Page 3 of Stranded
“Your husband’s being unreasonable again,” I said, rolling my eyes dramatically, though I really wanted to point out that she was the one who married the odious man and placed him in our lives. Now she couldn’t stand the sight of him, had affairs behind his back, and the whole family dynamic was just fucking pathetic.
“Your son continues to play the whore under my roof,” Jackson said.
I took a step toward him, only hindered by my mother’s presence in the middle. “I can be a whore, a slut, a sissy, whatever I want. It’s my fucking body.”
“Not while you’re under my roof, it ain’t!”
“Then as long as I live under your roof, you own me?”
“You bet your fucking ass I do.”
“Jackson, stop it!” Mom cried. “You are being unreasonable. How can you own him? He’s his own person. And he’s of age to sleep with whomever he wants. I wish he would be more careful, but it’s his life.”
“Does he have to take them under our roof to fornicate? For once, I would like to come down for breakfast and not have to throw up in my mouth a little.”
“I’ll move out, then,” I threatened. “That way, I can do whatever I want.”
“Do you want me to help you pack? It shouldn’t take much time given practically everything you own was bought with my credit card!”
“You two, stop it. Now!” Mom placed her hands on her hips and glared at her husband, then at me. “You’re both being stubborn. Jackson, the last time he packed his suitcase, you were the one who went after him and brought him back. And you, Aiden, can’t afford to move out on your own right now. You don’t even have a job.”
“He could have had a bright future if he’d used his college fund for something more useful than designing clothes.”
My eyes stung, and I blinked rapidly at Jackson. “You never respect anything I do. I may not have enough money now, but do you think it’ll be hard to find a sugar daddy to take care of me? In case you’ve forgotten, this is what I look like, and menloveit here.”
I ran my hands down my sides, over my body. I’d never been short of male lovers for a reason. With my petite build, soft skin, and ass I did squats every day to perfect, I had men approaching me just by my leaving the house. Contrary to my stepdad, who hated me being femme, many gay men and even some straight ones liked me this way. Not that I cared about other people’s opinions.
Iliked me this way.Thatwas all that mattered, and if he cared about me at all, he would have realized that and supported me.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Jackson growled. “As long as you are a part of this family, I’m not going to sit here and watch you prostitute yourself.”
Mom sighed. “See what I mean? I wish you two would work out your differences already and just admit that you love each other. At least I’d get a good sleep for once. Nobody’sgoing anywhere. I’ll call Dr. Simpson and schedule another appointment for family counseling.”
“I’m not going,” I said.
“Nor am I.”
“You both are going, and that’s final. Aiden, go to your room and look more presentable. Jackson, mow the lawn or something. You have way too much pent-up energy this morning. Seriously.”
She tilted her head to Jackson’s face, but an inch away from his scarred cheek, she changed her mind and stepped back. Jackson stared after her, his eyes full of pain.
My heart clenched and my stomach soured with guilt. I really shouldn’t have hit so low and mentioned his impotence. For a macho ex-Marine, it had to hit hard that his wife was no longer attracted to him after his last tour left his face, mind, and body scarred.
The urge to go to him was strong. To tell him I didn’t mind his scars. That they added character to his face. But even if I wanted to, he wouldn’t let me. He would probably accuse me of hitting on him or something.
I walked away, the urge to look back at him to see if he was okay was strong, but I didn’t. If he thought I was pitying him, it would only start a new argument between us. Nevertheless, the look on his face swirled in my mind for a very long time.
2
JACKSON
From the sullenness of his features, crossed arms, and rapidly shaking foot, Aiden wanted to be in the therapist’s office as much as I did. We’d wasted twenty minutes glaring at each other from opposite sides of the room without saying a word. Next to me on the long couch, talking and dabbing at her eyes, was my wife. Melodie had come up with this “grand” idea that a shrink could help us when she knew damn well it was hopeless and we were all torturing ourselves.
Our marriage was in shambles, yet she thought the most pressing concern was that I didn’t get along with her son. Like there was something wrong with me not wanting my son to have wild sex with one man after another in the comfort of my home. He’d converted the basement into a den of sorts, so he was out of our way, but the basement still belonged to the house, which I owned. He had no business taking other men there.
I curled my hands into fists on my lap. On my way to the laundry room to grab a clean towel out of the dryer, I’d heard them grunting like wild animals, groaning, and panting, the bed creaking and smashing into the wall. I’d heard my stepson moaning,begging. Because of another man.
How was I supposed to feel about that?
