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“Creed, how is that going to teach her any—”
He pulled Momma into a kiss, making me giggle. That was Daddy’s go-to move when he was in trouble, cuz Momma loved his kisses like she loved mine.
“Reel it in, babe. Ya feel me?” he said, grinning.
Momma whispered something in his ear that made him laugh before smacking him on the chest, but Daddy didn’t move at all.
He never did.
Cuz he was the boss.
One day I was gonna marry a man just like my daddy, cuz he was the best man of them all.
Little did I know…
How true that was.
3
JACKSON
Then: Seven years old
“Jackson Pierce, do you have your letter for Harley?” Mom asked in the same tone she’d been using all weekend.
The one that meant I was still in a buttload of trouble because of none other than Gremlin face, Harley Jameson. She looked just like a Gremlin, and not the cute one, Gizmo. The ugly messed up one, Stripe. Her lips were too big for her face and so were her huge blue eyes. She acted like him too. Always so violent, making snarling noises when she was angry, thinking she was the boss of me. She wasn’t the leader.
Ever.
I was.
Always.
I tried ignoring the disappointed look on my mom’s face as she stared at me through the rearview mirror in our SUV. I hated that look, it made my insides hurt, but not even her upset expression stopped me from fighting with dumbass Harley.
I couldn’t tell you how or when our hatred for each other started. It seemed like it was always there from what everyone had told us. There was something about her stupid face and loud mouth that just got to me.
All. The. Time.
There was no controlling the effect she always had on me.
I. Hated. Her.
More than I hated the vegetables my mom was always trying to make me eat. I never did. I just pretended and when she wasn’t looking, I’d spit them in my napkin and save them for later to use on the nut-kicker.
There was nothing better in all the world than to hold her down and stuff them into her mouth.
“Jackson! Get off me!” she shouted the last time this happened.
“Fat chance, baby girl.”
She hated being called that by anyone other than her daddy.
“I’m not a baby girl!”
I grabbed her hand and used it to slap her own face around. “Harley, stop hitting yourself.”
“Oh my God! Just wait—”
