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“He’s very strong-willed.” My code fora jackass.

Jackson exhaled, sounding like he had a bit of frustration left in reserve. “Give me some credit. That conversation wasn’t about fatherly concern. He’s a bullshitter. He’s trying to sway me like he would do with a client.”

I turned to face Jackson. Big mistake. He stood so close. So huggable. Kissable. Touchable. I cleared my throat twice before I spit out a discernible word. “He’s also not totally wrong. Hanging out with me isn’t a great political move for you.”

“Even if I cared about politics that’s not true.”

Oh, Jackson. “I have an imprisoned killer for a father and a murdered mother.”

“That’s not your fault, and I’m not running for office.”

Okay, but... “I’m a law school dropout. A serial job loser.”

Listing my failures like that, being honest, twisted and knotted my insides to the point of breaking. My family history sucked. My ability to build a career and an adult life was nonexistent.

“You aren’t any more responsible for your father and what he did to your mother than I am for my dad and how he treated Mom.” Jackson managed a half smile, clearly trying to inject a bit of lightness into a dark moment. “About law school. You hated it. Mags’s heart issue made you leave quicker than you otherwise might have, but you were right to get out. It wasn’t for you.”

He understood that I couldn’t stay in school while Gram was in the hospital. I never admitted that to anyone and adamantly denied it when Gram insisted I go back, but Jackson knew.

“Don’t act like your dad’s view doesn’t matter.” It had to. How Gram and Celia thought about things mattered to me.

“I love him because he’s my dad, but I don’t like him very much.” Jackson looked around the room, clearly trying to find an anchor or a lifeline and failing. “Age hasn’t softened him. He is his own biggest fan. He doesn’t apologize for pushing or his condescending advice. He’s the same jackass who made my mom’s final days a misery. Actually, most of her life but especially her final days.”

I remembered Jackson’s mom. She’d struck me as frail. A beautiful woman, almost doll-like, whose shoulders stooped a bit more each year. Now I knew the weight of Harlan’s disregard shoved her down and kept her there. “She deserved better.”

“So did you.” Jackson trailed his fingers down my cheek. “Please don’t leave like this.”

It would have been so easy to give in. So simple to ignore the last fifteen minutes and go back to that couch, but I couldn’t. Thoughts and feelings crashed inside me. I didn’t know what my hazy confusion meant and needed a minute to pull the images apart and figure them out.

I didn’t want to hurt Jackson. I didn’t know if I had that kind of power where he was concerned, but he had that hold over me. I didn’t want to be hurt.

“Maybe we need a little space.” I hated saying that, but I needed to.

He rolled his eyes. “We live almost four hundred miles apart. Honestly, I’m sick of all the space.”

His face, that pleading expression, wore me down, which was why I needed to back up and take a break. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I should have walked away without... no. I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. It was sweet and too short butenough to keep a connection pulsing between us despite his father’s wishes.

“Tomorrow. I promise.” I whispered the word against his lips and meant it. I had a lot to think about before we talked again but we would talk soon.

I tended to run from difficult and confusing emotions. Not this time.

Chapter Thirty-One

I did the same thing for the last eighteen hours that I did whenever I ran up against an uncomfortable moment: pivoted and focused on something completely unrelated. Immature and unproductive, I know. I’d perfected the art of avoidance in response to taunting.

You don’t get to celebrate Mother’s Day because you don’t have a mom. Yeah, but I wrote this story about a possum.

Your dad is a killer. Let me tell you this joke.

You can’t hold a job. Have you ever tried a cinnamon muffin?

See a roadblock and go around it. Find another street. Take a bus. That’s how I operated. I jumped over the minutiae. Kept my focus blurry and engaged in selective hearing.

Years ago, when a ten-year-old classmate figured out why I lived with my grandmother and not my parents, she announced that I was an orphan and blared it all over school. My life turned upside down. My embarrassment-free world disappeared. I learned how to maneuver through a school hallway without getting surrounded by girls pelting me with nasty names.

Survival skills. I called on them now.