Page 9 of Jackson
I watched his body tense. He slowly turned to look at me and I was surprised at the intensity of his stare. His face had changed, hardened. He reached forwards and smoothed a piece of hair from my face, pushing it behind my ear. It was a tender gesture from a body held so stiff and wound sotight.
“I want to sleep next to you, just sleep. I need the company tonight,” hesaid.
I shuffled over the bed and he climbed on beside me. He lay facing me but without touching. For a while, we lay quiet just staring at each other. I wished I could have read his mind; I wanted to know what was troubling him so much. I watched as his eyelids gently closed and listened as his breathingdeepened.
Sleep eluded me for a long time. I tried not to move so as not to disturb him. I studied his face. I wanted to run my hand through the slight stubble around his jaw and his short blond hair. I wanted to trail my hand over his shoulders and down his muscular arms. Instead, I just watched him. His body was covered in tattoos. I loved them; most hated them. He looked like a thug but I knewdifferent.
Jackson was a troubled man. His tattoos, his street art, were his way of expressing himself. He was a nomad, he never settled anywhere or with anyone. For years, I had been desperate for him to find a nice woman and settle down. But he never did. His circle of friends, of which my husband was one, had teased him constantly. I was sure most were jealous of his freedom, of his choice to turn his back on his wealth and travel the world. I was jealous of allthat.
I had loved him for a long time, but initially, in a way that wouldn’t have threatened my marriage. Jackson and I had a connection that went beyond friends. I understood him when no one else did. My last thoughts as I fell asleep were that I hoped that connection, that friendship, had not been jeopardised by what had happened. We were both needy, and to me, it was natural we would gravitate towards each other. Obviously, he hadn’t felt thesame.
* * *
Ifeltthe weight of an arm across my chest when I woke. I was lying on my side and Jackson was tucked in behind me. He had one arm under my neck and across my chest, the other rested on my hip. I didn’t want to move, I didn’t want to disturb him or have him move away. It felt comfortable to be in his arms, whether that was intentional ornot.
I must have drifted off into sleep again. When I opened my eyes for a second time, he was gone. I turned to face the doors. They were left open and the sun was high in the sky. I checked my watch to see it was mid-morning. I swung my legs from the bed and walked to the bathroom. I needed to shower and wash the stickiness I felt from the humidity off myskin.
California in August was playing havoc with my hair. I pulled it back into a bun as I stepped under the shower. Jackson had invited me to spend some time with him, and I was happy to leave London. Although it had been a year since I had buried my husband, it was still hard to be in the apartment, to be surrounded by his things, possessions I’d struggled to put away. Three weeks with my friend had sounded like an ideal way to get my mind straight and start the process of movingon.
I’d grieved, I would always grieve, but I was only twenty-nine. I needed to get on with my life. I needed a job for starters. What little life insurance Dane had was long since used to pay off his debts and funeral expenses. As much as Jackson had told me I didn’t know who he was, it had come as a greater shock to know I didn’t know my husband either. I’d discovered an adulterer, someone with a child, and a debtor. I had been crushed beyond belief and Jackson had been mysaviour.
Not only had my husband been taken from me in an accident, I’d discovered everything I knew about him had been a lie. Our life, our happiness, it had all been fake. What stung the most was the circle of friends, that I believed to be so close, knew. It was a conversation I had intended to have with Jackson during thatholiday.
I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around myself. I walked back into the bedroom and dressed quickly in shorts and a t-shirt. I headed out to the balcony, which ran the length of the house and into the door that led to thekitchen.
It was an amazing house, nestled in the cliff overlooking a white sand beach. From the front, the house looked one storey and I’d been surprised when we had arrived. Jackson had opened the front door and I stepped on a glass landing. There was a corridor to one side with two bedrooms and a glass and wooden staircase to the other. It was down those stairs that the main living areas were, with a further two bedrooms. Each room opened to thebalcony.
There was no sign of Jackson as I filled a glass with cold water from the fridge. I stepped out onto the balcony to see him jogging along the water’s edge. He’d obviously been for his usual morning run. I watched as he slowed, jogging on the spot for a moment, before resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. I’d never looked at Jackson the way I did then. He was fit, always had been, but his body was sculptured almost. His shoulders were broad and his biceps bulged. The muscles on his stomach were taut and defined as he stood and raised his arms above his head in astretch.
His chest, arms, sides, and his back were covered in tattoos. They extended down beyond the waistband of his shorts, and it left me feeling a little uncomfortable that I wanted to know just how far down that inkwent.
The man I had known before Dane’s death had been a good friend. Someone who always made me laugh, who always made a point to single me out and talk to me. He was Dane’s friend but always seemed to be slightly on the outside of the circle, as was I. It was as if we were two misfits that found something in each other. But as I looked at him when he strode back to the house, I saw someone different. I saw the man women couldn’t take their eyes from. The man other men were wary of, without understanding why. I saw the free spirit, the artist, and it disturbedme.
“Hey, did you sleep okay?” he asked, as he climbed the steps to thebalcony.
“I did, best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages,” I answered with asmile.
His body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and I swallowed down the thought that I wanted to lick that from hisbody.
“How far did you run?” Iasked.
“Not far, a couple of miles, I imagine. It got too hot. I need to shower,” he said as he walkedpast.
“Do you want coffee?” I calledout.
“Sure, be back in aminute.”
I stood from the daybed I had been sitting on and made my way back to the kitchen. I switched on the coffee machine and searched the cupboard for tea. I didn’t want my nerves jangling any more than they already were by adding caffeine. Although we had spoken normally, there was an undercurrent of tension. I prayed that would quickly dissipate. I wouldn’t mention the kiss, I’d pretend it hadn’t happened and I’d need to get my emotions undercontrol.
Jackson arrived back in the kitchen just a few minutes later. His hair was wet from his shower and spiked on top. It was as if he’d just run a towel over his head and nothing more. He wore jeans and a white t-shirt that melded to his body. He took the cup of coffee from me and gave me asmile.
“What do you want to do today?” he asked as he took asip.
“Are you going to show me thebar?”
“Can do. Then I want to take you to lunch at an amazing beachfront shack Ifound.”
“A shack? You take me to all the best places but it soundsinteresting.”
