded, sliding a finger under her eye to catch a tear that was
just about to fall, but she still smiled at him.

“Goddamnit, Jackson,” she said quietly, still smiling. “How
do you know exactly what I’m thinking?”

He grinned at her. “What, about me being a dickhead or the
parents thing?”

She laughed out loud. “Both.” She wacked him in the arm
lightly.

“So no voicemail, and no call back,” Jackson said, catching
sight of her phone again.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Lila still didn’t feel settled about
it though.

“Told you, probably nothing.”

“Hopefully.” She absentmindedly traced the mouth of her beer
bottle with a finger. Then, as if it knew it was in the spotlight, her phone
buzzed once: a text message. Lila grabbed it and looked at the lock screen.
Unknown number, but the text was:

-What do u like 2 do 4 fun? BW

Her body flushed at the intials. BW could only be one
person, but she had no idea how he’d gotten her number. Jackson, of course,
noticed.

“Who texted you?” he asked suspiciously. Barrett was the one
thing Lila’d been a little unwilling to talk to Jackson about, or anyone,
really. She knew that everyone hated him—Lucy had given her so much shit that
night, she didn’t want anyone else finding out yet, but she figured they all
would anyway.

“Uh,” Lila fumbled, “it’s, um—“

“Fuck,” Jackson said. “One of the girls must have given him
your number.” He rolled his eyes more for show than anything else, and threw
back the rest of his beer. “I’m going to go get another round of these while
you deal with the devil over there.” He pushed himself up and out of the patio
chair, and padded inside.

Lila tried to calm herself as she typed out a response.

-How’d u get my #?

The bubbles popped up, both in the text box and in Lila’s
stomach.

-Ask questions? Is that what u like 2 do? Raechelle.

Raechelle! What a sneak. She retorted:

-What do I like 2 do? Hmm. I like 2 go 2 bed early after
a match.

-Here, I’ll go 1
^st
: I like 2 ride my
motorcycle & shoot guns.

-Ur redneck’s showing.

-Probably still chafed from ur legs wrapped around it.

Lila’s jaw dropped open in a surprised smile. He was so
quick, so antagonistic. She really liked it. She had fun jousting with him. She
hadn’t even started typing when his bubbles popped up again.

-I would like u 2 ride my motorcycle & shoot guns w/
me.

Lila started.

-When?

Bubbles.

-How about now?

At that moment, Jackson walked back outside with 2 beers in
hand. He looked up and caught the expression on her face, and shook his head.

“Oh no. What?” Lila covered her smile with a hand, looking
up at Jackson sheepishly. “Oh my god,” he half-laughed, half-scoffed, sitting
back down. “What, are you meeting up with him right now?” Lila put her fingertips
to her teeth, feigning embarrassment.

“Will you hate me if I go?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jackson replied curtly, sitting down. But there was a
glint in his eye, so Lila knew he was kidding.

“Come on, don’t hate me!” She pouted at him.

“I won’t hate you. I’ll just think you’re an idiot for going
around with a guy like that.” He cracked one of the beers open, not breaking
his harsh façade just yet.

“Going around with a guy like that? What is this, the
fifties?” Lila snorted.

“Tiffany and I are going steady, Lila,” Jackson put on a
fake, nasal voice. “I gave her my letterman’s jacket. You should date a nice
boy like me.” He sniffled and pretended to push up a pair of glasses.

“So I’m, like, Rizzo in Grease in this scenario, right? I
did always like her short hair in the movie.” Jackson finally cracked, laughing
at her joke and shaking his head as he took his first sip of the new beer.

“I guess you won’t need this, then?” he motioned to the
other bottle.

“I haven’t set anything up yet, so gimme.” Jackson opened it
for her and handed it across.

-I could do now, that’ll get me home b4 curfew.

-Where r u?

She looked up at Jackson. “Is it okay if he comes to get me
here?” Jackson pretended to spit his beer back into the bottle.

“Lila! No! Don’t you know that if you invite them in,
vampires can enter whenever they want?” She wacked him again and he knocked her
hand away. “If Prince Warde will deign to come pick you up here, that’s fine.”

“He knows where it is?” she asked. Anticipation was growing
within her.

“Mmmhm,” Jackson nodded into his beer.

-The Morans’.

Bubbles. Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles.

-Pick you up in 15
.

She set her phone down, taking a big swig of her beer.

“He coming to get you?” Jackson asked, a begrudging tone to
his voice.

