Page 74 of Wanting What’s Wrong

Nine

Jackson

I watch her, enjoying her delight despite everything, then shake my head. “It’s not fun though, is it, baby?”

She nods. “It is , Daddy. It’s—”

Glancing my way, conflict wars on her face. We had this talk earlier, and I’m not going to let her forget it. “The road here is empty, lil’ mint, but you won’t always be driving on empty roads, will you?”

Finally, she shakes her head, catching my tone. “No. It’s not fun, it’s serious. Always wear a seatbelt and keep to the speed limit.”

“That’s right. And what do you do if some asshole cuts you off?”

She sighs. “Drop back, don’t make a fuss.” She snorts, then laughs ending with, “then tell Daddy the licence plate so he can find the asshole and make the fucker pay.”

I chuckle. Those were my words exactly and I meant them. Anyone puts her in danger, I’m going to go medieval on his ass. But the old Mina would never say a word like fucker , even repeating me. She’d turn it into fudger or funker or something. This Mina doesn’t seem to give a shit.

She grins, eyes sparkling in the summer sun, just nudging the a bit faster, and I don’t complain even though we’re over the limit enough to get pulled over. I’ve driven this road a thousand times, you can see for miles and there’s never been a cop hiding in a speed trap—

Before I finish the thought, red and blue lights flash in the rear view as a cop car pulls out from behind a billboard.

“Shit,” I mutter. “Don’t panic, baby. Pull over, let me handle it.”

“We could outrun them,” she says, glancing in the mirror, accelerating. “This car is fast .”

Jesus Christ, I’ve created a monster. I shake my head. “No, baby. Pull over.”

“You’re sure?”

“You heard me.”

“Okay,” she whines, easing off and pulling off onto the shoulder.

The cop does the same behind us, and I watch as he gets out of the car, taking note of my plates and putting a hand on the trunk as he walks up to the driver’s side.

It’s just the one cop, and it’s not like we were racing or anything.

With any luck, it’s a slow day and he’ll extol the virtues of safe driving for a moment before letting us get on our way, and never even ask for Mina’s non-existent licence.

“Licence and registration please,” he says, looking down at her. With the sun out and the open road in front of us, Mina insisted on having the top down and I couldn’t say no .

I open my mouth, ready to come to her aid but Mina beats me to it.

She grins at him, shading her eyes with a hand, a cute little blush across her cheeks as she innocently bites her lip. “Hi, officer. How are you today?”

He sighs. “Licence and registration please, ma’am.”

“Oh, can’t we just forget this happened? I was only this much over the speed limit.” She holds up a hand, her fingers a fraction of an inch apart. “Can’t you just let us off this once? I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Look, ma’am, I can’t. My sergeant is already on my ass about sleeping on the job when I’m out here. If he found out—”

“Oh, how’s he going to find out though? It’s empty out here. You could just go back to your car, close your eyes and forget—” A look of confusion comes over her face as she mutters forget again to herself, and my heart jumps into my throat. “Forget.” She says again. “Forget…”

Not now.

“You okay miss?”

Fuck, she can’t be remembering something right now.

“Like I forgot,” she murmurs, and I open my mouth, ready to come up with some explanation for everything that I’ve done.

Then she shakes her head and smiles again. “You could forget you ever saw us. Couldn’t he, Daddy?”

She glances over at me, and so does the cop. I watch as he pulls down his shades, inspecting me for a long moment, as I open my mouth trying to figure out how to explain.

He makes a clicking noise in his throat. “Jackson Sanders ?” He squints crouching down for a better look. “It is you, isn’t it? Damn, I thought you looked familiar! That was one hell of a hail Mary you pulled off in the Cotton Bowl.”

Mina is grinning. “It’s him, officer. Now, about my licence and—”

“Forget it,” he says. “Like you said, who’s going to know?” He turns his attention back my way “Hey, you know my son is a big fan. Any way I could get an autograph? It’d make his day, maybe get me onto my wife’s good side, if you know what I’m saying.”

I laugh and nod. “Sure. You got anything I can sign?”

“In the car. I’ll be one second, then I’ll let you folks get on your way.”

He jogs away, Mina winking at me. “I handled it.” She chirps as I reach over the grab her chin. “You’re so famous though. I’m going to get an internet connection that works and find out all about my famous Daddy.”

