Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 68066 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68066 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“But I hate Jackson Pierce. I even use my birthday wishes on him. Do you understand how serious that is? I get one birthday a year, one wish a year, and I use it on him. And you know what I wish?”
“What, baby? What do you wish?”
“For him to lose and for me to win, at everythin’ and anythin’. That’s not too much to ask, right? You would think it wouldn’t be, but the wish fairy ain’t listenin’ to me cuz sometimes I lose. Like today! Epic, epic loss!”
“Harley, maybe she’s right.”
“Shiloh, bite your tongue. I would never let him win—”
“No, not about that. About Jackson liking you. It kinda makes sense. He follows you around just waiting for you to react to him.”
“He does it to torture me.”
“Yeah, because you pay attention to him. I mean, how many Jackson Blockers has he broken since you started wearing them? He breaks them the second he sees them on you. Why? Because he doesn’t want you to ignore him.”
“Right, so he can keep torturin’ me.”
“No. So you can keep paying attention to him. I think Aunt Alex is onto something. Jackson likes you.”
Little did I know the next words that came out of Shiloh’s mouth would haunt me for the rest of my life.
When she added, “And maybe... he even loves you.”
Chapter 8
<>Jackson<>
Then: Ten years old
Nineteen...
Twenty...
Twenty-one...
Twenty-two...
Twenty-three...
“Hey, Mom,” I greeted, walking into her room.
It always took twenty-three steps.
Twenty-three seconds.
Twenty-three pounding heartbeats to get to see her again.
She looked up from whatever she was lost in and smiled at me. “Hi,” she breathed out with glossy, drained eyes.
She always looked so tired, like she was constantly battling something within herself.
An all-out war for her sanity and peace of mind.
Turning away from her, I sat my backpack and the sunflowers I picked on the way over on the chair. Holding my head down for a few moments to catch some air.
Breathe in and out, Jackson.
In and out.
Just. Keep. Breathing.
I needed a second to get my shit together. I always did. It didn’t matter how many times I told myself this was going to get easier. It never did. If anything, it always got harder.
Nothing about the woman in front of me reminded me of my mother.
Her eyes.
Her smile.
Her laugh
Not even...
Her love.
“Don’t you have school?” she asked out of nowhere, making my eyes snap back to hers.
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. There was no hiding the relief I felt.
“I did. I came here right from school. It’s Friday. Your favorite day.”
She mirrored my expression, stating, “Because all my boys are home for two whole days.”
My eyes watered, there was no hiding that either. Feeling an overwhelming amount of emotion because she was having a good day.
I never knew what was worse... when she remembered or when she didn’t.
Me. Her. Us.
She still had more good days than bad. However, when they were bad, they were the worst.
“Yeah, Mom. Two whole days with all your boys home.”
“I cooked your favorite dinner. Pot roast with no carrots.”
I chuckled, “I hate carrots. They’re such a pointless vegetable. They taste like nothing.”
“But they’re so good for your mind. You need to be like your daddy, not like me. Never like me.”
“Mom, do you want me to brush your hair?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Oh, yes! I’d love that,” she replied, her eyes sparkling.
I hated when she looked at me like that. As if she was trying to make a memory of my face, of this moment, of this day.
Of me.
She shouldn’t have to. She should just know.
But she didn’t.
Nothing about this was fair. Not when it all started, not when we found out what was happening, not anything that followed.
My feet moved on their own accord. Inch by inch, step by step, I made my way over to her with the sunflowers and brush in my hand.
Her eyes widened, beaming. “My favorite.”
I nodded. “Yeah, Mom. Sunflowers are your favorite.” My chest tightened with each second that passed between us.
Little by little, it felt as if I was losing more and more air the closer I got to her. My heart was in my throat, beating a mile a minute.
Breathe, Jackson. Don’t stop breathing.
Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard before I was standing in front of her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “I’m fine.”
“Why do you look so sad?”
I opened my eyes, staring right into hers. “Cuz I love you,” I blurted without thinking.
“Honey, I love you too.”
I shut my eyes again, fighting back the tears.
Stay strong. You need to stay strong.
Kids should never have to experience this. No one should ever have to experience something like this. They say when you go through trauma—a drastic, life-altering change—you’re suddenly forced to grow up. Become wiser beyond your years. Mature in ways that didn’t make sense except to the people who may have experienced similar events.