Page 133 of The Rules We Broke
“Brady James Jackson!” his mother shrieked, slicing through the best moment of my life like shattered glass.
Brady’s face flushed blood red. He stood, turning to face her. Oddly, so did his father.
“Enough, Elizabeth!” Isaac said, voice strained and trembling. He placed a hand on my shoulder to steady himself.
But Elizabeth refused to be done. “After everything I’ve been through, I willnotsee my son marry an Eaton!”
Just like that, the room erupted.
Brady shouted, “Damn it, it’s not your decision!”
Beau and Booker jumped to their feet, defending their mother. Voices rose. Accusations flew. Caroline began to wail.
And I just sat there, staring at the ring on my finger—tears slipping down my cheeks. Why did our love always ignite so much anger? So much pain?
Maybe thiswasa fairy tale.
And maybe we were cursed.
Isaac’s grip on my shoulder tightened. He was gasping for air.
I stood quickly, trying to help him sit, while chaos swirled around us—shouting, profanity, fury.
“Brady!” I called, desperate to get his attention. But he couldn’t hear me.
Isaac turned to me, eyes full of something ancient and aching. “Tell Luanne I’m sorry,” he rasped. “And that I always loved her.”
Then he collapsed.
I dropped to the floor, hovering over him. “Brady, call 911!” I screamed.
That got his attention. And everyone else’s.
Suddenly, the room shifted—rushing toward the piano, panic replacing rage.
Elizabeth shoved me aside, her voice sharp and venomous. “Do you see what you’ve done?” she screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Isatinthefront seat of Kendra’s car, silently crying. Staring out into the night, dazed and hollow.
Brady and his brothers were still at the hospital with Mrs. Jackson.
Isaac was gone.Dead.
From the backseat, Caroline’s voice broke through the quiet.
“Why is it so bad that Uncle Brady wants to marry Miss Ellie?” she sobbed.
I wanted to know the answer to that, too.
Kendra glanced at me, her expression pained. “It isn’t bad at all, sweetie,” she said gently. “It’s just . . . they don’t understand.”
But I was beginning to think maybe itwasbad. How could it not be?
Because of me, Brady’s family had imploded—fighting on Christmas, fractured probably beyond repair. And his daddy was dead.
I knew, by the look Mrs. Jackson gave me before we left that she would always blame me. Always.
