Chapter 3: Blood Money and Goodbyes

I didn’t understand why there were weird noises from the other room.

I asked, “Jackson, what are Dad and that lady doing?”

He turned up the TV and covered my ears.

“Gross. Don’t listen.”

He was only a year older than me, but took care of me like a pro.

Not because he liked me that much.

But because his mom told him, as long as he fooled me, she’d give him twenty bucks.

That was his spending money for a week.

Even then, everything was transactional. Love, loyalty, even childhood—nothing came free.

At fourteen, my dad ran off with his mom.

My mom set the house on fire.

It was Jackson who carried me out of the blaze.

Half his arm is still scarred from the burns.

He had no money for school and dropped out to work odd jobs.

He worked anywhere that’d have him—gas stations, construction sites, grimy diners on the highway.

The kind of jobs that eat away at your spirit. But he never complained. Not once.

I smashed his trailer with a baseball bat and gave him three grand.

He didn’t go back to school, but went down to Louisiana to buy herbal medicine and wild ginseng.

With his first earnings, he bought me a princess dress.

That year, I was fifteen, he was sixteen.

My mom lost it.

“Your dad ran off with that tramp, and you still want to be with the bastard she left behind.”

“You really are your dad’s child. I should’ve left you in the hospital.”

Her words stung, but they didn’t surprise me. She’d always been dramatic, always knew how to twist the knife.

I probably should’ve stood by my mom.

But the truth is, Jackson raised me.

While my dad was busy cheating and my mom was busy chasing him, I was left to fend for myself. Jackson was the only one who stuck by me for nothing.

He could be dirty, but I had to stay clean.

He could get beat up, but no one could touch me.

He wouldn’t let me tell anyone about us, afraid he couldn’t protect me.

He hated to see me cry, always awkwardly wiping my tears away.

He’d bark at me to stop crying.

But later, when I finally stopped, he didn’t seem happy about it.

“Actually, if you cried and raised hell, I’d cave.”

“Why do you always have to fight me?”

I spent a day and a half in the hospital.

The place smelled like bleach and overcooked green beans. I stared at the ceiling tiles, counting the cracks, wishing I was anywhere else.

Zach Evans told me to just lie there like a corpse.

He pulled up a chair, plopped down, and scrolled through his phone like he was waiting for a bus. “Don’t even think about getting up. Doctor’s orders.”

“Fine, hand me a pack of cigarettes.”

“No smoking in here.”

He barely looked up, but I could hear the smile in his voice. Zach had always been the sensible one, the designated driver in a group of pyromaniacs.

“Then I want to check out.”

“Can’t you just quit?”

“No way. I’d rather die.”

Zach rolled his eyes and ignored me.

He was used to my theatrics. He just shook his head and went back to his phone, like he’d heard it all before.

“What’s going on with you and Jackson?”

He glanced up, trying to sound casual. But I could see the worry in his eyes. He’d always been bad at hiding it.

“Usually, if you get a paper cut, he’s freaking out. This time, he didn’t even show.”

I sneered.

“Finally got around to asking.”

“You must’ve been dying to know.”

Ryan Brooks burst into the hospital just as I was about to leave, nearly running into me.

His hair was a mess, his backpack half-zipped. He looked like he’d sprinted the whole way from school. “Lauren, are you okay?”

His eyes were full of worry, his face pale.

He hovered by the door, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, shifting from foot to foot like he was afraid I’d disappear if he blinked.

“Lauren, are you okay?”

“Why are you here?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Who told you to come back?”

“Where’s Jackson?”

“Is it handled?”

“I’m gonna kill him!”

…

Not a single word I wanted to hear.

I kicked him in the shin.

He didn’t dodge, just took it, even bent over so I could get a better shot.

“Lauren, I’m sorry.”

I gave him a light slap.

He looked up at me, eyes wide and earnest. “Mr. Turner told you?”

“No, I found out myself.”

This kid’s getting sharper, more capable every year.

He even dares to investigate me.

“How’s the south side?”

“They can handle it.”

After that, he still looked reluctant.

“I couldn’t just not come back.”

I laughed in spite of myself.

“Fine, you’re something else.”

Ryan trailed behind me, whining and acting all pitiful for forgiveness.

He shuffled his feet, mumbling apologies, trying to make me laugh. It almost worked.

We ran right into Jackson.

He looked cold, holding Emily’s hand.

Now that I’ve exposed it, he’s not hiding anymore?

Ryan froze for a second, then tried to rush Jackson, but I kicked him back.

Zach stood off to the side, his face a mess of emotions.

What a disaster.

