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My mouth hung open but I couldn’t deny what he said. I’d only told him part of it but that was enough.
“What about you?” I asked. “What were your parents like?”
I’d never heard Jackson talk about his family, except for his brother.
He shrugged. “We had a pretty rough home life,” he said.
“In what way?”
“Dad worked long hours and drank a lot. He wasn’t home much and, when he was, he was usually in a bad mood. Mum never wanted us kids underfoot. She was always telling us ‘don’t disturb your father’ and throwing us out of the house. I think she just wanted peace and quiet for herself. We never got along. Then, when I started playing guitar, things went from bad to worse. I was over at—a friend’s place most of the time.”
I noticed he didn’t mention his friend’s name. He’d caught himself as though saying the name would hurt him. Obviously, one of his bandmates. They’d all started playing together when they were about 14 years old but, since Jackson’s accident, there was a lot of bad feeling. That’s as much as I knew.
“Should we go out to get dinner?” I wanted to change the subject, not wanting Jackson to get into one of his black moods.
“In a while,” he said, pulling me onto the bed beside him. He inched up my tank top and kissed my belly.
Later sounded good to me.
Chapter 27 Jackson
IT STARTED OFF AS A usual day in the bar when he came in. Fred. Last time I’d managed to spot him first and get out of the place but this time, he slipped into the seat beside me without me noticing.
I was too wrapped up in myself, thinking of Gina’s eyes shining when she’d been watching the band and the way she twirled her hair. Mostly, I’d been thinking about that hungry look she got, just before we got naked.
She’d held good on her promise to help me shower, and I’d never showered so often in my entire life.
“Hi, Jackson.”
Shit, that’s when I noticed him.
If I didn’t acknowledge him, he might go away. Fat chance but you never know. Even if I didn’t turn my head, I was aware of the stringy length of him beside me. His legs curled around the barstool, always too long and gangly for him to deal with. The way he hunched over. After all the years, I knew what he’d be doing without looking. Sometimes, I knew before he did. I had nothing to say to him. Everything had been said, a million times.
“Jackson, there’s no need for this. We were friends once. We should talk.”
I turned slowly, not wanting to look at him. Not wanting the blinding pain of memories rushing back. I’d worked too hard to bury them. If he was here to see me, it wouldn’t be f
or any good reason.
“What do you want?”
It had to be self-interest for him to be here talking like that. He had no wish to rekindle old friendships any more than I did. He only had his own interests. He’d been a selfish bastard all along and I’d been too blind to see it for years.
“We need your help with something.”
“I’ve nothing to give.”
“You’ve got your name, your signature. That’s all we need.”
He’d cleaned himself up a bit. He didn’t have that starved junkie look he’d started to develop. Either he’d gotten off the junk or he hid it better now. He wore long sleeves though, to cover the marks. That habit had scarred him for life but I had scars too and my hand still in a splint.
“You still haven’t forgiven me?” he asked.
“There’s nothing to forgive, right, mate? You were well within your rights to act like you did. I was the one in the wrong. That’s been well established now. Case closed.”
I wondered if Carlie had anything stronger than this whiskey behind the bar. She hovered nearby as though, at any moment, she’d need to jump the bar and sort things out. She wasn’t wrong in that assessment either. I could handle it myself though. I didn’t need anyone else to fight my battles. He’d soon get the message and leave.
“That’s right, it’s in the past.”
