Page 69 of Mind Pucked

“So, let me get this right. Our mother cheated on my father and got pregnant with you. Then you learn that he’s part of the Mafia and you’re supposed to grow up to take his place, but then you find out he’s not your father, and you find Lyla, who is your sister…” I pause, trying to wrap my mind around it all. “Then my father decides to order a hit on you because now you’re not his son, and you know too much, and he was worried you’d spill your guts or something. In the meantime, the hit killed Lyla—your sister, Jackson’s wife—and just about killed you, but resulted in you hiding out for these past couple years and pretending to be dead?”

“Pretty much,” is all he says at first. “I’ve been trying to find a way to get your father off my case…or make him pay for this, but in the end I haven’t been too focused on that aspect, because I don’t want to take your only living parent away from you.”

“I don’t know how much of a parent he is, Pres,” I say with a frown. “But I do have a question. You know how I’ve always said our mom’s death seems fishy? Even when I was a kid, I thought that. There just isn’t much explanation behind it…ya know?”

“Yeah,” he says, trying to leave room for me to make this revelation on my own, but I don’t know that I want to.

“You don’t think he killed her, do you?” I blurt out. “I mean, if he was going to kill you and he did kill Lyla…do you think he had our mother killed when he found out she cheated on him or something?” I don’t know if I want to know the answer or not.

He pauses to think about my words. I can see the wheels in his brain turning. The look on his face turns sad as he mulls it over. I don’t mean to cause him pain, but all of this is a bit too much for me to process on my own.

“Yeah, I do think it’s possible,” he admits. “I’ve thought about it for a long while now. Knowing he’s a don leaves a lot of room for a lot of things, but as soon as he told me, questions sparked in my mind, including that very thought. I’m pretty damn sure that he either killed or had her killed—just as sure as I am that he’ll have you killed if you say anything to anyone about this.”

“I’m not going to say anything, Pres,” I say with a frown. “It doesn’t mean that I won’t think about my next move regarding my father, but I won’t say a word. He wants me to come home soon, but now I’m not so sure that’s something I want. Jackson and I are in a relationship, and I care a great deal for him, and his daughter Hayden.”

“I remember Hayden,” he says softly. “Such a cute little girl…she’d be my niece you know.” He seems sad that he never got the time to be the uncle that little girl deserves.

“I guess so,” I say. “I care about them a lot. If I think for a second that they’re at risk of getting hurt, I will hurt someone first.” A protective feeling courses through me that I just can’t remember ever feeling before.

He looks at me as if judging my words. I hope he knows they’re true. Jackson and Hayden mean the world to me. I just hate that this whole time I’ve thought Jackson had something to do with Preston’s death. If only I’d known it was my father who had something to do with it, I’d never have started a relationship with Jackson under false pretenses. But then, maybe I’d never have fallen for him at all…

“Listen…” Preston pauses as he reaches for my phone and begins typing something into it. “I’m going to give you my cell number. It’s a burner phone and I put myself under Hockey Bro, so if your dad does see your phone, he won’t know it’s me.

“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t know if I’ll ever call him for any reason.

“You’re welcome. I think you need to head back—it looks like he’s tried to get ahold of you several times,” he adds, handing my phone back to me. “For now, only say what you have to, but I’d love it if you could keep my secret for the time being…until I can get things figured out on my end.”

I nod as I reach for the bag with my shoes in it. I don’t know that I’m in the mood for shopping anymore, and it looks like it’s about to rain. I get out of the car without saying another word.

I hope I’m able to see my brother again, but if I don’t, I pray he can figure things out for himself. I’m still processing everything he’s told me, but finally, all the pieces fit together. My father is a monster.

I didn’t know before now, but now I know exactly who my father is, and every part of me is screaming to stay as far away as I can.

As I walk away from the car and head back toward the vacation home, all I can think about is Jackson and that little girl I care so much about—I’m going to make sure they’re protected from all of this, if it’s the last thing I do.

18

JACKSON

Ipace the floor of the Airbnb, waiting impatiently for Amelia to return. It’s almost dark out, and I thought she’d be back by now. My thoughts are flying everywhere, and I know I’m causing unnecessary chaos, but I can’t help it. I’m trying so hard not to panic as thoughts of what might be happening to her flood my mind. I tell myself she’s just out having fun, allowing me plenty of time with my parents, but part of me—the really messed-up part—is imagining the worst as minutes tick by.

I try to call her again, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. My heart is pounding hard in my chest and I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to call the police and have them put out an APB on her car, but I know deep down that’s a little dramatic. I’m letting the PTSD take over, and I know I need to calm down. I try to call her again, but it still goes to voicemail.

“Where are you?” I say out loud as I look out the window.

“I’m sure she’s fine—you know you should never send a woman shopping if you want her home at a decent time, son,” my father says, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“I know, I know. I’m being irrational, but I can’t help it. I close my eyes, and I see the pictures of the crash site. I can’t go through that again.” I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

“You’re not going to. Just keep telling yourself that. This is a different situation—what happened to Lyla isn’t going to happen to Amelia,” my father says quietly.

“You don’t know that, Dad. None of us know that for sure,” I say, harsher than I mean to.

I run a hand over my face, fear and frustration overwhelming me. I just want her to pull into the driveway and be okay. I need her to be okay. I know I need to talk to someone about my irrational thoughts, but I don’t want to—mostly for fear that the guys might find out. I’d never hear the end of it.

“Amelia has to be a capable driver, or you wouldn’t let her drive your daughter around,” my dad points out, coming over to stand beside me and look out the window.

“I trust her completely, Dad. I know she’s a good driver. I know this is all in my head, I just don’t know how to stop the thoughts.” My eyes stare at the driveway, willing her car to pull in. “Besides, it’s the others on the road that are the problem most of the time.”

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