Jackson's Girl: Being His Duology Read online

  Jackson’s Girl

  Being His Duology

  Charlie R. Love

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  JACKSON’S GIRL

  Copyright © 2020 by Charlie R. Love

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Present: Jackson

  2. Ten Years Ago: Emily

  3. Past: Emily

  4. Past: Emily

  5. Past: Emily

  6. Past: Emily

  7. Present: Jackson

  8. Past: Emily

  9. Past: Emily

  10. Past: Emily

  11. Past: Emily

  12. Past: Emily

  13. Past: Emily

  14. Past: Emily

  15. Present: Jackson

  16. Past: Emily

  17. Past: Emily

  18. Past: Emily

  19. Past: Emily

  20. Past: Emily

  21. Past: Emily

  22. Past: Emily

  23. Past: Emily

  24. Past: Emily

  25. Past: Emily

  26. Past: Emily

  27. Past: Emily

  28. Past: Emily

  29. Past: Emily

  30. Present: Jackson

  31. Past: Emily

  32. Past: Emily

  33. Past: Emily

  34. Past: Emily

  35. Past: Emily

  36. Past: Emily

  37. Past: Emily

  38. Present: Jackson

  39. Past: Emily

  40. Past: Emily

  41. Past: Emily

  42. Past: Emily

  43. Present: Jackson

  44. Past: Emily

  About the Author

  Prologue

  He stared down at her beautiful face, the worried frown that had always accompanied her was relaxed in a peaceful sleep. The peace, he knew, had eluded her for a very long time.

  Her mouth was slacked, her brown eyes closed. Soulful brown eyes.

  That was what he had always referred to them as. She was just too nice, too sweet, too innocent to be anything else but soulful.

  She held the world in them.

  And she held him captive.

  ‘Are you going to love me forever?’ she had asked him.

  ‘Just until I die,’ he responded. He couldn’t account for anything after, because he didn’t believe there to be anything after. Once he died, that would be all. A result of his strict upbringings, perhaps. Or maybe he couldn’t fathom how a God as good as they all say could allow the world to be riddled in evil.

  There was no God.

  Yet, he found himself on his knees. Staring down at only women he loved, he began to pray to a that very God. He asked for forgiveness. He asked for penance. He certainly hadn’t lived a moral life. But he had done about everything he was capable of for her. He tried to be good for her. Maybe it wasn’t enough.

  A loud cry made its way up his throat, startling him. He looked around in frantic, before finally succumbing to the utter despair swallowing him whole. Then he laid his head down on the soft mattress, and he broke down.

  “Why wasn’t I enough?” he whispered.

  1

  Present: Jackson

  Jackson Wright had never been a man of many words.

  He wasn’t shy, exactly. No, the man standing at six foot four inches was one who oozed confidence and sex appeal. He always knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it. He was intelligent, dangerously so. His smile was sharp, the edges cutting like knives. With the rarest form of amber eyes and chestnut hair, he was as beautiful as he was lethal.

  Walking into the courtroom, people would often stop what they were doing just for a glimpse of him. Because of the almost ethereal beauty he possessed, to his wicked, sharp tongue, most couldn’t help but be charmed by him. And that man was currently driving his sleek black Jaguar, going ninety on a fifty-mile zone, tears streaming down his face.

  There was something about seeing such a powerful man looked so… human.

  It made the rest of the world seemed that much more vulnerable.

  When the tears became too much, when he could no longer see the empty road in front, he pulled the car off to the side, putting it in park before curling in himself and letting out a painful cry, his hands covering his face—as if he couldn’t stand for anyone to see.

  He blindly reached over to the passenger seat, until his fingers came in contact with a rather large leather bound journal. The edges were worn down from overuse, the shape and size a comfort to him.

  He wasn’t sure how many times he had reached for the journal in the past week, only he was intimately familiar with every crease and tear, to the tattered string holding everything in place, its secrets something he wasn’t sure he wanted to explore.

  He supposed it would help to open it and read the contents.

  But he was scared.

  He wasn’t a man who scare easy, but holding onto that journal, his hands trembled in fear, and his whole entire body seemed to hollow out, threatening to cave in on itself.

  He didn’t know what kind of secrets those pages contained, as he was sure there were many, and he didn’t want to see his failures written down in words.

  But he was going to read it. He had to. It was the only thing he had left, the only thing keeping him tethering to the world.

  Blinking quickly, hoping that would keep the tears from spilling over, he turned off the engine. It was late summer, but the air was cooler in the night sky, causing a slight shiver to run through his body.

  He was in the middle of nowhere, and in the time he had been driving, he hadn’t seen a single car drive pass.