“Yep, 15.” Lila sat back and pulled her knees to her chest.
She hadn’t really been prepared to see Barrett today, but she’d been so excited
to hear from him that it hadn’t crossed her mind until now. She looked okay—she
had on tight black pants and a new, grey crop top Georgia had wrangled her into
buying.

“Girl, if my fucking stomach looked like that,” Georgia’d
said about her abs, “I would never put a shirt on. I’d only wear bandeaus.”

Her hair was messy, but whatever. That was kind of sexy,
right? She ran a hand through it before deciding to put it up into another
high, messy bun.

“Oh god, don’t sit here and primp yourself,” Jackson whined
from his seat.

“Sorry! Sorry.” She laughed, grabbing for her beer again.

“I’m sort of kidding,” he admitted.

“Do you really not like Barrett?” she asked, watching him.

“I really don’t. I think he’s an asshole, I think he’s a
limited fighter with one move that’s honestly too dangerous if you’re not
looking to kill someone, and I think he’s a player who treats women like shit.”
He paused, but Lila knew he wasn’t finished. “But, I know what it’s like to
have other people tell you they don’t like someone you like. And, most
importantly—I don’t think you’ll let him treat you that way.” Lila grinned at
him, reaching over to clink her bottle to his. “And I’m interested to see what
he does with a woman who won’t let him treat her that way.”

“For someone’s whose parents don’t love him, you’re sure
understanding,” Lila teased. It was Jackson’s turn to wack her now, and he did,
and hard. “Ow!” she cried out, rubbing her arm. “You’re a fucking trained
fighter, you can’t hit me! You don’t know your own strength!”

“You better not waste that beer just because lumphead’s on
his way to get you.”

“And what does that mean?” Lila asked, eyeing him.

“It means—chug! Chug! Chug!” Jackson chanted at her as she
complied, tipping the bottle back and flushing the amber liquid down the hatch.
“At’a girl,” he commended her.

At that moment, they both heard the roar of a motorcycle
approaching. Lila flattened herself against her chair for a moment, suddenly
nervous about seeing him again. What if he took her out to the middle of
nowhere, fucked her, and left her there again for some bullshit excuse like he
needed to go to bed early? Or, worse, what if he didn’t try to fuck her? Lila pushed
the thoughts out of her mind.

“Okay, up and at ‘em,” Jackson called her back out of her
head. “Grab your shit and leave with your rebel boyfriend, you dirty, dirty
slut!”

“Ha ha ha,” she deadpanned. “Very funny.” But she did jump
up and grab her shoes—worn-in black leather boots, thankfully, perfect for a
motorcycle ride—and put them on. She put her arms through her lightweight black
cardigan. “You’re just mad that Tiffany had family plans this afternoon and
isn’t here to hang out with you.” Jackson pointed a finger at her, like
you
watch yourself
, and then gave her a wink and a smile.

“Tell Barrett I said I’d come say hello, but I couldn’t be
bothered.” She grabbed her purse and slung it across her body.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll tell him that,” she said as she
walked back inside.

“No! Do!” Jackson shouted from the back. “He really will
like it!”

Lila grabbed a quick glance at herself in the hallway
mirror, the rumble of the motorcycle pulsing through her feet as it pulled into
the driveway.
Here goes nothing
, she thought, and blew out the front
door. The valet was on his way to approaching Barrett, but Lila held up a hand
to stop him.

“Don’t worry, he’s just picking me up.”

“All right, Ms. Collins. Leaving your car here?”

“For the time being, yeah—actually, is that okay?” She
hadn’t even thought to ask.

“That’ll be fine, plenty of room in the garage,” he said.
Lila thanked him and turned to the driveway.

Barrett sat, looking as amazing as ever, on a jet black
Harley Davidson, polished to a pristine gleam, his helmet resting comfortably
against his thigh. He had on blue jeans, motorcycle boots, and a well-fitted
leather jacket despite the heat. Lila hadn’t thought he could look any better
than he did with next to nothing on, but then again, she’d never seen him in
clothes. He made them look good. He grinned at her from behind a pair of
classic aviators.

“Jackson not coming out to say hello? Cassandra? Lyle?
Where’s the fam at?” He sneered just a little bit. Lila walked towards him,
licking her lips subconsciously as the memory of their bathroom stall adventure
came rushing back to her.

“He said to tell you the help could enter through the back.”
She’d made it to the side of the motorcycle, and whether it was the heat of the
engine, or the heat of being near Barrett, something  made her instantly warm.