On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,105

I tell her about the photographs. And Reed’s threat to release them if Jackson doesn’t stop trying to block the movie.

I tell her how Jackson exploded once I told him about my dad’s role in the horror with Reed, and about how Jackson showed the photos to my dad and what fresh hell he’d set in motion.

“I told him I didn’t want to do that. I specifically told him I couldn’t deal with it. And then he went and did it anyway.”

Tears leak from my eyes and I brusquely wipe them away.

“I ran out,” I say. “And then I came here.” I shrug, because that’s the end of the story.

Cass is just looking at me, and she’s completely silent. Still and silent.

And since Cass is very rarely silent or still, I know that this isn’t just one of those relationship speed bumps. No, this is a giant wall. And if we’re going to get past it, Jackson and I will have to figure out a way to go over it, go under it, or knock that fucker down.

“So what should I do?” I ask when the silence has become unbearable.

She takes my hands. “I don’t know. He screwed up with your dad, I’ll give you that. But maybe he screwed up for the right reasons.”

“I trusted him with my secrets,” I say. “And to do that …” I trail off with a shudder.

“I know, sweetie. And I get that he violated the trust. But he didn’t violate the secret.”

I look up sharply to meet her eyes.

She lifts a shoulder. “You may have never talked to your dad about it, but he knew. And just because he’d never seen those photos before doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t have been able to imagine every horrible thing that pervert did to you.”

Maybe. I don’t know. I push myself off the couch and cross the short distance to the window that looks out over her postage stamp–size backyard. “I almost told my dad myself,” I admit. “I kept hearing Jackson’s voice in my head, and I almost told him.”

“So maybe that means it was the right thing to do.”

“For me to do. It wasn’t Jackson’s place. He—he took a choice away from me.” I close my eyes, suddenly getting it. He grabbed control. Just like Reed had done—Jackson took control from me. Not control I’d surrendered, but control that he’d stolen.

He’d thought that he was doing the best thing for me, and I understand that. I really do, because didn’t I come close to thinking that same thing, too?

But stealing trust—how the hell do we get past that?

“Hey?” Cass moves up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I shrug, because I really don’t know how to answer that. I feel betrayed. Violated. And profoundly sad. “Are you going to work today?” I ask softly.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. I turn around so that I’m facing her. “Maybe I was thinking we should play hooky and walk along the beach.”

“You are such a liar.”

I make an effort to look indignant.

She narrows her eyes. “Not that I don’t love to practice my art, but you don’t need a new tat.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said. “Every tat I’ve given you is because you either didn’t think you could handle something or because you fought and won. You can handle this thing with Jackson, so you don’t need the ink for that. And so far you haven’t fought, much less won. You haven’t even decided what you’re going to do.”

“Dammit, Cass.” She’s right, of course, but I don’t want to admit it. Because the truth is that this time I want the ink just for strength. And my best friend is basically telling me to suck it up, buttercup, and find the strength inside myself. No crutches. Just me, my emotions, and Jackson.

She crosses her arms over her chest and stares me down. “This battle hasn’t even started. You come to me when it’s over, and if you need the ink then, it’s yours. Until then, you can have me. But not my needles.”

I exhale. Loudly. “Fine. Okay. Whatever.” I grimace. “I guess you’ll have to do.”

She laughs. “Guess so.” The laughter dies soon enough, though, and she looks at me with serious eyes. “So have you decided what you’re going to do? Are you going to talk to him today?”

“I don’t know.” The admission makes me feel slightly ill. This is Jackson, dammit. The man I love. The man I trusted.

The one