I debate silence for a moment, but I just can’t deny the truth. “Sorry,” I say to Ethan. Then I turn to Cass and say, “Honestly, Jackson is just so—”
Across the table, Ethan groans as if in pain.
“Fine,” I say, then turn my attention back to Cass. “How’s your love life?”
“Oh, hell,” Ethan chimes in. “Why not skip the romance and jump straight to your sex life?”
We both turn to him, and he grins and raises his hands. “Hey, girl on girl and no sister in the picture? I’m perfectly fine with that.”
I smirk at Cass. “You’ll have to forgive my brother. He’s an ass.”
“But such a cute one, don’t you think?”
“He is pretty adorable,” I say, and though we’re bantering to get a rise out of him, the fact is it’s true.
I adore my brother, and I always have. He’s the only good thing, in fact, that came out of the horror of my childhood, because when it was all said and done, he walked away healthy.
He’s been living in London and only recently returned to the States. And between work and the soap opera that is now my life, I haven’t gotten to see him nearly enough. He’s got a few weeks off before he starts back up at his job, so he’s been using our parents’ house as a home base. That’s not a situation that’s conducive to visits as far as I’m concerned, because the only thing I want less than to shove bamboo under my fingernails is to visit my parents. So I was beyond thrilled when he called and suggested drinks with me and Cass. “No significant others,” he’d said. “Jackson’s awesome, but I want the dirt.”
Apparently he meant it, because now he’s all about the gossip. He kicks back, looks me square in the eye, and says, “I’ve read all the tabloid shit. What’s the real story?”
The waitress arrives with the fried avocado, tuna tartare, and specialty martinis they’d ordered before I arrived, so I wait until she’s gone to run down all the drama. At least, all the drama I’m willing to share.
“No way,” my brother says. He grabs a slice of fried avocado and points it at me. “He didn’t do it.”
“Kill Reed?” Cass asks, as though we could be talking about anything else.
“I spent time with him. Jackson’s not a killer.”
“Thanks for the assessment.” It’s one I agree with, actually. Jackson isn’t a killer. But he is a man who would kill when necessary. And if he ends up convicted, how the hell will I live with the knowledge that he killed for me?
“Anytime.” Ethan smiles, but it seems a little sad.
“What?” I demand. “What happened with Mom and Dad to send you racing up to Los Angeles?”
He waves the question away. “Nothing. Really. I just needed my space. And I wasn’t even thinking about that. It just sucks that you have to deal with this murder stuff and all the crap that the tabloids are printing and posting all over the web.” He lifts a shoulder. “It’s just all a mess.”
Since I can’t argue with that, I don’t.
“I think the hardest thing on Jackson is that he didn’t get to bring his daughter home,” I say.
“Well, yeah,” Cass says. “You guys went all the way to Santa Fe and then got slammed with the news he’s a prime suspect. It sucks,” she adds, in what might be the understatement of the century.
Ethan’s reaction is entirely different. He’s staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Jackson has a kid?”
I nod, realizing that although Cass has known this for almost as long as I have, I never told my brother this little family secret. “The media doesn’t know. He wants to keep it quiet to protect her from, well, from all of this mess. So don’t, you know . . .”
I trail off, and he swats my words away as if they are a nuisance. “Of course I won’t say anything, but Jesus, Syl. You’re dating a guy with a kid?”
“He’s just a guy,” Cass says. “Fatherhood isn’t his defining characteristic.”
Ethan cuts her a quick glance. “No. No, it’s not. But if it’s serious between you and Jackson, and if you’re thinking that he’s your guy and maybe there’s marriage down the line—”
He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t have to. At least not to me. Because he and I have had more than our fair share of conversations about parenting. And in every single one of them we both acknowledged the fact that with parents like ours, we needed to stay far, far away from that particular vocation.