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I had experience with a shockingly bad father, so I knew how devastating that could be. But Harlan wasn’t a killer. He hadn’t abandoned Jackson.

“He’s not warm. He doesn’t like many people, though he pretends to. Most of what he says and does is aimed at getting everyone to do what he wants. The political world, with all its compromises and competitiveness, suits him. Father-son bonding? Not so much.”

Jackson acted like he’d delivered another news flash.

“Dad has these goals for me. He doesn’t care if I share the same goals. Protecting the family name is more important to him. His public persona.” Jackson walked over to the table and scooped up the plates. A few seconds later, he brought them back into the kitchen and began filling each with food. “As an only child all the pressure falls on me to carry the legacy he thinks he’s handed down.”

That was a lot. “Wow.”

“He uses Mom’s memory as emotional blackmail but insists he doesn’t.Do it for her. She would have been so proud.” Jackson looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped.

All of that fit with the bullshit Harlan tried to sell me abouthow he’d been such a considerate and loving husband. “He told me you had a solid reputation and a bunch of opportunities, and I was going to ruin all of it.”

Jackson fumbled the plate. It tipped in his hand, but he straightened it before major food wreckage occurred. “What? When did he say that?”

“I’m paraphrasing, but he dropped a few hints at the restaurant.”

We divided the salad and sat there as if we’d done this sort of domestic thing forever. Like this was a regular occurrence. Wrong. We’d eaten together about a billion times over the years, but the two of us, sitting alone in his condo by candlelight, never happened before. I wasn’t clear why it was happening now. Jackson had extended the surprise dinner invitation to throw Harlan off... or so I thought.

The signals coming from Jackson since I’d landed in North Carolina made my mind race and all my good intentions flee. What did he want? Did all of this mean anything? His throwaway lines. Those comments he made that crossed into a gray area. Flirting? Placating? Was he being supportive or setting me up for a fall?

So many questions. So much fear in digging around for clarification. Right now, our relationship hovered in the safe and sarcastic, joke-around, we-both-love-the-same-people sphere. If I said the wrong thing, asked the wrong question, I could tip my hand and expose the lifelong crush I tried to destroy, bury, and ignore on a daily basis. No one could withstand that much embarrassment.

Stay focused. That was the key. “So, back to the reputation thing. What opportunity does he expect you to capitalize on?”

“Right.” Jackson hesitated for a few tense seconds. “Dad wants me to run for office.”

If he’d said his dad wanted him to join the circus I would have had the same, stunned reaction. “Politics? You?”

“Dad’s proposal came with a PowerPoint presentation. Be happy he didn’t whip that out at the restaurant and show you all of his hard work.”

“That’s not weird at all.”

“His plan is for local office and eventually the governorship.” Jackson performed a wildly out-of-place shrug. “That was the point of my lunch at the tavern. Dad set it up. I was meeting with connected types who would help run and finance a campaign if they thought I was worthy of their investment.”

Jackson wasn’t phony. If anything, sometimes he was a bit too honest for comfort. He wasn’t theput on a fake smiletype either. I tried to imagine him attending potlucks and kissing babies and... nope, couldn’t see it. I’d never heard him talk about politics or raising money, which made the whole idea even stranger.

“Is this your secret dream?”

“No.”

Jackson didn’t yell but came close.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Neither of us said a word following Jackson’s stark denial. He said no in a way that suggested he’d been shouting it from the rooftops for a long time, but no one was listening.

If he needed to be heard, needed to talk it out, he could count on me. That meant he needed to answer one obvious question. “Have you told your dad how you feel?”

“Many times.” Jackson followed up his answer by moving food around on his plate. He took a drink then picked up his knife, set it down, and picked it up again. “Mom asked me to give him a chance. To maintain a relationship with him after she was gone. She was so sick... I would have promised her anything at the end.”

I could hear the pain. Time made it bearable but didn’t erase it. Jackson carried it with him. Harlan took advantage. There was no way to make it sound pretty. He used Savannah’s death to control Jackson.

“She wouldn’t want you to forfeit your future. Your dad is wrong on this.” I felt pretty confident with that assessment. Savannah and Harlan were very different people. Very different types of parents.

“Dad isn’t easy to impress. In his mind, despite him being the perfect father, I haven’t been the ideal and obedient son.I’ve failed to live up to his expectations or jump on the path he generously set for me.”

I waited for the punch line becausecome on, but Jackson stopped there. No other explanation.