Page 69 of Imogen

Before I can tell him it’s okay, Joshua speaks up. “I had the television on.”

I pull back to look at my brother. He’s standing in the doorway in a grey T-shirt and black boxers, his face pale. “Josh, this isn’t your fault.”

“I was trying to drown out the smoothie blender.”

“Josh, honey, it’s not your fault,” Mum soothes.

“Besides, it didn’t get loud until moments before Dad came out. It’s fine,” I assure him.

“It’s not fucking fine. We need to go to the police,” Dad growls.

“Dad,” I whine. “No more police. If he does something else, then yeah, we can go. But right now, I’m tired of going to the police. Can we just forget it?”

Mum takes my hand. “Honey, he hit you. You can’t ignore that.”

“I’m not ignoring it. I just want this to be done. Dragging the police into it brings him back into my life and I don’t want that,” I explain, and then focus on my dad. “I know you love me, but trust me, I won’t let it get that far. I know what to expect and I’ll scream for help. I promise.”

“Okay,” he relents, letting out a breath. “Why was he here anyway?”

“You got the gist of it. He thinks he can make it right between us.”

“He’s fucking crazy,” Dad mutters. “I’ve got a bad feeling about him. I want to respect your wishes and drop it, but this doesn’t feel right.”

“I know. If he comes to me again, I’ll go. I promise. I personally think he was making one last ditch effort to get out of the shit storm he’s put himself in.”

“Still…”

“Please, Dad,” I plead.

“All right. I’ll drop it.”

A car pulls into the space Zach drove out of and I tense for a second. Mum’s brows pinch together. “I think someone already called them.”

I turn, glancing at the police car. “What is Jackson doing here?” I mumble.

He’s alone as he gets out of the car, making his way up. When he takes us in, his hands go to his belt. “Is everything okay here?”

“Yeah. What brings you here this early?” Dad asks.

“I came to give Imogen an update. I wasn’t aware you lived together. On your form you said you lived alone.”

“I live next door,” I explain, pointing to the path. “Mum and Dad live here.”

He tilts his chin up. “Ah, I get it.”

“Will it take long?” Dad asks. “We’ve got a breakfast to eat and it’s already been delayed.”

“Dad,” I scold.

Mum smacks his chest. “Honey, don’t be rude.”

He shrugs. “I’m starving.”

Jackson clears his throat. “It’s okay. I can check in another day.”

“You can come to my office,” Dad tells him. “She’ll be helping out next week.”

“Is what you need to tell me important?” I ask, giving my dad a warning look to shut up.

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