The Lost Daughter

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Jackson approaches the sectional, the seemingly endless confidence evident in the swagger of his steps.

"Wes isn't here," is the first thing I say, not that I really believe the guy who spends almost every moment attached to my brother doesn't already know that.

"He's with the girl." He agrees easily, sitting down a cushion away from me and swinging an arm around the back of the sofa, his hand close enough to touch my hair if he wanted.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye with barely concealed annoyance as Blue runs up to him, jumping with his tiny paws against Jackson's shins in the type whole body excitement only a puppy could achieve.

How long had Jackson known something about Maia and Weston, while I hadn't? The thought bothers me more than I'd ever admit.

"So why aren't you?" I bite out to him.

"With them?" He laughs in a mocking tone, raising his eyebrows as he picks Blue up off the floor, settling him onto the cushion between us. "I don't think they'd appreciate that, I think you can figure out why."

I roll my eyes, irritation flaring despite my best efforts. "Wes isn't home. I don't know where Wren or Wyatt are. So why are you here?" I ask him, hating the way my voice could never portray the same unaffected tone that his does. "Why aren't you out somewhere else?"

There's a pause where our eyes meet, and for a second it's like the barrier he keeps up is stripped away. But the moment passes, and he dons his smirk, relaxing his muscles to lean languidly into the couch.

Back to being beautiful and cold and fake.

"And where would I be?" He asks me, like there really couldn't be any other answer.

"Home?" I suggest, "or with Addison?"

The words fall out not entirely by accident, but more like I was provoked into saying them. I wanted to know, but I really didn't want to ask.

Now that the question is out there, floating unavoidably in the space between us, I can't look away from his reaction.

His body stiffens the slightest amount, like he's taken by surprise, which he tries to cover by adding a laugh that lacks any real humor.

He searches my eyes—much like the way Wes is prone to do—before he speaks again.

"Why would I be with her, Willa?" He prods, his voice layered and deep with unsaid meaning.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself before I allow myself to ask what I want to ask, without stopping to examine why I care so much about the answer.

"Is she your girlfriend?" I lay the question out, heavy and weighted but I don't back down.

"No," he states simply, giving me a chance to suck in what seems like my first easy breath of the day before he adds, "Not anymore."

It shouldn't bother me, I know that it shouldn't, so I clench my teeth and turn my face away from his knowing stare and attempt to look as uncaring as he always does.

Of course, it doesn't work the same way. Not like this and not with him, and he's quick to jump on the opportunity.

"But why would you care?" He presses, leaning in slightly as he asks, his tone light but with an unmistakable hint of hardness. Seriousness.

"I don't," I implore him to believe. Adding softly, "Just wondering."

"Just wondering?" He murmurs back just as softly, humor back in his voice as the side of his mouth tilts up.