Page 128 of Fault Lines
Rachel raised an eyebrow, already three sips ahead and waving us away.
Jackson seemed to sense the shift. “Sure.” He motioned me toward the little balcony, and I followed, glass in hand.
The city was loud and lit up, every window in the building across the street glowing with other people’s evenings. We leaned against the railing, the metal cool under my fingers.
“What’s up?” Jackson asked, his voice careful.
I hesitated. The words were hard, like pulling splinters. “I need to ask you about Nate.”
Jackson nodded, waiting.
I fiddled with the rim of my glass. “How bad was it? Before the therapy, before… me.”
He exhaled, slow. “Pretty bad,” he said. “Not every day. But enough that we all noticed. Especially after his mom… you know.”
I nodded. “Did he ever… hurt anyone?”
Jackson’s eyes flicked to the street, then back to me. “Not like that. Not the way his dad did. But he had a temper. Once, after too many drinks, he put his hand through a wall at the store. Shook the whole damn shelf. Scared the crap out of his ex.”
The glass felt slippery in my grip. “Did he ever hurt her?”
Jackson shook his head, but not with certainty. “He grabbed her arm once. Hard enough to leave a mark. He hated himself for it. That’s when Mr. Porter stepped in, made him get help.”
I swallowed. “And now?”
Jackson shrugged. “He’s better. Mostly. But when he’s stressed, or if he feels cornered…” He trailed off.
“His father called him,” I said. “Said he’s getting out.”
Jackson let out a slow breath. “That explains a lot.”
“He’s drinking more. He’s hiding it. I found bottles everywhere. Last night, we fought, and he was… different.”
Jackson looked at me, face open and serious. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
Jackson nodded, slow. “Olivia, you need to be careful. If he gets angry, or if you even think he might—call me. I mean it. No matter what time, or where you are.”
I looked down at the city, the lights blurry through the glass in my hand. “I’m scared for him. And I’m scared of him. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference.”
Jackson put his hand on my arm, gentle. “You can’t save him by letting him drown you. Okay?”
I nodded. The glass of wine felt heavier than it should.
We stood there a minute, the wind tugging at my hair. Jackson didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.
When we went back inside, Rachel was still at the cheese plate, scrolling her phone. She looked up, all business. “Everything good?”
Jackson just kissed her on the cheek and said, “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
I sat back down, the carpet soft under my legs, and stared at my wine. The red stain on the rim looked like a warning.
Rachel nudged me. “You look like someone just told you Santa isn’t real.”
I managed a laugh. “Something like that.”
She raised her glass, the ice clinking. “To honesty, and to not settling for less than you’re worth.”
