Mind Pucked (Chicago Blue Jays #1)

6. Jackson

6

JACKSON

I sit with my head in my hands as I wait for Amelia to put Hayden to bed. All I can think about is our conversation last night. I divulged more to her than I should have. There’s no way I ever should have mentioned the wreck to her, or the fact that a wallet was found.

She doesn’t know anything about me and my life when my wife was alive, and she doesn’t need to know anything now. I hired her to be a nanny, and that’s all she needs to be. I love the fact that my daughter gets along with her, especially when she hasn’t taken to women for so long, but it still puts me off that Amelia fished for information last night.

Just like last night, I’m sitting in the same chair with a drink in my hand. It’s my nightly routine and what gets me through most evenings alone. I have no desire to go out and party with the guys who are as close to me as brothers, nor do I want to fuck around. I’m content sitting here, drinking a beer, and listening for my daughter to wake up.

I hear the steps creak as Amelia comes down. Again, she goes to pick up the toys.

“I can do that,” I grumble as I get up and storm off to my office to take a breather.

I don’t know why she thinks she has to stick around to do this, or what she thinks she’ll gain by hanging around. If she thinks I’m going to talk to her tonight she’s sorely mistaken.

I pace in the middle of my office with the door open, thinking about what I need to say to her as my anger mounts. I know her curiosity could simply be harmless, but deep down I feel like she’s either digging for information or trying to get my attention in a way that I’m not ready to give.

I look around at all the trophies from various hockey games and tournaments. The pictures on the wall are of my brothers—the men I’ve spent so many years playing the game with. This truly is the only room without pictures of my wife and little girl in it. It’s a shrine to my life as a hockey player.

I seethe for long enough and storm back out to the living room, hoping she’s gone. When I see her coat still here, I roll my eyes and sit back down in my seat, sipping my beer. It’s gone warm, disgusting, but I down it nonetheless.

Amelia walks out of the kitchen, and I can feel her eyes on me. I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but she has to leave. She evokes so many feelings in me that I don’t want or need at a time like this.

“I really don’t mind doing this before I have to leave each night,” she offers as she picks up the last toy in the middle of the room.

That’s not the point. I’m more than capable of doing it, and it’s not in her job description. Once the kid goes to sleep, the nanny is no longer needed. I think about telling her exactly that, but I can’t bring myself to, not just yet.

“I can do it,” is all I say with my teeth gritted.

“Jackson,” she begins, and the use of my first name sends me over the edge.

“Don’t you think I already feel bad enough that I can’t be there for my little girl all the time? That I have to hire someone to watch over her when I’m not around? Don’t you think I might want to do some of these things myself?” I note the hurt in her eyes right away.

“I—” she begins, but it comes out as a stammer. “I—” she tries again.

“You what?” I snap.

“Are you okay? I mean, really okay?” she asks, as she lets the toy fall back to the ground. “It’s okay to not be okay, and to need help. Like I said, I don’t mind at all, and you seem to be trying to unwind…I really don’t mind.”

“You…keep…saying…that,” I say through my teeth, getting up from my chair.

I turn and face her once more, not sure what there is to say.

“I’m fine,” I say curtly as I wave my hands around sarcastically. “I am fucking fine,” I say again. “I don’t need someone to talk to, I don’t need a nanny turned therapist, I don’t need a built-in housekeeper, and I don’t want to talk about my dead wife anymore!”

“Fine,” she says as she looks down and leans over to pick the toy up off the floor. “But I am here to help if you need me.”

“Are you done for the day with the duties in your job description?” I bark at her.

“Yes. Hayden is in bed,” she says tentatively as she heads for the toy room to deposit the toy in her hand. “Asleep,” she adds.

Why isn’t she getting the hint? Do I really need to be meaner about things?

“You’re free to leave then,” I say, pointing at the door.

She doesn’t move toward the door. She just stands and looks at me as if thinking about what else to say. I feel a chill run down my spine as I wait for her to do as I said.

“I, uh…” she stammers, and I can feel my blood grow to a rolling boil.

“Leave,” I say tensely, perhaps more callously than I should.

Amelia tightens her jaw. Her eyes are on me, locked with mine for a moment before she grabs her things and storms out the door.

I wait for the door to close behind her before I storm back to my office and send my glass full of beer hurtling toward the bookshelf. It splatters as glass breaks and crashes to the ground. Smelly liquid covers the books and sinks into the floor.

I hate her…I hate this whole thing.

“Why did you have to leave me, Lyla?” I scream as I fall to my knees and punch the ground over and over.

