Hidden in the Stars (Falling Stars #2) (19 page)

"What a cunt." Jackson's voice surprises me.

I stare at him.

"I second what he said," Sid chimes in.

"What?" He shrugs. "She is."

"Stop eavesdropping on my call." I give him a flat look, but the grin he returns ruins my attempt at annoyance.

"You know, even when he's saying cunt with a negative connotation, I get hot. That's goddamn talent. Ask if he does 900 number work?"

Laughter bursts out of my mouth and tears pool in my eyes.

"What?" Jackson asks, one brow raising over his eye.

I shake my head. "Nothing," I choke out between laughs.

"It wasn't that funny," Sid states, laughing at my reaction.

She's right. It wasn't that funny, but it was just one of those moments and now I'm stuck in a giggle fit.

Jackson watches, studying me, with amusement in his eyes and that damn half-grin on his face.

Taking a deep breath, I force my eyes back to the financial papers and documents from my social worker.

"So, back to the budget," I redirect, purposely keeping my eyes off Jackson. His presence is enough distraction, causing tingles, pulsating parts, and goose bumps. "You think I'm playing it too safe with the rent budget?"

"Of course you are." Sid exhales dramatically. "You always play it like that, but I understand why. You could probably pad that with a couple hundred, though."

I purse my lips, hesitating to change the number on the paper.

"You're not going to change it," Sid states. "We already know you won't. Just know you could, okay?" Understanding laces her words.

I nod even though she can't see me.

"Okay," I breathe out.

The boys enter the little kitchen, dumping their dishes and garbage.

"You coming?"

I look up at Sean's question. It was for Jackson.

"We're going to play guitar hero. You should be able to dominate." Sean grins.

Jackson chuckles. "There is a big difference between the buttons on the game guitar and Wifey."

"You have a wifey?" Lucas screws up his face.

"Don't throw me out just yet." Jackson leans his elbows on the top of the bar. "It's what I named my guitar."

"You named your guitar Wifey?" It's Kel turn to look confused.

"Yep. We take care of each other, but there are also days we hate the fu—"

"Ahem." I shift my eyes between him and the boys.

"I mean, days we don't like each other much." The hint of a smile plays at the edge of his mouth.

I want to lick it. Suck his lip into my mouth until I capture the ring adorning it. Giving myself a small shake, I focus back on the papers.

"Aw, come on!" Sean begs.

"Okay." Jackson gives in. "I'll meet you in there."

The boys, including Kel, hurry back to Lucas' room.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Jackson twist on the stool and slide his body from the chair until his chest practically touches my arm. I can feel and see his head move close to my head.

"Just so you know, I am going to find out what you were just thinking about."

"Nothing." I lift my right shoulder, trying to play it off.

"I saw the naughty glint in your eye," he whispers.

Reflexively, I turn my head to him. He grins, bringing his face a breath from mine.

"Now, you know how much your naughty little snake charming side gets me turned on."

"I—" His mouth captures the denial I'm about to speak.

"Liza?" Sid asks in my ear.

Jackson slips a hand behind my neck, preventing my attempt to pull away. His tongue slips into my mouth, intruding and laying claim.

My cell phone clacks to the counter after slipping from my fingers. With both hands, I fist his shirt, holding him close. The warmth of his hands settles on my thighs, trying to part them.

"Jack?" Lucas shouts.

I push him back, wipe my mouth with my hand, and turn toward the hall. I release a breath of relief when I don't see any of the boys standing there. Grabbing my phone, I put it back to my ear.

"Sid?" I blurt.

"Well, that was quick. My fantasies totally have him lasting longer than that."

"Shut up," I grumble and look up at Jackson.

He smiles his little half-grin.

"What are you smiling at?" I purse my lips.

"Fucking perfection, that's what I'm smiling at. Fucking perfection." In a flash, both his hands grab my face. He plants a full lip kiss on my mouth, releases my face, and walks away.

"I don't think we can be friends anymore." Sid shatters the shock of his words with her declaration.

"Wh-what?" I shake my head.

"I can't be friends with you," she sighs heavily.

"What are you talking about? We're related. You can't get rid of me," I tease.

"Crap," she groans. "Well, then, you are going to have to just accept that I will be living vicariously through your situation."

"My situation?"

"Yep. You being the object of adoration and lust for a hot as hell rock star."

"Shut up," I giggle.

"Just as long as you are okay with me fantasizing about your man, we should be good."

"He's not my man," I clarify, shoving the documents and papers into my folder. Clearly this conversation will never get back on track.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Just be careful, I don't wanna go to jail for having to kill someone and I really don't want to be all over TV for killing a celebrity. They always find the most random, jacked up photos. I know they'll go straight to that picture from eleventh grade when I thought blonde would be more fun. Do you remember the rash I had on the side of my face from the bleach? God, they're going to use that photo."

"Sid," my voice is stern, "I appreciate the concern, but I'm pretty sure there won't be any jail time. He'll be gone in a couple weeks and you know how that will go," I snort.

"Why don't you tell me how that’s going to go?" Jackson doesn't sound amused in the slightest.

"On that note, you're on your own. I tried to tell you, but you won't listen. Peace out, baby doll." Sid disconnects.

I'm too frozen by the tone of his voice to respond. Setting the phone on the counter, I slowly turn to face my inked giant.

