Day of Reckoning

~Jackson~

A life lived holding back is a life not living.

Stripped bare.

Michele has found this piece inside me I never knew existed.

She lies beside me with her breathing even, dark hair splayed over the pillow creating an elegant frame around her face. Her tanned skin glistens under the soft glow of the night’s sky coming in through the window of our bedroom.

Fucking beautiful.

My wife is fucking beautiful.

Damn, I am one lucky fucking bastard to have this right here.

A wife, a beautiful wife who loves me against all odds. I’m the boy from the wrong side of the trailer park. She is the girl with all the potential in the world. Michele could have anyone, but it’s me she loves.

Yes, we live in a single-wide trailer from the eighties, but we live. We both grew up here, literally in this trailer park. It may not be a step up, but it’s ours. And this is just the beginning. We do everything for the future of our life together.

Before Michele, I held back. I simply existed. Born a bastard boy, I got by, never worrying about what tomorrow may bring. The day I turned eighteen, my mother set me out, even though I wasn’t finished with high school yet. She couldn’t afford to keep feeding me and her own addictions. Yes, addictions – plural. Medication, street drugs, alcohol, gambling, and fucking shopping, if it had an addictive property she was hooked. She needed every extra penny for herself, not a teenage son she regretted having.

Even with the odds against me, I graduated so I could have a future with Michele. So we could build a life together. I will work three jobs if that is what it takes to give my wife her dreams come true. She taught me to live and to love, something I have never had before.

Now, I live. And I fucking love.

I don’t hold back.

Turning over, the mattress frame squeaks from the movement I press my lips to hers, and she groans as she squirms beside me starting to wake up.

I trail my hand up her leg, then her inner thigh. Teasing her skin, tasting her lips, I get lost.

When her mouth opens, I slide my tongue into her depths. As her tongue meets mine, there is an explosion of sensation and emotion as I climb over her.

My naked body covers hers as she slides her legs out from under me to wrap them around my waist. Her hips rock up, and my cock is home as I join us together.

Reluctantly, I pull my mouth from hers.

Peonies, I touch my nose to hers, my cock throbbing inside her for me to move, but I resist. I almost laugh, thinking about the ceremony we had less than twelve hours ago. You fuckin’ got me to wear a pink peony and a damn suit.

She smiles under me. I’m worth it.

Yeah, you are, I sigh. Fuckin’ beautiful. My wife and her peonies.

She tilts her chin and darts her tongue out to tease my lips.

Love you, Michele. Love your peonies. I slide out and back in slowly causing her to gasp from the sensation. Love her, I fucking do.

Love you, Jackson Presley, she whispers before I take her lips and then her body to limits neither of us thought possible.

***

~Eight Months Later~

Never fuckin’ lied to you! I yell out. The metal of the handcuffs is unforgiving as I fight the restraints, trying to reach out and hold my wife one more time. The more it bites into my skin, the more I fight against the hold.

Jackson Presley, don’t make this harder than it has to be, the deputy trying to hold me says. His words don’t register. Nothing does except the pain in my wife’s eyes.

Her brother is dead, and I have been accused of his murder.

I didn’t do it. She just can’t see clearly. The man tries forcing me to move. He fails. The shackles don’t give me any leverage, rather they pinch and send sharp throbs up my arms. Still, I remain firm in place.

None of it compares to the pain in my heart. Nothing can measure the amount of fight inside me to make her see.

He was my brother, she sobs out, her eyes meeting mine, and breaking right in front of me. The verdict is in, Jackson. How can I believe you? The tears fall and I am unable to wipe them away. When the court even says you did it, how am I supposed to see what you say?

You’re blinded by your grief.

Her green eyes, they are full of mixed emotions. There is a piece of her that still believes in me, believes in us, and still loves me. I see it and that’s what I am going to hold onto.

As much as this should harden me, I refuse. The fuckers who did this will pay, but I’m not going to hate my wife. I’ll love her enough to get us both through this. She will see. In time, she will see.

I can still hear the gavel pounding down on the wooden block. The sound was deafening as the judge sealed my fate behind the jury’s verdict.

She turns around as we stand just outside of the courthouse. Her back is to me as she walks away to climb in her car. Michele doesn’t give me a single glance back.

If she would just look inside me, she would see the truth.

She starts the Chevy Lumina, the u-joints squeal which reminds me of all the things I need to fix on her car as she turns and pulls away. So many things I planned to do, get fixed, have ready, and I took for granted that tomorrow would come. There is no time now. What’s done is done. My transport to the state prison doesn’t matter anymore.