I resent Lyla, sometimes. She left me alone with our daughter to raise her by myself with the help of one nanny after another. Up to this point, no one has cared to push like Amelia has.

It pisses me off that she makes me like this. Nothing in the past two years has made me feel this way. I’m so lost and cold inside, as if I’m dead.

I fucking hate that I don’t have answers to the questions she has…questions that I’ve had for this whole time.

I punch the ground again, thinking about why the fuck Preston’s wallet was in Lyla’s car. They never found his body. His blood was on the scene, in the car, on the ground, and he was just gone.

Were they fucking? They couldn’t have been, right? My wife knew how I felt about Preston.

Hot tears spill down my face as I continue to hit the ground until my knuckles are red.

I get to my feet and grab a hockey stick off the wall. It’s the one Lyla gifted me when she told me she was pregnant with our little girl.

With as much force as I can muster, I take the stick in my hand and send it flying into the remaining shards of glass on the ground. They spray up in the air just to land again on the ground in more pieces than before.

“You’re a fucking asshole!” I scream at myself. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Moving to the beer-sprayed bookshelf now, I continue to swing and hit until there’s nothing left in me. I have no energy or care…it’s all gone. All the anger, all the hate whisked away for the time being, leaving me a shell.

“Dad-dee,” Hayden’s crying voice calls from the top of the stairs.

I shake my head, disappointed in myself for waking her up. She has such a hard time sleeping as it is. She doesn’t need me making it worse, and she certainly doesn’t need to see this mess.

I run out of my study and close the door behind me, leaving my problems in there.

I see her tiny little frame standing at the top of the steps. She’s rubbing her eyes as tears come tumbling down.

“Daddy’s coming, baby. I’m so sorry I woke you,” I say as I take her up in my arms and hold her.

She sniffles. “Is Ami still here to read to me?” she asks, and my heart breaks.

She actually wants Amelia here, and I just ran her off. I’ll be lucky if she ever comes back. Such a wonderful woman, and I ran her off like she was nothing.

“No, Ami is already at home,” I say to Hayden, using the name she has coined for the woman. “But I will cuddle you and read you a book.” I carry her back to her room and curl up in the bed next to her.

I kiss the top of her head as I reach for her favorite book.

“In the great green room there was a telephone, and a red balloon,” I begin the story , and before I can even get to the end of the pages filled with all things in the bear’s room, she’s asleep.

The next morning, I wipe the sides of the bookcase and sweep the the shards of glass off the floor. I didn’t have the strength after leaving Hayden’s room to even come back down here.

As I sweep the last few shards into the dustpan, I can’t help but think about what Amelia said. All she wanted was to help me. It’s clear I can’t even help myself.

Once the room is as clean as it’s going to get, but still smelling of beer, I sit down at my desk. I contemplate what I need to do first in order to help myself, and finally decide on calling the police station to ask for an update on my wife’s wreck.

It’s been a while since I’ve even called for an update, let alone showed any interest in what they might have found out lately.

I find my wallet, pull out the rather rumpled card of the detective on the case, and attempt to read the faded number. Once I’m sure I have it right, I push send and wait for an answer.

“Detective Humphry, how may I help you?”

“Uh, yes, this is Jackson Turner,” I say, searching for exactly what I need to say. “My wife was Lyla Turner. I was wondering if there have been any updates on her investigation or anything new about the wallet found on the scene?”

There’s dead silence on the other end, followed by a swallow as if the detective is thinking about what he’s going to say before he says it.

“Jackson,” he says, taking another breath, “we pronounced Preston dead months ago. There hasn’t been anything more regarding the whereabouts of his body, and I hate to inform you that we never truly found any connection between your wife and former teammate.”

“I see.” I pause for a moment. “So, what are the next steps going forward in the investigation?”

“So, how’s that little girl of yours?”

“Don’t distract me from the topic at hand,” I snap. “I just want to know where the investigation surrounding my wife’s death is going from here.”

“Jackson…” The detective pauses.

“No,” I say, already feeling like I know what he’s going to say.

“Jackson,” he says again. “I’m sorry, but the case is cold—there is no investigation.” His voice sounds like he regrets telling me.

“I see,” I say softly. “Thank you for taking my call,” I add before hanging up.

I feel so defeated and frustrated, and I think about losing it like I did last night. I feel the heat growing inside as I stand to my feet and clench my hands into fists. I’m seconds away from punching something when I hear a noise at the door.

“Dad-dee,” Hayden says as she rubs her eyes. “Will you make me some breakfast?”

I shake my hands out to unclench them as I pick her up in my arms.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go eat. What are you wanting for breakfast, baby?” I ask as I carry her to the kitchen.