Jackson
Turning into the trailer park my back tire gets a little loose under me on the dirt road. Everything pulls tight inside me as my mind goes back to a time when I looked forward to turning onto this road.
“You’re home early,” Michele greets over her shoulder from the kitchen as I open the front door.
She’s wearing some shorts that at some point in time were old jeans she cut off with a tank top. The back pocket hangs down on one side where the stitching has worn away. Moving to her, she automatically turns around to face me, smiling bright. I slide my hands into the back pockets of her shorts stretching the messed up pocket more and not giving a shit.
I instantly get hard as I press my lips to hers and she opens her mouth for me.
Every kiss, every single time is a searing of my soul to hers. It’s not a battle of dominance because if I’m honest with myself this woman has me completely under her thumb.
Breaking away, she’s breathless when I drop my head to her neck and bite. She presses closer to me, I slide my hands out of her back pockets to slide them to the back of her thighs and scoop her up carrying her into the living room.
Plopping down on the couch she straddles me as I separate long enough to pull her tank top off. Scooping her tit out of the confines of her bra I latch on fast and hard causing her to whimper in the onslaught of sensation as I slide my hand up her shorts and tease her pussy with my thumb. Michele reaches back and takes off her bra while I continue my attentions on working her up.
“Jackson,” she moans my name and my dick throbs.
My name on her lips always does me in.
Shaking off the thoughts, I pull to a stop in front of a single-wide trailer with cream tin siding and shutters that hang haphazardly off the windows. The old white Buick sits in the same spot Esther Forbes has always parked in.
I don’t even make it off my bike before Michele’s mom steps out onto her front porch. Her white hair is down to her shoulders while she wears a t-shirt and jeans with no shoes. The worry lines are her face run deep as her eyes meet mine.
She steps off the porch as I climb off my Harley and make my way to her. Esther reaches me and before I can speak, her arms snake around my waist as she presses against me. At my height she doesn’t make near it my shoulder but her head rests on my chest as her body shakes in sobs.
“Jackson,” she says my name taking me back all over again.
“You did what?” Esther asks wide-eyed.
“We got married.” I explain and I see the tears form in her eyes. “I asked for your permission. Do not put a damper on how we feel. You had to know it was coming even if you forbid it.”
Michele squeezes my hand as we watch her mom roll her shoulders back. She steps forward and wraps an arm around each of us. She relaxes as she embraces us.
“Welcome to the family, Jackson.”
This woman was once my family. I don’t know what she is to me now. I don’t hug her back. Instead, I remain still until she composes herself enough to pull away.
“Jackson,” she looks up at me. “You’ve gotten taller.” She appraises me from top to toe, “bigger all the way around.”
“Cut the shit, Esther,” I tell her having enough of this.
“Jackson, we have a mess.”
Trapper steps up beside me. “Well, your trailer could use some work, but it’s not what I would call a mess.” He slaps me on the back. “Plus our boy Rowdy here really isn’t into construction.” He winks dramatically at her, “that whole convicted felon thing held him back for a bit, ya know what I mean?”
She gasps but I don’t stop Trapper and his antics.
“Even when the state back tracks and suddenly changed their minds about our boy here, it still leaves behind a stigma.” He raises his hands for emphasis. “You’re a woman, you get that changing your mind thing. Well, the state of Tennessee exonerated our boy. So he has the right to vote and carry a handgun again.”
She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, but just stands watching Trapper and me.
“How’s that shit go, Rowdy? Innocent, proven guilty, then proven innocent. I don’t think that shit is right but you lived it.” He steps forward making Esther step back. “Where’d his family go? You wanna hug him like a long lost son, but where the fuck you been?”
“Trapper,” I warn. While I want to say the things he is, there is a level of respect I feel like I owe this woman. She is my mother-in-law. Once upon a time, she was Michele’s best friend. Out of respect for that I need my brother to stand down.
“Jackson,” she looks to me. “I’m sorry for all you’ve suffered. We didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to bother you.” She looks around nervously. “I asked around for a way to contact you. Your mother is gone so I couldn’t ask her. But her sister, Judy. She said you took off with the cop that helped you get out, and had no way to reach you. It took some time to find Mr. Ragnes and then you. I hope we’re not to late.”
“To late for what?”
“To save Michele.”
My heart beats so loudly I can’t think clearly.
“Jackson, please come inside.”
I nod and look to Collector who has an arm slung casually over Sonnie’s shoulders. With a kiss to her cheek, he steps away from his woman to take my back.
“I don’t like enclosed spaces,” Trapper whines, “so I’ll be out here fuckin’ off.”
Ignoring him, I look to the others who remain back.
“Family business, brother. We’re just outside.” Deacon says reaching into his saddlebags for his phone. “Judge is a level up on Candy Crush on me,” he says casually trying to ease the tension I know he feels radiating off me.
I take a step forward to hear X call out behind me. “Your world’s been turned upside down since you learned she was gone. Maybe this is the opportunity to turn shit right again, brother.”
With too many emotions coursing through me, I simply raise my hand in acknowledgement.
Stepping inside, the brown plaid couch where I first kissed Michele haunts me. Inhaling, the house still smells the same blend of mildew and spice. I see the cinnamon stick broom hanging on the wall. This one looks a little smaller than the one she used to have and judging by the discoloration around it I would assume this one is new.
Esther takes a seat in her old chair that is the same busted brown plaid as the couch. Collector and I settle on the couch with the wood groaning under our weight.
“Jackson, where do I begin?”
“Is she alive?” I cut to the chase.
I watch Esther hesitate. Before she can reply, the landline phone on the wall rings. She gets up and answers it.
“Hello,” she pauses and her face pales. “Yes, I understand.”
She hangs up.
“This was a mistake. You need to leave Jackson. For your safety and everyone’s,” she looks me in the eye and emphasizes the word everyone making me believe my wife, Michele, is indeed alive.
“Where is she?” I ask standing and feeling my frustrations build.
She shakes her head. “Not here.”
“So, she’s alive?” Collector asks to which Esther shrugs her shoulders. “You told me she was, now you can’t confirm it. Stop fuckin’ with us Esther!”
She looks defeated. “You really should leave.”
We don’t get to sort what’s what when we hear tires screech and shots pop off outside. Rushing to the door, I watch as X covers Hadley taking her to the ground. Judge does the same with Tamalyn. Deacon dives knocking Sonnie to the ground.
Trapper is the only one standing up straight and pulling his nine millimeter Crimson Trace Semiautomatic to fire back. Grabbing my own gun, I hit the porch firing away at the flat black Chevy Impala with blacked out windows and chrome rims.
Esther screams as Collector pushes her back inside the house.
The landline rings again. This time I rush inside to it and answer.
“Hello,” I clip.
“Jackson Presley,” the man says with a thick Hispanic accent. “Esther has made a critical mistake.”
“Where’s my wife?”
“In mi primo’s bed,” the man laughs maniacally.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Javi Almanza and I own your wife, her mother, and if you come after her, I’ll fuckin’ own you too.”
He disconnects and I slam the phone down so hard I rip it off the wall.
“No one fuckin’ owns me or my wife,” I say to the wall.
She is mine and I’ll die before I let her go.