Mind Pucked (Chicago Blue Jays #1)

5. Amelia

5

AMELIA

I hear Hayden shifting upstairs and I go back up to her bedroom to see what’s going on. She’s mumbling, half asleep now, and has kicked her covers off.

I go over and pat her back softly until she calms down.

I smile in victory once she’s asleep again, and I pull her blanket up a little higher. She’s such a beautiful little girl. Even after the trauma she’s been through, she’s so smart, and she loves her father with everything inside her. I don’t want to take her dad away from her when I find out he had something to do with my brother’s death. I don’t know if they have any other family—from the sounds of it, they don’t—but I have to know the truth.

I hate that I’m essentially using Hayden to get to her father, but I don’t see any other way around it. I need more information about my brother’s death…the whole thing is enough to drive me crazy.

When I know she’s good and asleep, I get up from the edge of her bed as carefully as I can. I keep the lamp on the dimmest setting and edge for the door. I know she’s a light sleeper and Jackson has mentioned that she has night terrors sometimes. I haven’t had to deal with that with her yet, but I’m sure it will happen sooner or later. However, I have yet to be needed overnight.

Once I’m out the door, I head for the steps, making sure that I’m quiet all the way.

When I get down the steps and round the corner into the living room, I stop in my tracks as I see Jackson sitting there nursing another drink. His back is to me now as he sits so casually in the armchair, having moved in the short time I was gone. It’s like he’s closing himself off from me on purpose. His jaw is tight, and it looks like he might cry as he sips the amber liquid in the glass.

I consider grabbing my things and sneaking out now that my job is done for the day, but if I’m ever going to get to the bottom of my brother’s death, this may be my only way to do it.

Deciding to draw attention to myself, I go into the living room and begin picking up a little. I know it’s not something I have to do, but I’ve done it every evening up to this point. It’s a good enough excuse to stick around on the off chance Jackson will talk to me about anything other than his daughter.

He’s such a grouch, and so set in his ways. I get it, I really do, it’s just hard to gain any information from him this way.

“I can do that,” Jackson barks, but it’s clear he is exhausted.

I don’t say anything for a moment as I look over at him. I plaster an expression on my face that might convey shock at seeing him. He doesn’t have to know that I know he’s been sitting here the whole time.

“I don’t mind,” I say softly as I pick up a half-bald Barbie and march her into the toy room to put into the bin. “I’ll just get these few things picked up and get out of your way,” I add as I bend over and grab the parts to the doll house furniture we were playing with together before we left for the park.

“Fine,” is all he says as he grumbles under his breath and takes another sip of his drink.

I don’t say anything right away, contemplating what I need to say to get him in the mood for talking.

I can tell he’s bothered by something. My heart softens a little as I wonder what’s eating him. There’s no way it’s nothing, with that look on his face.

Once the floor is picked up and the coffee table is clean, I head to the kitchen and tidy up a little. I half wonder if he’ll follow me in here, but when he doesn’t, I grab my things and go to stand in front of him.

“I guess I’ll head out now,” I say, but I realize quickly that he isn’t even going to look up at me. “I know it’s not my place, but is something wrong?” I ask, mustering up as much kindness as I can.

The sound that escapes him following my words is…not great. It’s a chuckle, but not the kind of chuckle that suggests he’s laughing or being funny, but rather the kind of chuckle that speaks volumes. It’s one of those that instantly make you worry about the person you’re speaking to—regardless of whether you know them well or not.

What I do know about Jackson is limited, but I feel like I know him perhaps a little better than he knows me. I feel bad for him, and I know that I shouldn’t, but I do.

He remains breathless, wordless after, and for the first time I struggle to actually hate him. Sure, he’s a great father, and he’s a damn good hockey player, from what I can tell, but I have to hate the man who may know something about my brother’s death. I have to. Preston deserves justice, and I’m clearly the only person willing to give him that.

“No, seriously, what’s wrong?” I chance as I sit down on the sofa across from him. “I’m here if you need to talk.”

