Page 79 of Burn With Me

“Jackson, I’ve been calling you all morning. Jesus Christ, it smells like a distillery in here. Please tell me that isn’t vomit.” Stacey’s voice drifts through the silk-covered cushion on my head.

“Go away.”

“Jackson, you have to get up. This is important.”

Nothing is important today. Nothing except me sleeping off this fucking hangover.

“The photo went to print. I thought I had squashed it, but the photographer took the money, turned around, and still sold it. It ran on every major media outlet this morning.”

Adrenaline rushes through my veins, causing me to sit straight up. The room spins, and there are three of Stacey as I hurl myself over the side of my bed and throw up in the trash can.

Or at least where the trash can used to be.

“Dear lord,” Stacey says on a gag. “How much did you have to drink last night? You haven’t thrown up in years.”

“Who was the photographer? I’ll make sure he never gets work in this city again.” Spitting the last of the vomit from my mouth, I wipe my arm across my lips before glaring up at her.

“I think there are more important things to consider right now, Jackson. Something like this right after the WhirlTech deal…. It looks bad. Scott is pissed, again, and rightfully so, but I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”

“He’s always pissed at me. What the fuck do I care anymore? He’s not my fucking father.” Getting off the bed, I storm into the bathroom and turn on the faucet, splashing cool water on my face before grabbing my toothbrush.

“And Ginny? If she hasn’t seen it yet, she will.”

My eyes find my reflection in the mirror. If Ginny’s seen it, I’m fucked.

I knew I should have just gone to her last night.

Anger pours through me. At myself, at my uncle, at the fucking photographer.

Glass shatters as I let out a roar while dragging my arm along the vanity, sending everything on it crashing to the ground. Dropping my elbows to the surface, I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes. Acid burns in my stomach, in my chest, and up my throat.

She’s never going to forgive me.

Wire coils along my lungs, squeezing as I try to even my breathing.

This was her biggest fear when it came to me. I let her down.

“Maybe you should go to her.”

Opening my eyes, I see Stacey standing in the doorway, eyeing the mess I’ve made. A soft meow sounds from the bedroom, pulling me out of my daze.

Motioning for her to close the door, I tell her, “Don’t let him in here. I don’t want him getting glass in his paws.”

Doing as I ask, she pauses before she shuts it entirely. “Get cleaned up. I’ll start some coffee and tell Robert to have the car ready.”

I don’t answer her. But when I’m showered and dressed, downstairs and ready to go, I tell her, “Stacey, I don’t know why you stick around with me, but thank you.”

She shrugs and sends me a sly smirk. “You definitely keep things interesting, Jackson. But seriously, how else will I continue filling the pages of my passport?”

We ride the elevator down in silence, taking the back exit of the building since the front has a few paparazzi waiting to get another photo. Before I get into my car, she touches my arm to get my attention. “Next time you’re feeling that way, call. I told you I’d be there if you need anything. You’re not alone, Jackson. You have friends.”

Snorting, I pat the pocket of my sports jacket where my phone is. “They didn’t pick up when I called.”

Walking away, she calls over her shoulder, “You didn’t call me.”

There are also a few photographers hanging around outside The Bryant, and I wonder how they found out Ginny is living here. Giving Robert instructions to get rid of them, I make my way inside, ignoring the numerous calls of my name.

Once I step out onto her floor, I take a moment, bracing an arm against the doorframe before finally knocking.

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