Page 90 of Call It What You Want
Jackson’s gaze shifts to me, and there’s something achingly sad in his eyes. “I told you, there’s only one other person who knew the truth of what happened three years ago…” He glances over my shoulder.
At my dad.
Ice floods my veins. I spin around, and my dad looks ashen, guilt written across every line of his face. “Dad? What’s he saying?”
“I’ve been letting him see Jameson,” he says quietly. “A few times a week. While you’re at work.”
The floor shifts beneath my feet.
“Always supervised,” he rushes to add, like that makes it better. Like that justifies the lie. “I was always here. Always watching.”
“So you knew.” My voice comes out strained. “You knew the truth this whole time, that it was me who killed Senator Davis. And you didn’t say anything to me about it?”
“In self-defense,” he says. “You killed him in self-defense, Ava.”
The words should bring relief that it’s all out there now. But, honestly, all I feel is the sting of betrayal.
“Why would you keep something like that from me? Why didn’t you say anything?”
The two most important men in my life lied to me for three years about everything that mattered.
Dad’s gaze flicks to Jackson, then back to me. When he speaks, his voice is gentle. “You’re such a good kid, Ava. And we knew…” He swallows. “We knew the truth would eat you alive. You’d never forgive yourself, even though you did nothing wrong. We thought it was better if you didn’t remember. If you just... moved on with your life.”
I stand there, frozen, struggling to absorb it all.
Behind me, Jameson giggles at something Jackson whispers to him, the sound so pure and innocent it makes my chest ache.
My son knows his father—hasknown him. While I’ve been drowning in guilt and fear and lies, they’ve been building something I never knew existed.
Honestly, I have no idea if I should be furious, grateful, or heartbroken.
Maybe it’s okay to be all three.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Jackson
The weight of what just happened with my father is still clinging to us when we get to Rush House. Lucas and Roman arrived ahead of us and have already dragged Chase and Yates inside, restraining them in the basement. Yates looked dazed from his head injury, barely coherent.
Ember is in the kitchen when Ava and I walk in, Jameson perched on Ava’s hip, eyes wide and curious. Ember’s gaze snaps to me, widening at the blood smeared across my T-shirt.
I have to tell her about our father. There’s no way to sugarcoat it.
“I killed him,” I say simply.
For a moment, Ember just stares at me. Then, “What do you mean?”
“Our father. He threatened Ava. He’s dead.”
Her face goes through a rapid cycle—confusion, then understanding, then a cold stillness I know all too well. Years of abuse have carved something sharp and unforgiving inside her. Just like me.
“Oh,” she says quietly. Then, after a beat, “Good. Someone should have done it a long time ago.”
No tears. No questions. Just acceptance.
I turn to Ava and kiss her, our lips lingering. When I pull back, my forehead rests against hers, and I whisper, “Go upstairs with Jameson. I’ll be up in a minute.”
She nods, knowing what I have to do, and letting me go.