I feel a little guilty pushing at his pain. Especially after seeing the human side of him, the side he shows when only his friends are looking, but this…this is something far worse.

“When my wife died, my whole world ended, and the only reason I kept going was for that little girl in there,” he says, and it’s honestly more than I expected him to say.

“I’m sorry about that,” is all I can say, as I lower my coat and purse and sit back down.

“I don’t know why the fuck I’m telling you all this, but she wasn’t alone when she died,” he offers.

“Oh?” I say, playing the part. In truth, I’m still a little annoyed he hasn’t put two and two together about who I am.

Does he not remember me at all? Or is he so stricken with grief that he can’t see what’s going on around him? Apart from hockey and his daughter, that is.

He and my brother spent years as rivals in one way or another.

“Yeah,” he grumbles.

“Do you know who was with her when she died? I mean…did they die too?”

“The sorry bastard wasn’t with her—all I know is that a wallet was found at the scene, and the owner of that wallet was nowhere to be found.”

“Was it someone you knew?” I wonder out loud, trying not to give away the fact that I know more about the situation than any normal nanny should.

“It was,” he says. “I mean…I don’t know what the hell I mean,” he rambles on as if he’s already drank five glasses of whatever’s in his cup.

I try to gain some composure. Mentioning the wallet without even telling me who it belongs to makes no sense at all. I hate all of this, but I remind myself that being here, taking care of Hayden…this is truly the only reason I’m here—to get to the bottom of all this.

I know in my heart of hearts that Jackson has something to do with this. I still have a feeling that perhaps he suspected his wife of cheating, or that maybe she was cheating on him with my brother.

I have to take a moment before speaking again so I don’t betray myself.

“Have you thought about asking the police if there’s any more information to give you on the matter?” I ask him.

“Don’t you think I’ve exhausted my options?” he snaps as he sits up a little and leans forward, letting his cup hang limp in his hands between his knees.

“Well, how am I supposed to know? I can’t tell if you suspect something bad happened, or if this was all just an accident.” I know I risk losing him and this conversation for good if I keep questioning him, but I can’t help it.

“I don’t fucking know anymore,” he spouts as he gets up and storms to the kitchen.

I take this opportunity to follow him as he fiddles in the fridge for a beer. He tries for the cap on the beer a few times before growling. Here and now, even with me angry with him, he seems so helpless.

I reach across and take the beer, slamming the lid end down on the countertop until it pops off.

“How the hell?” he asks, as I hand him the beer. “You should show that little party trick to some of the guys on my team…they’d never open a beer the old-fashioned way again.”

He smiles a little, which sends some sort of chill down my spine. I don’t know where it’s coming from or what emotion it is exactly, but it’s here and I can’t shake it. I let my anger at the situation replace the chills.

“You’re welcome,” I say as I decide it’s time to leave.

Getting too comfortable with the enemy is not an option. Not when I have so many questions that I know I’m not going to find the answers for anytime soon.

He nods and heads back to the living room where he sits back down in his chair and begins to nurse his drink. I don’t know what to say or do to make the conversation go any further, so I just nod and grab my things.

“See you tomorrow,” I say as I head for the door.

“I’m sorry I’m like this,” he says behind me, but he doesn’t so much as look my way as I walk out and close the door behind me.

As I go, hot tears stream down my face, and I start to sob. All the emotions of the past few minutes with that man come flooding in, and no matter what I do, I just can’t stop them.

I go over the facts as I cry. I know there was a car accident two years back. I know my brother is gone…dead or otherwise, he was deemed dead six months later. Now, I know his wallet was found, but nothing more than that.

As I get into my car and head down the road, tears are still freely falling. I wonder if I should feed Jackson information that might lead to him realizing who I am. Would that knowledge make the connection work in my favor, or will it harm my investigation?

If there’s even an investigation to be had. I don’t really know what happened to my brother, and unless I’m able to prove Jackson’s involvement, I won’t know any more than I did two years ago.