“Lauren, are you not feeling well too?”

Emily’s sweet voice broke the tension.

I smiled at her.

“It’s nothing serious. What about you?”

She ducked her head, cheeks pink.

“I have a scar on my back. I want to see if it can be removed.”

I nodded. “With modern medicine, that’s definitely doable.”

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t have any blemishes.”

Emily blushed.

“Lauren, you’re really pretty too.”

Jackson tightened his grip on her hand.

His knuckles went white. He shot me a look, daring me to say more.

“We’re leaving. The doctor’s waiting.”

“Goodbye, Lauren.”

She gave me a shy wave, then let Jackson lead her away. I watched them go, feeling something twist in my chest.

As we passed, Jackson nodded politely at me.

Great.

We’re just nodding acquaintances now.

On the way back, Ryan’s face was as dark as a thundercloud.

He sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw clenched. I almost felt sorry for him—almost.

I couldn’t help teasing him.

“What, if I hadn’t stopped you, would you really have fought Jackson?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

He shot me a look, all righteous indignation. It was almost cute.

“Not scared of him anymore?”

He pressed his lips together.

“Lauren, you should break up with him.”

Ha!

Silly kid.

Ryan was a kid I found in the hallway when I was twenty.

He was eleven then, locked out by his father and stepmom.

Wearing a windbreaker in the dead of winter, shivering, covered in bruises.

He grabbed my pant leg, mumbling that he was hungry.

So I took him home, made him a bowl of mac and cheese, and added a hot dog.

The kitchen smelled like childhood—cheap cheese, boiling pasta, the sizzle of hot dogs in a pan. He ate like he hadn’t seen food in days. Maybe he hadn’t.

At that time, things were tense between me and Jackson.

He wouldn’t let me interfere, wanted me to just focus on school.

But he was always getting hurt.

I couldn’t stand it.

Money—those few bucks—really can ruin a person.

I made a deal with my mom, said I’d break up with Jackson and come home to take over the family business.

My mom mocked me.

But she also knew, the shares left by my grandparents could only be controlled by me.

She hated me.

But she needed me too.

She couldn’t touch me, so she recorded my words and sent them to Jackson.

Jackson didn’t believe it.

He believed me.

So he blamed himself, hard.

Blamed himself for not protecting me.

The guilt built up.

And we started fighting.

Fighting over problems, then over feelings.

Then making up.

Over and over.

Ryan was an accident.

I fed him off and on for half a year.

Jackson didn’t care, didn’t mind.

But because he always kept a cold face, Ryan was always scared of him.

Later, Ryan’s father found out about him staying with me.

Those bleary eyes looked me up and down, intentions obvious.

Ryan must’ve overheard something, and with his last bit of allowance, he bought a pocketknife.

Scared and desperate.

I made him a bowl of ramen, took away the knife, and told him to stay out of it.

I let the man into my apartment, let him rip my shirt, pin me to the bed.

I watched as that woman followed him in.

They fought, and the man stabbed the woman in the stomach.

He ran off, grabbing all the cash from my safe.

The new security camera caught everything.

He was caught, convicted, got a long sentence.

To me at the time, it was a perfect setup.

But Jackson said nothing, just quietly cleaned my wounds.

After a long time, he finally spoke.

“You shouldn’t have used yourself as bait.”

“If something happened to you, what would I do?”

That stuck with me for a long time.

But there was another thing he said, which I only understood years later.

He said, “Gross. Go take a shower.”

When Jackson came back, I was reading on the couch.

The lamp cast a warm glow over the room, softening the sharp edges of the night. I pretended to be absorbed in my book, but my eyes kept flicking to the door.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Waiting for you.”

A question where we both knew the answer.

He knew. Of course he knew.

Just like I knew he’d come back.

No other reason. Because I’d gotten Emily Reyes’s medical records.

Jackson paused as he put down his keys.

He took off his tie and sat across from me.

“What do you want to talk about?”

His calm was suffocating.

I looked at him quietly.

“If I told Emily everything…”

Jackson looked up, eyes cold.

“I said, don’t touch her.”

“What if I do? What’ll you do—run me over and not hit the brakes?”

“Lauren, I won’t lay a hand on you. But I can hurt a lot of other people.”

That made my face go cold.

I stood, and the book fell to the floor with a dull thud.

I picked up the baseball bat.

“I’ll leave her alone.”

“An arm or a leg, you pick.”

Jackson stood.

After a long look, he held out his left hand.

I didn’t hesitate. The bat came down hard.

I heard the bone snap.

Jackson’s face went white, and he let out a muffled grunt.

