Beloved (Toni Morrison Trilogy #1)(54)

“Hi,” I say breathlessly.

“Hi! I’m going to bed in case anyone was curious,” Ashton yells, and we all start laughing. “Jackson, it was a pleasure meeting you. Hopefully I’ll see you in the morning.” She winks at me and starts to leave, giving me a thumbs up as she heads to her room.

Jackson scoops me into his arms effortlessly and places a quick kiss on my forehead. “Where’s your room?”

I point at what I hope is my door. “Ummm that one. I think.” He laughs as he opens the door to the bathroom. Oops.

The next door he opens is my bedroom. “Lucky door number two.” He walks over and gently places me on my bed. Crap! Jackson is here—in my room—and I’m not even sober to enjoy it. “I’m going to stay tonight. I’ll be a gentleman,” he whispers in my ear.

“Okay. But feel free not to be.” I laugh since I’ve become a giggly, drunken fool.

I watch as he undresses. At least I’m going to enjoy this! His gaze as he pulls his pants off stops my urge to laugh. Nope. Nothing funny about that.

“I like your room,” Jackson says, looking around.

“I like you naked,” I say, then slap my hand over my mouth.

“Are you sure? Maybe you like imaginary Jackson better.” His brow lifts and his dimple appears.

“I like all the Jacksons.” I fall against my pillow as the room spins. Ugh! Please don’t let me get sick.

“I’m glad. I was starting to wonder.” I feel the bed shift as he slides his arm under my head. “Sleep well.”

“Good night.” I nuzzle into his neck as I pass out, suddenly not feeling so sick after all.





I crack my eye open and slam it shut again—too bright! My head is pounding and my mouth feels like I have a million cotton balls in it. I roll over and my hand slaps on a warm, shirtless, rock-hard chest. What?

“That wasn’t very nice,” a deep, husky voice croaks.

I slowly open my eye and see Jackson’s wide grin. Ummm, why is he in my bed and when the hell did he get here? Well, I’m fully clothed so that’s good … I think. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Water. I need water. I look over at my nightstand and see two aspirins and a water bottle. I quickly sit up, groaning as I grab the side of my head.

“Not feeling so hot this morning, huh?” Jackson yells, or at least that’s what it sounds like in my head.

“Shhh. Too loud,” I whisper and reach for the medicine.

He leans over, swipes the pills, and places them in my hand. “I was whispering, babe. Here. Drink.”

Hopefully this medicine is fast acting, otherwise I’m going to be worthless all day. I lie back down and try to recall what happened last night. We drank. I remember that much. I remember going to the bathroom and eyes … I remember his eyes. I roll over and face Jackson, hoping he can fill me in. “So …”

“What? You like imaginary Jackson more?”

“I …” The puzzle pieces start to click. Imaginary Jackson! Please someone kill me. That would be a lot easier than the embarrassment I’m dealing with now. “Look, I drank a lot. Nothing I said—or did—can be held against me.”

He rolls and faces me, pushing the hair back off my face. “You were adorable and nothing happened last night—well, at least not what I was hoping for.” Jackson’s grin is wide as his eyes shift toward my breasts.

“Hey!” I quickly cut him off. “I didn’t mean that you did anything. I mean I vaguely remember a few things.” My hand makes its way to his chest and I trace the tribal sun. It’s so beautiful. The tattoo on my hip is more of a celestial sun, but his is huge and takes up his entire pec, completely covering where his heart is. My fingers roam the rays and he sighs, placing his hand over mine. “We both have suns,” I observe.

“The sun is constant,” Jackson states.

“I got mine on my eighteenth birthday.”

“What made you get the sun?” he asks.

I could very easily give him a girly answer like I usually do, but I want to share this with him. The sun has great significance to me, even if it also brings a fair amount of darkness. “When I was a child, my father used to sing ‘You are My Sunshine’ to me when I was sad. I always remembered that about him. I still sing it when I need to calm myself.” I sigh and look up with sad eyes. “It’s probably the only good memory I have of him, or at least one I remember. He would either sing it or whistle it if he was upset with my mother. I carried on that tradition, which basically means it’s my theme song.”

“Tell me about him,” Jackson says quietly and holds my hand steady against his chest.

“I don’t really have much to say.” I take a deep breath. “He left when I was nine, on my birthday, and I never saw him again. He walked away while I cried on the floor. Never looked back.”

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

“Well, yeah. I was a kid. I begged him, literally hanging onto his leg.” I pause, remembering how desperate I was for him not to walk away. Unfortunately, that was only the beginning of my heartache. “I would write letters and beg my mom to take me to him. But she didn’t know where he was. He disappeared. It was awful because before he left, he adored me. He told me every day how much he loved me and how special I was. Then he just …” Tears start to leak as I recall my childhood. “I cried a lot in the beginning. Then I would tell people he died because it was easier than explaining he didn’t love me.”