Page 25 of Mind Pucked

And the way it’s affecting me is baffling. Maybe it’s just that nurturing part of me I’ve embraced since becoming a single father.

I shake it off and go into the cabinets, opting for some whiskey tonight. I add some ice into a glass and then pour probably a little more than I intended. But I know it’ll help me sleep, and I need that. Plus, Hayden will sleep like a baby after getting all that energy out.

I take the drink into the living room and set it on the coffee table long enough to go to the bedroom and get changed. I don’t want to be in my jersey all night.

I must forget to close the door because I hear a mutter of “sorry” as Amelia creeps past before I get my shirt on.

“Oh, sorry. Just so used to living alone,” I say bitterly, coming out to find her leaning against the side of the stairs. I walk past her and over to the couch, letting my whole body sink in like I might actually become one with the piece of furniture.

“Bourbon?” she asks, pointing at my glass.

I raise it to my lips and take a sip, letting the liquid cool and burn at the same time, all the way down until it drops into my stomach. I swear I instantly feel better. “Whiskey,” I correct before drinking some more.

I look away, assuming she’s just waiting to make sure Hayden’s asleep and doesn’t need anything. It’ll be better for us both if I simply pretend she’s not here.

5

AMELIA

Ihear Hayden shifting upstairs and I go back up to her bedroom to see what’s going on. She’s mumbling, half asleep now, and has kicked her covers off.

I go over and pat her back softly until she calms down.

I smile in victory once she’s asleep again, and I pull her blanket up a little higher. She’s such a beautiful little girl. Even after the trauma she’s been through, she’s so smart, and she loves her father with everything inside her. I don’t want to take her dad away from her when I find out he had something to do with my brother’s death. I don’t know if they have any other family—from the sounds of it, they don’t—but I have to know the truth.

I hate that I’m essentially using Hayden to get to her father, but I don’t see any other way around it. I need more information about my brother’s death…the whole thing is enough to drive me crazy.

When I know she’s good and asleep, I get up from the edge of her bed as carefully as I can. I keep the lamp on the dimmest setting and edge for the door. I know she’s a light sleeper and Jacksonhas mentioned that she has night terrors sometimes. I haven’t had to deal with that with her yet, but I’m sure it will happen sooner or later. However, I have yet to be needed overnight.

Once I’m out the door, I head for the steps, making sure that I’m quiet all the way.

When I get down the steps and round the corner into the living room, I stop in my tracks as I see Jackson sitting there nursing another drink. His back is to me now as he sits so casually in the armchair, having moved in the short time I was gone. It’s like he’s closing himself off from me on purpose. His jaw is tight, and it looks like he might cry as he sips the amber liquid in the glass.

I consider grabbing my things and sneaking out now that my job is done for the day, but if I’m ever going to get to the bottom of my brother’s death, this may be my only way to do it.

Deciding to draw attention to myself, I go into the living room and begin picking up a little. I know it’s not something I have to do, but I’ve done it every evening up to this point. It’s a good enough excuse to stick around on the off chance Jackson will talk to me about anything other than his daughter.

He’s such a grouch, and so set in his ways. I get it, I really do, it’s just hard to gain any information from him this way.

“I can do that,” Jackson barks, but it’s clear he is exhausted.

I don’t say anything for a moment as I look over at him. I plaster an expression on my face that might convey shock at seeing him. He doesn’t have to know that I know he’s been sitting here the whole time.

“I don’t mind,” I say softly as I pick up a half-bald Barbie and march her into the toy room to put into the bin. “I’ll just getthese few things picked up and get out of your way,” I add as I bend over and grab the parts to the doll house furniture we were playing with together before we left for the park.

“Fine,” is all he says as he grumbles under his breath and takes another sip of his drink.

I don’t say anything right away, contemplating what I need to say to get him in the mood for talking.

I can tell he’s bothered by something. My heart softens a little as I wonder what’s eating him. There’s no way it’s nothing, with that look on his face.

Once the floor is picked up and the coffee table is clean, I head to the kitchen and tidy up a little. I half wonder if he’ll follow me in here, but when he doesn’t, I grab my things and go to stand in front of him.

“I guess I’ll head out now,” I say, but I realize quickly that he isn’t even going to look up at me. “I know it’s not my place, but is something wrong?” I ask, mustering up as much kindness as I can.

The sound that escapes him following my words is…not great. It’s a chuckle, but not the kind of chuckle that suggests he’s laughing or being funny, but rather the kind of chuckle that speaks volumes. It’s one of those that instantly make you worry about the person you’re speaking to—regardless of whether you know them well or not.

What I do know about Jackson is limited, but I feel like I know him perhaps a little better than he knows me. I feel bad for him, and I know that I shouldn’t, but I do.

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