“Why her?”
He turns, looking at me standing on the stairs. His eyes scan me for a moment, before he turns back to the television. I guess he doesn’t want to talk to me. I am about to turn, when he says, “Your Momma?”
I stop, swallowing. “Yeah, why her?”
He shrugs. “She was beautiful, sweet, funny, and she caught my eye. I didn’t know she had such a fucked up life. She didn’t show that to me.”
I’m shocked by this. “It wasn’t just one night?”
He turns, meeting my gaze. “That what she told you?”
I shake my head. “She told me you were a biker. That was it.”
He stares at me, his blue gaze locking me in place. Then he holds up a slice of pizza. “Hungry?”
I nod, daring to step off the last step and walk over. I sit on the couch over from him, and I take a slice of pizza.
“Your Momma never told you how we met? Nothin’?”
I shake my head, biting into my pizza. Jackson watches me again, then he stands, walking off down the hall. I stare blankly at him, confused for a moment, until he returns with an old photo album. He places it down next to me, and then takes his seat on the couch again. I stare down at the tattered, maroon album confused.
“Open it,” he says.
I slip the album open, and stare for a long while, at the pictures in front of me. The woman with dark hair, brown eyes and olive skin in front of me is so stunning, I don’t recognize her as my mother. She never looked like that, not that I can remember. I run my fingers over the picture. She’s laughing in it, standing beside a motorcycle, her hair blowing in the breeze. I swallow, feeling my throat clenching painfully. Slowly, I move my eyes to the next picture. She’s pregnant in this picture, her swollen belly clearly noticeable. Jackson is beside her, his hand resting on it, a smile on his face. I was right, he was incredibly good looking. When I get to the next picture, my throat does close over.
It’s my mother, Jackson and…well…I guess me. I’m only about a year old, tiny, smiling, happy. I stare at the picture for such a long time. So there was a time in my life, where things were perfect? There was a time when I was just a happy, normal child? I run my fingers over the picture, and then look up at Jackson. He’s watching me intently, focusing on my expression, no doubt trying to gauge my reaction. I am in shock. It takes me a moment to splutter out the words swarming around in my head.
“You…she wasn’t a one night stand?”
He shakes his head. “No, she wasn’t.”
“Then, you wanted me?”
His eyes widen, and for a moment he seems too shocked to speak. “Of course I fuckin’ wanted you. I wanted that life. I wanted a family.”
“Then what went wrong?” I croak out.
“Jasper happened.”
I flinch, that name sends shivers up my spine and lodges itself into the coldest parts of my soul. Jasper is, or was, my mother’s pimp. He was also my nightmare, and took my virginity before I was ready to give it. He’s after me now, for more reasons than one.
“You’re familiar with Jasper?” Jackson says.
“Something like that,” I say, not wanting to give my father any more information. “My mother was a whore before she met you then?”
He nods, his face scrunching with a moment of pain and a little disgust. “Yeah, she was. I didn’t know. I met her at a bar one night, didn’t even fuckin’ think that she was there whoring. We didn’t fuck that night; we talked all night long. We did that for about four or five days, things were good; I liked her. Then we got together one heated night and didn’t use protection. She got pregnant and we decided to give it a go. She never even indicated that she had that kind of life. She told me her parents lived overseas, and were wonderful. I didn’t even question when she had us movin’ around all the time. I now know it was because Jasper was after her. She owed him money. When he caught up with us, you were just about to turn four. I still remember the look on her face when he showed up at our door. When he told me what he was there for, I didn’t fuckin’ believe him. No way he was tellin’ the truth. No way my sweet, loving Emily was a fuckin’ whore. I confronted her. She told me it was true, that she was a whore. I lost my shit and walked out; I was hurt and angry. When I came back, she was gone and so were you. Turns out her name wasn’t even Emily. I didn’t know how to find her. How do you find someone with a false name and a false life?”
I ponder this information for a long moment before answering. “You didn’t abandon me like she said?”
He looks hurt by that. “No, fuck no. I came back when I cooled down and she was gone. Went with that little prick, never even stayed behind to explain. She took you with her.”
“Then the first time you heard about me since then, was after she died?”
“Yeah, apparently she had my name in her will. That’s how I got in contact with you. They rang me to tell me she passed on.”
“Yeah, they told me your name was in there; it’s how we located you.”
He nods. “I never intended for you to have the life you did, but I assumed she might have taken you to her wonderful parents, and that she got out of that bad life. She did love you, Addison.”
I flinch. “Don’t,” I whisper. “For starters, her parents are dead. They were never real, and secondly, you don’t know what she was like.”