  He was absolutely and utterly alone.

  With trembling hands—rather from the cold or nerves, he wasn’t sure—he opened the journal to the very first page.

  The journal told of a story that took place a decade ago, the pages causing something like a sharp pinch to appear in his heavy heart.

  He traced a finger across the familiar handwriting. It was feminine and soft in a way, juvenile in others, messy and all over the place, but mostly it was endearing as it was painful.

  He read the first line. Then he blinked slowly as if getting out of a haze.

  He read it again.

  And he lost it.

  His head hit against the steering wheel, his hands tightened around the journal, crinkling it. The words formed in his head. He thought about that first line over and over again, the memories he had of them flashing through his mind, playing like a movie.

  Opening his eyes, he lifted his head and read the first line again.

  By the time you read this, I will already be gone.

  A little over ten years in the making, his life played out before him, the most distinct was the first time he spoke to his wife.

  2

  Ten Years Ago: Emily

  My stomach grumbled and I laid my hand over it, hoping no one had noticed. Blood rushed to my cheeks, making them a deeper, darker shade of pink that probably looked feverish, I was sure.

  I hadn’t eaten anything since dinner last night—a very small dinner at that—and my stomach was letting me know in the most embarrassing way possible.

  With my eyes up front, I stared at Mrs. Caffrey as she droned on and on about the Roman Empire. I should probably be taking notes. I was sure everything she wa
s lecturing about was going to be on the test Friday. But I couldn’t bring myself to focus enough. Everything she said went in from one ear and out the other.

  A flash of movement three rows ahead caught my attention and I turned to it, my eyes meeting Grant’s in front. I raised an eyebrow, and he made a gesture with his hands and face to show his boredom. A small smile curled up on my lips, and I shot him a look to let him know I was right there with him.

  Then Mrs. Caffrey coughed, and Grant quickly turned back around as I moved my attention upfront once again. She was looking at me, clearly unamused, but I worked hard to keep my expression neutral and stared past her to the whiteboard.

  After a long and uncomfortable silence, she turned away and went back to her textbook, reading a paragraph about the Colosseum.

  Mrs. Caffrey was an odd looking women. Somewhere in her late forties, she had taught at the same high school since she graduated from college many years back. She had big brown eyes that would have been stunning had her hook nose didn’t take so much from her face. Her lips were of a deep natural red, the bottom rim thick and always jutting out, making her look as if she was perpetually pouting.

  Her hair was tied up into a tight bun, and she always wore at least one article of clothing that was black. And no matter how many different ways she taught history, she couldn’t get me interested enough to try harder than was necessary to pass her class.

  I stared at the clock hanging above the door, counting down to the minute class would end, and lunch would start. My stomach growled again, and I wasn’t so lucky when it garnered the attention of half the class.

  Somewhere to my left, someone snickered, and I didn’t have to turn my head to know who.

  Beth Campbell had never been nice to anyone, but she seemed to have a greater dislike of me than anyone else, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. I ignored her and the laugh of her wolf pack that followed, looking back down to my notes. There was barely anything written, except for my exceptionally tasteless art drawn at the top corner of the page.

  An artist, I was not.

  Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the bell rang. I was the first one out of class, going to my locker without waiting for Grant. I knew he would catch up eventually.

  I opened the locker and shoved my bag inside, reaching in one of the pockets of my backpack for the crumbled up five-dollar bill.

  It should be enough for lunch. As I closed the locker door, I heard a loud thud from a few feet to my left. Startled, I looked to the noise and found two boys, one on the floor staring up at the one who was standing close by with a textbook in hand.

  I recognized the boy holding the textbook to be Beth’s boyfriend, Jude Matthews. He was a big guy, probably more than a foot and a half taller than me, and was as wide as I was tall. He was also the quarterback of the joke we called our football team.

  He had messy short blond hair and bright blue eyes. His face was perfectly symmetrical, and I supposed to some, he was beautiful. Which was a shame, really, to be so beautiful on the outside and be so damn ugly on the inside.

  My attention quickly turned back to the boy on the floor, and my eyes widened. I’d recognized him from about anywhere.

  Jackson Wright was hard to miss.

  He was a senior here. Popular, tall, bulky, and incredibly handsome. At least half the girls in school had a crush on him, the other half couldn’t decide whether they want him or hate him.

  With beautiful short chestnut hair and amber eyes, he often reminded me of an angel. Then he would shoot that wicked grin of his across the school’s hallway, and I couldn’t help but think he ran in the same league with the devil somehow.

  He was a force to be reckoned with, and even though Jude was a big guy, I felt bad for him, because Jackson was… well, Jackson.

