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14
Jackson
“I suppose you know the whole story now,” I growl, as I start the truck and pull away, leaving Mr. Shilliday on the sidewalk.
I can’t look at her. I don’t want to see any more of the pity that I already noticed in her eyes when she left Sylvie and crossed the street to me.
I hadn’t seen Claire approach. If I had, I would have moved quicker. As I was still talking to Mr. Shilliday, she had come up from behind me. It was Mr. Shilliday’s face that warned me first. Looking past me, his expression quickly changed from jovial to perturbed. It was only when I turned around to see what had caused it, that I regretted wanting to know.
“I’m so sorry, Jackson,” Bree says in the quietest voice I have ever heard her speak.
“I don’t need your pity,” I spit.
“And you won’t get it,” Bree replies, her tone still neutral. “I’m just sorry that you had to see her. I know you were trying to avoid it.”
“Oh, Sylvie told you that too, did she?” I snarl.
Bree doesn’t reply to that. Maybe she doesn’t know what to say, or more than likely, my aggressive tone is making her uneasy. If I were in her shoes, I’d probably stay silent too. That way, I wouldn’t piss me off more than I already am.
What am I doing?
It’s not Bree’s fault. I’m taking the anger I feel toward Claire out on a completely innocent bystander. Maybe I’m even more angry that Bree was there and saw the situation unfold. I knew I was going to bump into Claire sooner or later. I just wish Bree hadn’t been there to see it. She’s about the only person in this damn town who doesn’t know the story.
Not anymore.
No, of course not.Seeing Bree talking with Sylvie, I know for a fact, Bree now knows just about everything. It’s frustrating. My life is not an open book for everyone to read!
The angrier I get, the harder I press my foot on the gas. We’re now flying down the dusty main road as we head back to the house.
Had I not suffered enough when I was still living here? Do I have to go through all this crap again?
The speed climbs steadily, and in my peripheral vision, I can see Bree taking a hold of the passenger handle above the door. If she wasn’t in the truck, I’d be going even faster, just to get this anger out of my system.
“Jackson,” Bree says. Her voice is unsteady and I can hear the fear.
I press harder on the gas.
“Jackson,” she cries.
My mind is a confused mess of anger, regret, humiliation, and shame. I moved back to the city for a new start, to get away from the wagging tongues, and the pitying looks, and the—
“Jackson!” Bree now screams.
I lift my foot off the gas and slam hard on the brakes. We’re both thrown forward in our seats. As the truck skids across the road, I grip the wheel as tightly as I can, trying to control the drift. It seems to go on forever, but eventually, the truck comes to an aggressive stop, throwing us back against our seats.
Plumes of dust swirl about the truck. The engine is still running, and we’re positioned across both lanes at an angle. For a minute, I just sit there with my hands still gripping the wheel. I’m breathing heavily. My heart is thumping in my chest. The adrenaline mixes with the anger and rage and humiliation.
And then, I feel a soft touch. I hardly notice that Bree has scooched over to sit closer to me. Her hand sits on top of mine. It looks so tiny in comparison. Her fingers fold around my white knuckles and hold me firmly, but her grip is not tight.
“Breathe,” she says gently.
For a second, I feel foolish. But then she says it again. “Breathe, Jackson.”
I inhale a lungful of air and hold it in for a few seconds, before blowing out it all out. I can feel the tension loosening its grip. I repeat the process a few more times, until I feel relaxed.
We sit there in silence for some time. I don’t know for how long, but I don’t really care. I’m too busy staring into nothingness as my mind races through all the torment I’ve chosen to repress these last three or so years. Bree does not let go of my hand, even though she cannot possibly know that her gentle touch and the heat of her palm is providing me the comfort I need.
Eventually, I heave a sigh and move my free hand to the ignition key to turn the engine off. When I bring it back to the steering wheel, I rest it on top of hers and finally turn and look at her. She softly gazes at me.
