I fought the urge to smack his smug, gorgeous face. “I’m fine,” I said curtly. “I’m sorry about your father, Jackson.”
For a moment, the icy look in Jackson’s eyes wavered. But seconds later, his cruel smirk was back on his face.
I wondered if he ever smiled.
Just as Jackson opened his mouth, the priest stepped up to the pulpit. I glared at Jackson and smirked, as if to say: “I see you can’t exactly sass me back now!”
Jackson glared right back.
Mom squeezed my hand and tugged me down into the pew. As the priest began to speak of Mitchell’s life, Mom began to sob. I knew at that moment that I had to forget about Jackson – I was there for Mom, and she was my priority.
--
After the funeral, Mom and I took a cab to the reception. It was being held at a restaurant a few blocks away. I didn’t think I was hungry, but at the mention of food, my stomach started cramping and twisting. By the time the cab pulled up, I was starving.
A group of Mitchell’s female friends spotted Mom and pulled her into a tight hug. Before I could say anything, they’d tugged her away to the side of the room and encircled her with sympathy. I stood there, feeling awkward. He was only my stepfather, I wanted to say each time that someone wished me sympathy. And I barely knew him.
A black car pulled up in front of the restaurant and Jackson climbed out of the backseat. He wasn’t smirking anymore – his eyes were narrowed into tiny slits and his mouth was set in a thin line. I watched him brush past the crowds of women and disappear inside.
This is my chance, I thought. I hated the idea of apologizing to him, but I knew it was what Mom would want. And I had to admit, I felt terrible for Jackson. His father had just died – I knew it must be a horrible feeling.
“Jackson,” I called loudly, following him down a narrow hall. “Jackson, I wanna talk to you for a minute.”
Jackson turned around. His handsome features were twisted with grief and his blonde hair was hanging over his forehead.
“What?” Jackson hissed. “What the fuck do you want, Belle?”
I licked my lips and swallowed. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about Mitchell,” I said softly. “I know we haven’t always gotten along before, but I think we should make more of an effort now.”
Jackson crossed his muscular arms over his bulging chest. Even in his tailored suit, I could tell that he was ripped. I blushed as I thought about what he looked like without that suit on. Stop it, Belle, this is a funeral for God’s sake! I thought as the blood rushed to my cheeks. You can’t be ogling him. He’s your stepbrother!
“Oh yeah?” Jackson raised his eyebrows. “And why would we get along now, Belle?” He stepped closer and a wave of musky, masculine cologne washed over my face. “Has something changed between us?”
My heart was in my throat as Jackson stepped nearer again, closing the distance between our bodies.
“Um,” I said softly. “I just thought…” I trailed off, my mouth dry and achy. “I just thought that…”
“You thought what?” Jackson’s eyes flashed cruelly. He flicked his glance over my body, down my sides and over the curve of my bustline. “You thought that my dad dying would somehow make everything okay?”
“Jackson, I’m just really sorry,” I said in a rush. “I’m really sorry about Mitchell. He was a good guy. I know it must be really hard.”
Jackson’s lips curled into a cruel sneer.
“Fuck off,” he snarled. “I don’t need your sympathy, Belle. You don’t understand me at all.” He turned on his heel and stalked off.
As I watched Jackson walk away, anger and resentment filled my body. Fuck you, I thought. I tried being nice and you just threw it back in my face.
At that moment, I made a vow to never say anything kind to Jackson Rhodes for the rest of my life.
I couldn’t wait to get back to school. The tension was too much to bear. Even though I didn’t see Jackson again after the funeral, I felt him everywhere I went. Mom was too upset and distracted to notice – she spent most of her days crying and staying in bed – and I’d done nothing but pretend to study while actually watching bad reruns of Teen Mom on MTV.
As soon as I got home, Alexa hugged me and handed me a glass of wine.
I laughed. “It’s ten in the morning, babe,” I said, staring down at the glass of cabernet in my right hand. “You sure about this?”
Alexa raised her eyebrows. “It’s finals week,” she said smugly. “That means we can drink all day if we don’t have a final.”
I groaned. “Aren’t you forgetting about studying?”