  He was known for the underground fight that goes around the city. Everyone knew about it, but the organization was never caught, thanks to the meticulous planning of the one in charge of it all, Aidan Montgomery.

  It was usually among high school students, coming from all over the states to either participate in the fighting themselves or to watch two teenage boys beat the shit out of each other. Jude was careless and reckless if he thought hitting Jackson when he wasn’t looking would give him an advantage.

  A part of me wanted to get away as quickly as possible, as it was, they were only three lockers down from where I stood. But another part, the part that was irrational and really, really stupid, couldn’t move.

  Like most of the girls at school, I was fascinated with Jackson Wright. I had never been so close to him before. We never shared a class, so I doubt he even know who I was, but I knew him.

  I watched him walk around the school with the kind of confidence only a man who got nothing to fear possessed. I envied that level of confidence because it was one of the things I was sorely lacking.

  I noticed Grant at the back of the circle of people already forming to watch the fight. His expression said it all. I needed to get out of there. Inching away, so not to draw attention to myself, I tried to break away from the circle, but no one moved. They stayed exactly where they were, some even shooting me a dirty glance.

  I shot a panic look Grant’s way and found his expression mirrored mine. He started pushing people away to get to me. I turned back around when I heard the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh, and saw Jude going down, Jackson already standing, looking down at the large quarterback like an avenging angel.

  Jude didn’t stay down for long though, and when he got up, it turned into an all-out brawl.

  Jude threw his whole body weight on Jackson, and the two of them hit the locker. I flinched and tried to move back, but couldn’t when I accidentally bumped into someone. Someone male. He pushed me forward roughly, and I almost kissed the ground if I hadn’t grabbed onto my open locker door.

  Looking back, I glared at the boy, but he wasn't focused on me anymore. Instead, he was focused on Jackson and Jude.

  I turned around just as Jackson’s large body landed several inches from my feet. Letting out a loud squeal, I moved back. Jackson looked up at me, his amber eyes connecting with mine.

  I froze.

  “What are you doing in here?” Jackson asked, a deep frown marring his face. I didn’t get the chance to answer because Jude pulled Jackson up by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the locker.

  I wanted to get out of the circle, but I didn’t want to brave the angry crowd again. None of them would let me through.

  I cringed when Jude’s fist connected with Jackson’s lips. The crowd went wild, and somewhere among the circle, I heard someone say, “Come on, Jackson. Kick his ass!”

  I pressed my back against the locker, and briefly wondered if I could fit in it and stay there until the fight was over, but I couldn’t bring myself to move again. Jackson shoved Jude away from him and kept pushing until the two boys moved further away from me. I let out a sigh of relief.

  It was short-lived, however, when Jude pushed back, eating up the distance between the two boys and me once again.

  Jackson looked back to me, panic clear in his eyes.

  “Aiden, get her out of here!” he yelled, nodding his head to me. Most of the students in the crowd turned their attention to where I stood. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

  Aiden pushed his way through the crowd, shoving and yelling at people to get out of his way. He was almost inside the circle when suddenly a large body slammed into me, and I went down.

  Everything went black, and the noise died down. When I opened my eyes again, I was on the ground, amber eyes staring down at me.

  “Are you okay?” Jackson asked, the concern evident in his voice.

  I frowned, not sure how to answer. My mind tried to focus, tried to latch onto anything I could remember.

  My eyes widened when I remembered the fight. “Out of my way!” A familiar voice said from somewhere nearby. Grant’s concern face came into
view moments later. “Emily, are you okay?” he asked. I wanted to nod but found I couldn’t. My head was too heavy, and I ached all over. I saw Grant turned to Jackson. “I need to get her to the nurse.”

  Jackson nodded, but instead of moving away for Grant, he wrapped his arms around me, one under my back, the other behind my knees, and then he lifted me up as if I weighed nothing. I kept my head up long enough to see that everyone was looking at us. Aiden was standing by Jude, holding the larger man in place, while his eyes looked over me in concern. I buried my face in Jackson’s chest, not wanting to see anymore, and let him carry me into the nurse’s office, Grant following behind.

  We got to the nurse’s office quicker than I thought we would, and then Jackson was laying me down gently on the recovery couch.

  I was held captive by the very sight of him, unable to look away. It was probably the concussion talking, but he was the most beautiful boy I had ever met.

  No one told me he had eyes like that. I had seen him around the school, but I never been so close to him. I knew his eyes were a distinctive amber color, but no one ever told me that up close, they had golden flecks in them that almost made him looked unreal. And those devastating eyes were surrounded by thick, jet-black lashes that just about killed me. He was beautiful, and he was looking at me with the same intensity I knew was always present.