The room grows quiet. I’m staring at her and she’s refusing to look at me. Tom has his fists clenched, but he’s staring at the floor.
The chief speaks. “I’m sorry to hear all that Francesca, but I am glad Jackson spoke up for you.” He leans back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk. “Off the record, of course, but Mr. Goldman does not seem like a stand-up citizen. He came in here ranting and raving and causing a scene. But he had no medical reports and still stunk like booze. If he was so hurt last night, the police should have been called at the time of the incident. I believe you when you say you think he came with the intention of causing trouble. But to circle back, the video is pretty damning.”
Silence. Then, “I’m going to bury his complaint. I’ll sign off that it didn’t happen in our jurisdiction, therefore we have no right to oversee it.” Chess and I both sit up straighter, but Chief Hunter puts his hand up. “It doesn’t mean he won’t go to the press with it, or that he still won’t go back to the cops where the event was held.”
Chess speaks. “I’m aware of that. As Jackson's PR rep, I figured Nick would do just that. We’re prepared to release a statement regarding Jackson's involvement and hopefully this will settle down in a few days’ time.”
The chief stands and we follow suit. Tom comes around and leads Chess out, but the Chief grabs my arm, holding me back for a moment.
“Son, I don’t know what was said, but that woman is the kindest one I know. Her family loves you and you don’t need me to tell you they’re a staple here and are everything this town encompasses.”
When I go to speak, he keeps going. “I also know you are not all the press has said you are, and if she’s with you, she knows that, too. When I transferred to this department, you had not yet moved back. I heard stories, but I only believe what I see. Hearsay means nothing, as we’re taught in the academy,” he chuckles, “and I see how you are with the kids at the school. I see your heart on that field and I see the good man you don’t yet know you are. Chess sees it. Let her show you.” He claps my back. “Now get out of here, I want no more trouble from you.”
I clear my throat, my mind spinning, trying to keep hold of everything he said to me.
“Thanks, Sir.” I catch up with Chess and Tom.
“What’d he say?” Chess asks.
“Nothing, just a little warning to not show up here again.” I give her a smile, but I know she doesn’t believe me.
I don’t believe me.
Good man? I may have been good when I was young, but that was so long ago. I don’t know that Jackson anymore. I want to know him, but after last night, I’m just the same old fly off the handle Gage. And I now have Chess wrapped up in this mess, too.
Does Chess really want to deal with this part of me?
Chapter 25
Francesca
After a quick goodbye with my brother, we leave the station and drive back to our neighborhood. Something was said that made Jackson quiet. Thoughtful. I just don’t know what those thoughts are. Is he regretting me? Our time together last night? Is he mad that Nick showed up?
“Jackson, I just need to say I had no idea Nick was going to be there last night. I asked for the guest list to ensure it was peaceful. If I had known…”
He cuts me off. “Chess, it’s ok. I believe you. I know you wouldn’t do anything like that on purpose.”
“No, I wouldn’t. What did he say to make you get so mad, anyway?”
He rubs his hand down his face. “I don’t think you want to know, Chess. He has no bearing on your life anymore, and I don’t want to repeat his words. Why didn’t you tell me he was texting you?”
I shuffle in my seat. “It was nothing, just him being a prick. The texts also confirmed he was just using me to get to my contacts. It made me feel stupid and naïve all over again, and I didn’t want to talk about it.”
He reaches over and squeezes my thigh. “You’re not stupid or naïve, Chess. He’s a user who doesn’t care who he hurts. You didnothing wrong.”
Except trust the wrong person.
I sit quietly, watching the trees go by. We pull into my driveway and turn off the engine.
“Thank you,” is all I can say. When he looks at me, “for sticking up for me.” I respond to the question on his face.
He smiles. “Like old times, right?”
I laugh. “Not quite. You used to torture me, then one of my brothers had to stick up for me.”
He shakes his head. “Not all the time.” He raises a brow, then gets out of the truck.
I follow. “What do you mean ‘not all the time’?”