"Hey," I try to play it off, "I thought you were playing video games."

His arms cross over his chest and brow furrows.

"Why don't you tell me how things are going to go, Liza? You seem to have it all figured out," he presses.

"Jackson," I sigh out his name, "we both…we live…" I pause, searching for the right words. "We live different lives, in different places. You won't be around forever." I shrug.

The deep wrinkle in his brow softens just a touch. He opens his mouth, but the ring of his cell interrupts. Pulling the phone from his back pocket, he looks at the screen, eyes wide. Urgency takes over his movements as he touches the screen and jams the phone to his ear.

"Why the fuck haven't you called me back?" he barks in greeting. "I don't give a shit what you thought was best, Christopher!"

I straighten my spine, realizing he's talking to his brother.

"What?" His voice cracks and sadness draws his features downward.

Instinctively, I move to his side.

"How long has she known?" He chokes on the question.

I place a hand on his arm.

"She didn't think I should—”

Flexing my fingers, I grip his arm, but he pulls away from my touch.

I know I should be more understanding, but rejection swirls through my body. Taking steps away from him, I lean against the counter and stare at the floor.

"That's bullshit and you know it," he shouts. "They've known for months and said nothing. She's my mother for fuck sake!"

My eyes come back to him at the mention of his mother. The pain in his eyes and the tension in his body makes my heart ache.

"I'll be home in the morning," he says, his words clipped, angry.

"NO!" he shouts.

Movement in the hallway catches my eye. Kel, Lucas, and Sean stand in the bedroom doorway, confusion on their faces. Kel's eyes come to mine. I shake my head and he pulls the boys back into the room, closing the door behind them.

"You expect me to just stay in L.A., pretend like she isn't sick, and act like she didn't lie to me all this time? You are out of your goddamn—”

His face goes from angry to sheet white.

"Mom," he chokes on her name, "why wouldn't you—?"

His shoulders sag, head drops, and body looks like it's going to collapse.

Sucking up my hurt feelings, I move back to his side and wrap my arm around his back. I guide him to the couch and he lets me sit him down.

"You should've told me." Sitting next to him, I hear the tears in his voice.

His long fingers grip into the denim at his knees.

"I'm coming home." He sniffs. "No, I'm leaving tonight."

Releasing the denim, he rubs his face.

"Damn it, Mom, I can't stay here when you—”

His shoulders tense.

"Fine," he growls. "I'm sorry for cursing."

I fight not to smile.

"I'll be home before the weekend. You can't stop me from leaving after I take care of things for the show."

Show?

"I'm going to talk to the producers and tell them I have a family emergency."

Producers?

"I don't care about the stupid Hidden Talent sh—crap. They can replace me or make accommodations."

Oh. My. God. He's here for the show, THE show, and I'm a contestant. Shit, shit.

"I'll do what I have to tomorrow, but after that, I'll be on a plane. I love you, but you aren't stopping me." He ends his call, dropping the phone on the floor between his feet.

My body aches from the tension in my muscles.
I have to tell him.
I glance at him from the corner of my eyes. He's bent, knees to elbows, with his head in his hands.
I can't tell him right now.

I open my mouth, but close it.

Suddenly, he stands, stalking down the hallway to the bathroom.

When the door closes, I mimic his previous pose. Holding my head in my hands, I take deep breaths and try to figure out how and when to tell him about the show.

He returns as quickly as he left.

"I'm sorry about—”

Standing, I shake my head. "You don't have anything to apologize for."

He sniffs and rubs under his nose. A white dot sits on his lip and my eyes can't look away. Not even when his body stiffens and he licks his lip.

My brow furrows.

"I should go," he blurts.

Finally moving my gaze away from his lip, I meet his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"No," he responds honestly, rubbing his nose again.

"I don't know what all is going on, but I'm sorry you're going through it."

"Yeah, thanks." He bends at the waist and picks his phone up off the floor.

When he moves to straighten, a miniature brown bottle falls out of his pocket. Reflexively, I pick it up. I know exactly what it is and what the nose rubbing is about.

Drugs.
My heart drops into my stomach.
Probably coke.
I'd seen too many young girls—waitresses, backup dancers—fall victim to cocaine and other drugs.

Locking my eyes to his, I hold my hand out, palm up.

His eyes shift from the vial in my palm to my eyes and back before he takes it from me.

"I just—”

"You just brought an illegal substance into my home and around my son," I finish for him, shaking my head. "Why?" I furrow my brow.

"Why what?"

"Why would you waste your time and life with that crap?" I motion to the hand fisting the drugs. "I thought you'd be smarter than this."

His face turns to stone, any light in his eyes dies.

"I don't need a mother," he sneers. "Besides, you have enough kids to take care of, don't you think?" His head jerks in the direction of Lucas' room.

I bite my lip and fight tears welling up in my eyes.

"You thought you had this all figured out, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't." I shake my head as the tears threaten to spill.

"Whatever, Liza. Based on what you said to your cousin, you've been planning my exit." Shoving the vial in his pocket, he pulls out his cell before turning toward the door.

The tears escape, falling over my warm cheek.

Grabbing his knit hat and sunglasses from my small desk, he pauses at the closed door. His shoulder's sag and he turns around. I stare at a spot on the wall to the left of him.

"Just go," I say, my voice cracking.