“What you’re going to find out is exactly what ‘getting handled’ means, as soon as we get home,” I tell her, turning the conversation to something I can control.

The phone has perfect internet connection.

What it also has is a block on any pages that mention the name Sanders.

I couldn’t be too careful. “No flirting. Even if it gets you out of a ticket.”

“Mean daddy.” She pouts as I nod.

“Sometimes, baby. Sometimes.”

Jesus, that was too close.

As I walk her in through the front door, she smiles at me as she says she’s going to put on a suit and jump in the pool. And I remember all the reasons this is wrong and I’m going to hell or prison or maybe both.

Just the fact she’s going to jump in the pool is all wrong. She hates the water. Hates it. It’s been fun having this new Mina around but I love the old Mina as well. And part of me knows this can’t last forever.

I wander upstairs, but don’t turn for the room we’ve been sharing.

This place is so big, but the cleaners I sent in gave me an itinerary of where I’ll find everything.

They found the rest of Mina’s things in the fourth room at the end of this hallway, and that’s where they put her dresses, Barbies, and everything else that was strewn around the place by those assholes that came to her party.

And that’s exactly where I’m heading.

The room looks like it should. It reminds me of the Mina I know, the one I fell in love with.

Sure, maybe this new Mina is a part of her, and I’d love her no matter what, but this room reminds me of the girl that stole my heart.

I haven’t brought her into this room for fear that it would bring back her memories, but I wonder if I should do that and end this whole charade.

Inside the closet, I pull out her backpack and lay the Barbies lay out each doll with their miniature runway outfits. The intricacy and attention to detail are amazing, but I kneel and reach beneath the bed, and pull out two suitcases they packed up and tucked away at my instruction.

I open up one and find the clothes that the others were wearing when I got here.

Torn seams, buckled zippers, buttons almost pulled completely off.

But they’re works of art. Each one matching what the dolls are wearing.

I pull the fabric of a blue satin dress to my face, inhaling deeply as I think about all the hours she must have put into this.

And I took that from her.

At first, maybe it was for her own benefit. Not letting her see how her hard work had been ruined. But it’s gone on too long for that excuse to hold water anymore. I should have shown her these things and let her memories come back if possible.

Fuck. What have I done?

Hating myself, I open the other suitcase.

A few of the things aren’t hers, but that’s not the cleaners’ fault.

They weren’t to know that Mina doesn’t wear red and black Louboutin heels.

The fact that there’s only one of them means one of the girls that was here went home with one bare foot, but I don’t give a shit about that.

I toss the few things aside that don’t look like they belong and draw out a pack of paperwork neatly tucked into a folder.

Darkness crowds around me. My own selfish needs spinning a web from which I’m not sure I’ll ever be released.

Why didn’t she tell me? Or fucking Dutton, her driver, the brother of a team mate who I planted and made sure got hired as our family’s new driver while also fucking paying him some sweet coin on the side to keep an eye on her.

He sends me daily reports when she’s around.

Pictures, notes, anything and everything he can.

So why did he leave out this deal about the design contest? I’ll be on his ass about that as soon as he gets back but right now all I can do is stare her loopy, neat writing on the pages the, the letter still folded in an envelope from Marie Claire magazine in New York.

We’re delighted to offer you a place in the show…

Jesus. Dutton mentioned something about her being super focused on making some new clothes, but he didn’t say anything about the actual contest. A big show in New York this week , and I had no idea.

My fingers are numb as I read the application, how her excitement comes through in every word she wrote. No wonder she was accepted, even without the fucking amazing work she does, nobody could possibly turn down someone with this much enthusiasm.

Under the application, there are sketches in colored pencil. Not gallery-worthy or anything, but it’s pretty obvious who the subject is. Me looking bored, me looking mean, me looking grumpy. Is that really how I look all the time?

Not these past few days, that’s for sure. I’ve changed.

I dig deeper, finding a tattered leather diary. It falls open, and my name jumps out from the page. Little fantasies, things she imagined us doing together. Innocent by the standards of my thoughts, but still …

She was thinking about me while I was thinking about her. But when I had the chance to do the right thing, all I did was take her for myself.

I have to tell her the truth.

As I stand, my phone rings in my pocket, and in a daze I answer, putting the phone to my ear.