Page 13 of Constantly Cotton
Henry rolled his eyes. “So do you. Somebody wants to kill you.”
Rivers met the news with raised eyebrows. “Is that you? Doyouwant to kill me, Henry?”
“Yes. Now hurry up and talk to Cotton so we can go.”
Rivers gave Cotton a tired smile. “Sit down here, Cotton,” he said. “Have a saltine.”
Cotton pulled up one of the worn vinyl chairs that went with the cheap Formica table. Everything about the flophouse was temporary. He and Billy had hung posters on the walls of their room recently after a quiet conversation and a tacit agreement that they would probably be there longer than other people, because they didn’t seem to have anywhere else to go.
Cotton’s posters were getting tattered. He needed more sci-fi stuff. Tyler Hoechlin—be he werewolf or be he Superman, Cotton was still a fan.
In fact, funny that he thought about that, because Jason looked a lot like Tyler Hoechlin, only his face was a little narrower, and he probably shaved all the way clean when he wasn’t at death’s door.
He pulled his wandering thoughts back to Jackson Rivers, who was looking at him kindly. “Not a lot of sleep lately?”
Cotton yawned in response and then gave a laugh. “Yeah. I’m usually sort of the housekeeper/cook here since I’m not filming scenes right now. Last three days, I’ve been doing a lot of the nursing. Billy’s sleeping on the air mattress so I can stay in there with Jason.”
“Not filming scenes?” Jackson sounded only mildly curious, but Cotton saw him make eye contact with Henry and gave an exasperated snort.
“Did Henry tell you I had a breakdown? Because I did. Embarrassingly enough.”
Jackson’s gaze sharpened. “He told me you’d had enough,” he said, voice firm. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Cotton blew a raspberry. Sure. Because Jackson Rivers just started crying for no reason at all and noped out ofhisjob.
Jackson’s bottle-green eyes never left his face. “A long time ago, I was working undercover. Did you know that?”
Cotton shook his head,morethan mildly curious.
“When I was on the force—right after I’d joined. I reported my partner to IA because he was as dirty as fuck and I was still idealistic, and the DA made me wear a wire. For three months.”
Cotton’s mouth went dry. “Three months?”
“Every day. I developed an ulcer, lost about fifty pounds, and every day I would go home, take my weapon off, and very carefully lock it away in the gun safe so I didn’t use it on myself. And then I’d cry. For hours.Hours. Because your body knows shit sometimes that your mind doesn’t. My body knew that I was not going to survive much longer if I kept doing what I was doing.”
“What happened?” Cotton asked, horrified.
“The DA was dirty too. He hired a hitman to take both of us out so he could take over my partner’s operation. I spent a year in the hospital, and my partner died on-site.”
Cotton sucked in a breath, but Jackson’s quick, jerky nod silenced his pity.
“You need to hear this story for you, Cotton. Not for me. It’s okay if your body told you—and told you hard—that it was time to stop. The fact that you listened to it is a good thing. It means you’re smart, intuitive. It means you can protect yourself like you protected Jason in there when you knew he needed to quit. And that’s why I wanted to talk to you, because I’ve got a big ask.”
“What do you need?” Cotton couldn’t say no to Jackson any more than he could say no to Henry or John. But Jackson was the first person to ask him to do anything that required responsibility, so he was definitely not going to fuck this up.
“I need you to make sure he’s never left alone. Ever. And I need you to be no more than the weight room or the laundromat away. So if you need supplies, call up one of the other guys. Don’t go yourself. And pack a go-bag.”
Cotton stared at him, stunned, as Jackson pulled another cracker out and scowled at it.
“Eat,” Henry prompted. “And then explain.”
“I’m not sure when, but I do know that it’s going to happen,” Jackson said. “Burton is going to get a lead on the imminent threat to Jason’s life, and he’s either going to eliminate it for good or neutralize the threat and move Jason. If he moves Jason, I want Jason to have someone he can trust by his side. Lance can’t go. Lance is going to earn himself a big fat investigation if he does any more here, and Henry and I refuse to let that happen. And you’re the guy here Jason trusts the most… and the one most capable of taking care of him if he’s still sick when he’s got to leave. So pack a go-bag with a couple of changes of clothes, some cool-weather gear just in case, and a travel kit, yada yada yada. Like if you were going to the mountains for a few days, or the ocean. A go-bag. Pack one for Jason too. In fact….” He paused long enough to reach into his pocket, and he came out with a stack of bills. “You’ve got department stores across the street and some thrift stores too. Send the guys over there for some clothes for him, and some boots too, since the ones he wore in are still covered in blood. Same deal as for you. Some for cool weather, some for hot like it is outside. Toothbrush, travel kit—you get the idea. You understand?”
Cotton took the money in wonder. “So you’re trusting me to just pack up and go with him? To be ready to be his… travel nurse?”
“Well, yeah,” Jackson said, half on a laugh. “Is that a problem?”
And Cotton thought about Jason, sick and being transported some place to be all alone while there was a threat to his life out there in the world.
