“Insulting me doesn’t get you out of answering the question.”
His shoulders tightened. “What question?”
“What have you ever fought for, my man?”
Well, fuck. Put so baldly, the question stared Nick in the face. But there had to be an answer. Otherwise, how had he ended up this way?
No, he’d fought, he decided. Sometimes with his fists, sometimes with everything else. He’d had no choice, because life had started him with little, then given him the world and taken it all away again, and he’d battled and bled and come back empty-handed, left with scars and gaping holes where his vital organs had once been. The only reason Jackson believed he hadn’t done enough was because every time he’d fought, he’d lost. But he couldn’t have acted any differently. Not without sacrificing his daughter or his integrity.
“I’m waiting,” Jackson said.
Nick jabbed at his forehead with his fingers. “I don’t know. Ask me again when it’s not seven in the morning, okay? It’s too early for this. And your cheeriness is fucking with my head.”
“Good.” Jackson readjusted his grip on the wheel. “I’m glad something is.”
Nick grumbled out a response even he didn’t know the meaning of.
More miles passed. They stopped in Pennsylvania to gas up the truck and get Nick coffee. Once the caffeine hit his bloodstream, he pulled out his phone. He needed to take his mind off that damn Broadway show, and with nine hours to go, he had plenty of time to cook up a letter for MontanaBirder81.
After all, he owed the guy, fair and square.
He leaned his forehead against the icy window and closed his eyes in a search for inspiration.Go to war, Jackson had said. Like it was that easy. But for a moment, Nick pretended he was in a position to do exactly that. He drifted back to last Saturday, when Aubrey had touched him again, after all these years, in ways only she ever had. With possessiveness. And in that single, perfect slice outside of time, he’d been hers again.
He opened his eyes. He knew what his letter would say. He just had to get one thing clear.
He typed out a message to John.Do you love Jane? And if so, do you want her to know?
The reply came within minutes.Sure, I do.
That galvanized him. Words burbled up. He splashed them across the screen, swiping and deleting and rephrasing until his finest work to date took shape. It was a do-or-die, all-cards-on-the-table kind of declaration.
He hit Send, then settled back in his seat. If Jane had liked his earlier letters, which it seemed she had, then somewhere in Montana, very soon, John would be making love to his new woman.
Meanwhile, Nick would be jerking off in the shower. Again.
Hurray.
He started to tuck his phone away, then paused when it rang in his hand. He frowned down at the caller ID. It was Sunday. Why was he getting a call from Paige’s biology teacher?
Years ago, he’d saved Juan Gallegos’s number after doing some welding work constructing a firepit for the guy’s admittedly impressive garden. The pay had netted Nick enough to take Paige and Tansy to the grandiose water park in Indianapolis for a weekend.
But he hadn’t spoken to Juan since.
“Hello?” Nick glanced at the dash clock, his frown deepening. It was only eight o’clock in Indiana.
“Hi, is Nick Thacker there?”
“Yeah, this is him. What’s up?”
A beat of silence sizzled on the line. “Hi, Mr. Thacker. This is Juan Gallegos, Paige’s biology—”
“I know who you are, Juan. Why’re you talking to me like we haven’t met?”
“Sorry.” Juan sounded breathy. Nervous. Nick imagined himat his breakfast table in full science-teacher regalia, wearing one of those absurd ties he favored, like the bright yellow monstrosity that hadScience Is Fun!written all over it.
“Uh, normally I wouldn’t call a parent in a situation like this, but since it’s Paige, and since she’s normally such a stellar student,andyou and I are acquainted, I thought I’d address it personally, without involving the faculty.”
Nick’s spine snapped straight. “What’re you talking about? What ‘situation’?”
