Page 3 of THE EX-Con

“Jenny. You?”

“Jackson. Nice to meet you, Jenny.”

He sounds so cultured and polite, so far from the man he was at the bar. “Nice to meet you too, Jackson.” I dab the antiseptic to the scrapes on his knuckle. “What brings you to this small town of ours? You don’t look like a tourist.”

“I’m not.” He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “I used to live here.”

That surprises me. “Really? What happened?”

Hesitation crosses his features. “I just got out of prison.”

“Oh.”

“I could just leave. I understand if you feel?—”

“No! I was surprised, that’s all.” I wonder how much to tell him, but whatever. Those cockroaches earlier are more dangerous than him. Actually, half the male population in this town is scarier. “In case you’re wondering, no, I don’t feel uncomfortable around you. On the contrary, I feel safe with you.” I sweep an arm across my tiny space. “Apparently safe enough to invite you here, which I never do, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He looks at me from under his lashes, and my God, what long, thick lashes. If I had those, I wouldn’t waste money on mascara and eyelash extensions. “I beat my stepdad to within an inch of his life because I caught him beating my mom.”

I suck in a sharp breath, tears pooling in my eyes. This is the last thing I expect to hear from him. “Oh God. Is she…?”

He gives me a sad smile. “She died last year from an unrelated illness, but I believe the stress he put her under was part of the reason she kept getting sick.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jackson shakes his head, an almost boyish uncertainty on his face. “No, it’s fine. That’s why I was here, to visit her grave.”

“Are you okay?”

He tries to hide the surprise, but I see it. Is this the first time someone has ever checked up on him? “Yeah, I mean, there’s nothing I can do, right?”

“I understand grief. I do, and I know it’s never as easy as people say it is.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” He hesitates for a second before looking away. “I should’ve known, you know. I was so busy with making money that I only ever checked up on her once every two weeks. I came home once a year and stayed for no more than two days.”

“Jackson…”

“I should’ve heard it in the quiver in her voice. I should’ve been suspicious when she refused to take video calls.” He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, and I let him talk. He needs to get this out. “The only reason I found out was because I wanted to surprise her. I came home without telling her since I planned to fly her to Paris. Then…” He clears his throat, and I try to comfort him in the only way I know without making him uncomfortable—I rub his back with my free hand. “I saw that fucker hit her. My vision went red, and I was so consumed byfury that I didn’t know what I was doing until four cops pulled me off him.”

“He deserved it.”

“He did. What kind of man hurts a woman? My mother was the sweetest, kindest person. It would take a special kind of animal to even think of hitting her.”

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere. I intend to find out, though. A guy like that? I’m sure he didn’t stop with Mom.”

“Are you saying…?”

“Someone needs to stop him before he hurts anyone else.”

“Oh, so where are you headed after?”

He lifts one of those huge shoulders. “I still don’t know. I might drift here and there until I find a new home. I need to regroup before I go find him.”

Something about his defeated tone shatters me, and I can’t stop staring at him. He’s been through so much, and all I want to do is make him feel better, make him feel good.

“Jenny? I don’t really mind the sting, but you’ve been pressing that cotton ball to my open wound for five seconds now. It’s a bit of an overkill for the bacteria. They’re long dead, I’m afraid.”

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