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Chapter Sixteen
Lena
Jackson didn’t get up. He didn’t walk out. He didn’t yell at me and tell me I was stupid. He sat at the other end of the sofa, allowing my feet to stay warm against his thigh. I wondered if he realized that.
His body stiffened a little when I said “my husband,” but other than that and a slight twitch in his jaw, he made no other movement. I wanted to tell him. I needed to tell somebody. So far, Jackson had done nothing to make me believe I couldn’t trust him.
Except I’d trusted Troy at one time, too. Was Jackson the right person? Would he turn me into the cops if I told him the rest of my secret? That was a chance I decided I needed to take, only because I did trust him.
When Jackson didn’t say anything, I thought he might be getting ready to leave after all. I could have been mistaken about his reaction. His silence made all sorts of things run through my mind, and I was suddenly sorry I’d told him who it was. But then Jackson did something. He stroked his thumb and finger along the edge of his jaw and glanced at me, giving me a brief but caring smile, still not saying anything, but the movement and the smile encouraged me to go on.
I moved my legs off the sofa and sat up straight, needing to be in a less vulnerable position. “Jackson?”
“Yes?”
“I think I killed him.”
The twitch in his jaw became more substantial as his body flinched again. Then he stood, walked to the window, and stared out. Neither of us said anything for what felt like a full two minutes when Jackson finally spoke.
“How?” he whispered, keeping his eyes outside. I wondered if he was watching the baby birds or thinking about what I’d said.
“I stabbed him in the stomach.”
He turned and gave me a shocked look. “During his attack?” I wanted to crawl under the rug and hide from his sight. This was all too demoralizing. I am a murderer, and now Jackson surely must think the worst of me.
“Yes,” I said and left it at that. I couldn’t go on with the rest of the horrible story.
Jackson nodded, came back to the couch, and sat beside me, his hands in his lap. “That must have been very scary.” A grim, contemplating frown marred his features, and he stared straight ahead. I thought he would be horrified, but Jackson seemed to possess a quality that made me feel almost okay about what I’d done.
“Would you like to tell me about it? I mean, it might help to talk about it.”
I closed my eyes, remembering how it all happened. I was about to tell him everything, and I wanted to make sure I had all the facts straight.
For the first time in a very long time, I really did feel safe. I thought about the horrible man Troy had become, not the man I married. I thought about the difference between him and Jackson or even Doc, and I knew I’d made a good decision to run. Jackson sat close to me but not close enough to touch me or make me feel uncomfortable.
“He came home drunk,” I began. “He started beating on me because he couldn’t ... you know,” I made an up and down gesture with my hands, a little embarrassed to say the words, but finally managed a barely audible, “Get it up.”
Jackson gave me a short smile but quickly became serious again, so I continued. “After he’d punched me, thrown me against the wall, and kicked me a few times in the side, he stopped. I’m sure it was more of a pause in the punishment, which is what he called it because I knew he’d be back to complete the job. He left me on the floor in the bedroom, and when he went to the toilet, I somehow managed to get up and drag myself downstairs to the kitchen. I grabbed a small steak knife out of the drawer. God, if he knew I had that knife in my hand—”
Tears stung my eyes as I wiped at them with the heel of my hand and continued. “He told me he was sorry and stood real close to me. I remember my fingers sweating around the knife, and I was afraid I would drop it. I was so scared. He put his hands on my shoulders, then moved them to my neck, and started choking me. I couldn’t breathe, Jackson. I couldn’t get any air in. I didn’t know what else to do, so I stabbed him.”
Jackson’s arms were around me, rubbing my arm, my back. “I’m so sorry, Lena.” That was all Jackson said for the longest time while I sobbed against his chest. When I picked my head up, he tilted up my chin and said, “That must have been very hard to do. I’m glad you were so brave.”
Brave? He was calling me brave after I told him I’d killed Troy. “How does murder equate to bravery?” I managed to ask.
“That wasn’t murder. That was self-defense. Are you sure he is dead?”
“Yes … no. I think so.”
“Well, given the state you were in when you walked into my bar and the way you were dressed, I can only assume that you left there quickly. Did you check to see if he was actually dead? Check for a pulse?”
“I was afraid to touch him, in case he wasn’t. I didn’t want him to grab me.”
“Okay. I can understand that. Did you call the police?”
“I couldn’t call the cops. He’d made sure of that.”
“And how would that be?” His voice still sounded soft, still steady, and I took comfort in it. It gave me the courage to go on with the tale.
