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“So youpunchedhim?”
“I told him to leave them alone. It's not my fault he didn't listen.”
I blink at him. In the backseat, Ma blinks at him too. We make eye contact in the rearview mirror and for a brief moment, we simply hold each other's incredulous gazes before Ma bursts into laughter. Practically doubled over, she claps Jackson on the shoulders and gives him a shake. “Oh my God, I would've paid to see that.”
Me, I have a different reaction. Some part of me is laughing. Some part of me thought those exact words.
But most of me is thinking, feeling, doing just one thing.
Jackson frowns at me as I get out of the car. He keeps frowning through the windshield as I round the hood of his car, and then through the driver’s side window as I pull open the door. He stops, though, when I lean in and wrap myself around him as best I can. “I love you so much right now.”
“Yeah,” Ma agrees, shooting me a careful but wry grin. “What she said.”
* * *
Jackson must be able to tell that I don't want to go home because after we drop Ma at her hotel, he starts towards his place without a word of discussion.
Grateful for the change of location as I am, it makes me a little uneasy. I haven't been there since we got back together, the couch incident notwithstanding. I’m not in the headspace for the guys or the girls or the questions; I just want to go to bed.
And again, I question Jackson’s mind-reading abilities because when we pull up outside the house and I take a second too long to get out, he regards me with a soft, knowing smile. The hand gripping my thigh moves to undo my seat belt before snatching up my handbag. “No one's home.”
Relieving information, yes, but I still exit the car with some hesitance. “I don't have my stuff.”
More than I want a bed, I want a shower. I want to cleanse myself of this fucking day. I want to use my silly overpriced shower gels and lather my hair in a mask and brush out all the knots that have surely formed from countless times raking my hands through my hair in frustration.
A warm hand settles on my lower back and urges me up the driveway. “You have stuff here.”
Just for a single step, I falter. “I do?”
“I didn’t throw anything out.”
Why, oh why, does such a simple thing as him not throwing out a few ragtag bottles of toiletries cause such an ache in my chest?
Sniffing quietly, I hug his arm to my chest and follow him inside, not letting go until we're in his room and he has to physically shake me off with a chuckle. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of the shower turning on has my skin prickling in anticipation.
The cold bites at me as I strip off, leaving everything in a pile on the floor but the steam already filling the bathroom warms me quickly, hot water presumably cranked up to the max, just how I like it.
Crouched in front of the sink, Jackson rifles through the cabinet underneath. He hums a satisfied noise when he finds whatever he was looking for, rising with his haul and setting it down with a flourish. “Think that’s everything.”
A myriad of junk messies the counter.Myjunk, all the little knick-knacks I left here on the off-chance I craved a very specific fragrance of body butter or the hair ties always littering the bottom of my handbag suddenly disappeared or if I stayed over longer than intended—which I always did—and needed contact solution and my spare bottle of medication. “You kept this shit?”
Lips graze my bare shoulder. “I kept all your shit.”
“Why?”
“For when you came back and started using it all again.”
Don't cry. Do not cry.
Hands land on my hips and guide me into the shower. It feels like all the energy literally leaves my body as the hot spray hits me. I would probably crumple to the floor if an arm wasn't banded around my waist, holding me upright. Fingers begin combing through my hair and I lean into the movements, yet another sigh escaping me. Jackson brushes my hair to one side, kissing the bare skin revealed. “Tired?”
“Exhausted.”
Gentle kisses move to my jaw. “You wanna talk about what happened?”
“Not even a little bit.”
Jackson chuckles against my skin, and I can’t help but turn my head to capture the noise. He kisses me back way too gently for my liking. I wriggle in his grip until I'm facing him, linking my hands behind his head, nipping at his bottom lip, trying to encourage him, but he maintains his annoyingly slow pace, countering my frustrated groan with a laugh.
