Page 39 of Jackson

“No?” His brows pulled together in surprise.

“Yeah... I was actually a stay-at-home husband.”

Jackson immediately halted in his tracks, stopping so short that his boots made a divot in the soft soil. “You’re married.”

Even though whatever we had going on could be seen as highly unethical, I was happy to see he had some morals. Sleeping with a married man was apparently on his list of no-nos, which was partly funny and yet also comforting to me. There were too many people in this world who didn’t take their wedding vows seriously enough.

Turning to him, I let out a soft sigh. “I used to be.”

“‘Used to be’.” He shook his head. “What does that mean?”

“Um…”

Jesus, how did I even get into this?

My relationship with Alex was so complicated by the end. I could barely wrap my mind around what happened in order to talk to a therapist about it, let alone right here and now with Jackson.

He waited patiently, though, for me to speak, rubbing his fingers together at his sides in an anxious sort of way.

I wondered if he was seeing me differently. Someone who was once married and now a felon in a program and fucking around with one of the firefighters. See, those things didn’t tend to look as bad when you were just dealing with surface level shit. Once people got to know each other, that’s when the real mess began to manifest.

I couldn’t look him in the eyes as I talked and instead, crossed my arms over my chest while I stared down at the ground. “I, uh… served my ex divorce papers on my twenty-first birthday. I wasn’t planning on it being that day but it was the only day I knew he’d be gone for the majority of it so I could pack a bag and leave before he got home and discovered the papers.” I huffed out a laugh. “Clearly, that didn’t go over very well.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, he’s kind of the reason I got sentenced. So...”

“Fuck,Ayen,” Jackson murmured.

He cupped his hands around my face, tilting it back to force me to look up at him. He was shaking his head, a pinched expression on his face. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

Over the years, that question had been asked so many times that I’d lost count. Even before my divorce, or my attempt at it, anyway, I’d had friends who would notice my bruises or the bite marks on my skin and ask me if they were from Alex.

And over and over again I’d promised them that it wasn’t him, even when it was obvious and no one believed me, yet they still did nothing to protect me. To help me get out when I needed to.

During my trial, I’d been asked repeatedly if Alex’s stalking had been the cause of me pulling the trigger, or if he’d hurt me the night he came to my apartment, that I thought I’d be safe from him.

I’d been forced to re-live the grim truth, to describe in excruciating detail what transpired on that night.

The fear that choked me as I watched him break down the door to my bathroom, with my phone pressed to my ear and emergency services rattling in my ear about how they were only a few minutes away. The cool steel of Alex’s gun that I’d stolen a week earlier resting heavily in my lap, the muzzle of it blurring as I raised it with my shaking hand at the man I once thought I’d loved and pulled the trigger, effectively ending both of our lives in a single split second.

Even after all of that, answering that question never got any easier. No matter how many times how many people asked or how many times I recounted that night.

“Yes,” I said, tears burning behind my eyes.

“Oh, honey.” Jackson shook his head again, pulling me against him. “He never deserved you.”

Shock hit me instantly.

No one had ever said that to me before, let alone meant it.

I was just a runaway kid at sixteen, living off the streets until one day, a man in a suit had found me rifling through his garbage and had invited me to come stay with him for a few days until I could find a shelter that would take me in. Those few days had turned into weeks and then into months, and then soon I was walking down the aisle to marry him.

Alex had made me feel like the luckiest son of a bitch for pulling me off the street like a stray cat and giving me a home like he had. The abuse was simply my burden to bear in order to keep living the life he provided. It was a small price to pay, until it became bad enough where it wasn’t so small anymore.

But even then, I thought my karma had earned me that little spot of hell that I called a jail cell.

Yet here Jackson was, telling me the complete opposite with such sincerity that it was hard to peg him as a liar.

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