He gritted his teeth and looked at me, one word at a time.

“Happy now?”

“Get out.”

He held his arm and walked out.

I couldn’t help but ask, “Do you like her that much?”

Jackson stopped and blurted out,

“She’d take a bullet for me. Would you?”

For a second, the whole room went silent.

I looked at Jackson’s tense back.

He turned quickly.

His face was even paler than before.

His lips moved.

“I…”

But I just laughed.

Leaning back, lazy.

“Of course not.”

Emily Reyes has a scar on her back—a knife wound, from shoulder to lower back, a scar she got protecting Jackson.

That was early last year.

Jackson went off the rails and started fighting me for business.

He’d hurt himself just to get at me.

He wouldn’t see me, wouldn’t answer my calls.

Gave me no explanation or reason.

Until three months later, someone told me he’d been attacked, and he thought I was behind it.

The absurdity of that moment made me laugh, furious.

I spent a week getting the truth and handed the guy over to Jackson.

He was silent a long time, then scrubbed a hand over his face.

“My fault.”

“I lost my mind.”

“So you think your trust started falling apart then?”

I didn’t answer the man’s question.

Looking straight ahead, I said quietly, “Did you arrange for Jackson to transfer to my elementary school?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To fool you. His mom wanted to move up, so she had to break you down, one by one. She said that kid’s a natural, knows just what to say. If he wants, he can make anyone love him.”

Just like me.

He’d tie my shoelaces, chase away bullies, carry me home in the snow, pick up food from the ground for himself but save the only chocolate for me.

The man clamped his cigarette between his teeth, squinting in the sun.

“I remember you used to sneak snacks and apples out of your backpack for him every day.”

“See, once he latched onto you, he didn’t have to butter up the old ladies in the building anymore.”

Having heard enough, I got up to leave.

“Hey.”

The man called after me.

“I’m broke. Send me more.”

“Next month.”

His face darkened.

“I’m your dad.”

“That’s why I pay you support every month.”

“That little bit isn’t enough. What your grandparents left should’ve been mine. Why should you inherit it while I’m still alive? If you don’t send money, I’ll come back to the States.”

I curled my lip.

“No problem. The moment you land, I’ll have you arrested.”

He clenched his teeth, glaring at me.

Suddenly, a nasty smile flashed across his face.

“Do you know why his mom didn’t leave him a penny when she ran off with me?”

“Because he said he liked you and wouldn’t scheme against you anymore.”

“If he got together with you, his mom would have no shot at marrying rich, so she had to ruin him.”

“Tsk, what did she say? Right—‘You’re so capable, ten bucks should be enough to keep you alive.’”

“That kid was tough, never gave in.”

My face fell.

“Congrats, you just lost half of next month’s payment.”

On the flight back, I didn’t say a word.

Ryan looked at me, worried.

“Lauren, you’re always in a bad mood after seeing him. Why do you still go?”

Why?

Ryan doesn’t get it.

Honestly, I didn’t either, at first.

Until the man spelled it out.

“What do you want to hear?”

“You want to hear that all the good he did for you back then was fake?”

“You want to prove that he doesn’t love you now because he never really loved you at all?”

“Lauren, you’re such a sucker for love!”

Because he cursed so foully, I cut his payment that month in half.

This man is my dad—the one who ran off with Jackson’s mom.

My mom was hopelessly romantic.

My dad ran off, and she still sent him a big check every month.

Then she worked herself to death running the Harper family business.

In the end, she pulled a dramatic exit.

Got cancer, refused treatment, let herself die, leaving only one line: “Let you go, and let myself go.”

My dad’s comment: “Crazy!”

Did they have feelings?

It was an arranged marriage. If he didn’t marry, he’d lose his trust fund.

Even I was conceived through IVF.

In my dad’s eyes, my mom was a nobody.

Every dollar she gave, he thought he deserved.

He couldn’t stand being so free—he needed someone to blame.

The month my mom died, I cut off his payments.

He raged, cursed.

Said I wouldn’t die a good death.

Said I wouldn’t let the dead rest easy.

I just laughed.

Not resting in peace is what they deserve.

The second month after I cut him off, Jackson’s mom ditched my dad and left with someone else.

Back then, because the family cut his money, my dad dumped his first love—Jackson’s mom—and married my mom.

Now, again for a few bucks, Jackson’s mom abandoned my dad.

This whole soap opera made me want to clap.

Let them do whatever they want.

Just one thing—not allowed to come back to the States.

That’s the only rule I’ll enforce.

The rest? They can burn the world down for all I care.