“Oh, Mr. Hale, a friend of yours dropped by in the week.” Leah stood up and began to clear the table. “He said to say hello.”
“Yes—the very smooth Mr. Peake.” Each word trickled like an insult from Hazel’s tongue.
Jackson’s glass paused halfway to his mouth. “Landon Peake?”
“Yes.” Leah nodded.
“What did he want?” The hair at the back of Jackson’s neck prickled.
Hazel and Leah exchanged a loaded glance. “Nothing, really. It was barely a ten-minute visit. I suggested he come back when you were here.”
His father cleared his throat. “I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”
The tension he’d been batting away all day clamped tighter on Jackson’s temples. He hated that Peake had come here. He hatedthat he’d talked to Leah. The visit wasn’t a social call; Landon Peake was delivering a message.
Silence settled over the table for several uneasy minutes before Leah took the plates into the kitchen. “Let’s have dessert!” Her voice was a little strangled when she returned, placing a cheesecake, decorated with malted milk balls, in the middle of the table.
“We don’t eat chocolate,” his parents said as one, in the same tone someone else might say, “We don’t eat crushed snails.”
“I’m not a big fan of cheesecake,” Niamh murmured, choosing now to speak up when she’d been all but silent the entire visit.
Jackson and Hazel shared a glance. He would eat a slice of that dessert even if it was loaded with chili, too. Hazel’s eyes said the same.
“All the more for us.” The old lady beamed at Leah and held out her hand for a plate.
He battled the migraine for as long as he could, his stomach churning and his vision beginning to shimmer at the edges. Leah had jumped at the chance to walk Hazel home, and he didn’t blame her. His parents laid into him in a two-pronged attack the moment the front door closed.
They were scathing about the house and his grandmother. Equally rude about Leah and, surprisingly, Hazel, too. Probably because the old lady was utterly resistant to intimidation. Their contempt scalded. He’d grown used to it showering down on his shoulders like acid rain but it was infinitely more uncomfortable hearing it directed elsewhere. Niamh, as usual, stayed out of it.
If he could have controlled the pounding in his head, there were so many things Jackson wanted to say. But exhaustion dragged at his limbs, weighing his tongue until he was almost mute. The battlewas lost before he could plant his feet. He was a crab without its shell. A warrior without a shield. This was not the hour for fighting.
Retreat and regroup.That’s what he needed to do.
“I have to go to bed,” he ground out, eyes half closed, almost swaying on his feet. “I’ve got a migraine coming on.”
“Still having those?” His mom sniffed at yet another weakness from her one remaining son.
“You said we weren’t staying over. I don’t have anything with me.” Niamh re-joined the conversation with a frown.
“I wasn’t planning on it, but I can’t drive tonight.”
“You can come back with us, Niamh,” his mother offered. It was barely out of their way, since they lived less than fifteen minutes apart. “We’ll drop you home.”
“I have to lie down. Please tell Leah when she gets back—” He trailed off, knowing he shouldn’t be leaving her to deal with his parents alone but barely able to remain upright.
Almost reduced to crawling up the stairs, Jackson felt relief with each step that took him further from his family. Sliding beneath the covers and craving darkness with every overactive pain sensor in his body, he laid his head into the cool dip of his pillow and allowed himself to relax. Within minutes, he was asleep.
Chapter 17
Leah
She walked back into an ambush.
Alistair Hale sat at the dining table, back straight and fingers tapping, cell phone neatly placed by his right hand. Celia and Niamh perched on the couch, Stepford Wife–still and perfectly poised. There was no sign of Jackson.
Leah smiled politely, her stomach giving an uneasy roll. “Can I get anyone a drink?” she offered.
“I think not.” Jackson’s father exuded the grim air of someone about to deliver news he knew would not be well received.