She left me.

Death, come take me now.

I will never live again.

Chapter One

~Jackson~

Today is what most would call a gorgeous day. It makes me think of this show on television where every single person has some story about being attacked by a wild animal. I have yet to see an episode where they don’t say it was a beautiful day.

Beautiful.

I knew beauty once.

I knew it well.

She was everything beautiful inside and out. From her dark hair with copper highlights that glistened in the sun, to the tan of her skin. The emerald sparkles of her green eyes always showed a full life. In my mind’s eyes, I can still see every freckle that danced on her nose and across her cheeks. In the wind, I can still smell the vanilla of her favorite perfume and to this day it’s like her spirit envelopes me in an unforgotten peace. Her smile only matched the happiness that radiated from within.

The clouds overhead move slowly like there is no rush for anything. There is no breeze – no wind to give me the comforts of a lost touch. It’s a cool sixty-eight degrees. The humidity is low and spring is definitely in the air.

The brick building in front of me is tall.

Overbearing.

Powerful.

The ornate columns, large windows, and oversized doors are laced in history.

My history.

Some might consider me a glutton for punishment. After all, year after year, I return to this courthouse. Year after year, I come back and flip my middle finger at the building that fucked up my life. Year after year, I torture myself with the memories of losing it all. Time heals all wounds, that line is the biggest crock of bullshit ever said. Time is my enemy. Like the bitch she is, the giant clock on the front chimes bringing my attention back to the moment.

Time. Motherfucking time, it is just another way to track everything I have lost. Every passing day, it’s more I can’t get back.

Closing my eyes, I can feel the tingles on my side where the tattoo once needled me as if it was the night before my hearing again.

"I know you don’t know what to think. Shit’s so fucked between us, I get it, Michele. But no matter what happened or happens I need this piece of you, of us. Please?" I beg of her as she trembles beside me.

"Jackson, I want to believe you." The tears fall, and I sigh.

"Please don’t cry. I know you’re caught between your family and us. Tomorrow, I face the courtroom."

I have been out on bond, trying to help my attorney find evidence in my case. Unfortunately, using a state-appointed defense lawyer doesn’t give me one with much aptitude for proving the truth. Instead, he wants me to take a deal for a lesser sentence.

No deal.

Michele has made it clear. She wants to believe the best in me, but with the evidence she doesn’t know what to think.

I understand.

It’s all damning.

My prints.

My knife.

My history with Paul.

Motive.

They have all they need to lock me up.

Except, they don’t have the truth. And that is, I didn’t kill and no matter what, would never kill him because of the woman beside me.

She steps forward, opening the door to Jett’s small shop. The walls are a deep purple with flash sheets framed along each wall. There is a seating area with a single couch and single chair. There is one door, leading to the one room, with the single chair for Jett’s clients.

Michele gives my hand a squeeze. I may not be able to give you everything, but Jackson, I can give you this.

Since my arrest, my wife has been conflicted. She hasn’t slept in our bed. She has barely spoken to me, other than to remind me the evidence says I did it.

It’s like waking up everyday to watch everything you ever dreamed of and work for slip through your hands.

I refuse to ask for her forgiveness. I didn’t do anything to seek it. I think that’s what she wants, but I won’t go down for something I didn’t do – period.

Jett comes from the back and shakes my hand. Whatcha got for me, Jackson?

"Need you to ink me with her help. She’s drawn a peony. I want it on my ribs."

Jett nods knowing what’s going on like everyone else in this fucked up town. Sorry to hear about your troubles. Happy to help ya out, though, before you go to court man.

Michele hiccups back her emotions beside me.

Strong.

She is strong. Somehow, I have to believe she is strong enough to get through this with me. We will come out on the other side of this together and stronger than before.

My buddy Jett placed the stencil of her drawing and guided her hand as she inked me with her favorite flower in the world. It didn’t matter to me that the world would see me as a man with a fluffy flower covering my side. In fact, when the verdict came, I knew I would soon be behind bars with ruthless criminals, I only wished I had a chance to add more. I wanted a piece of her, a piece of us to take with me.

Judge me all they wanted. Torment me, tease me - I didn’t give a shit.

Still don’t.

This is us.

Even though I have long ago healed, my mind and body can still go back to that first tattoo she gave me. Year after year, I add to the peonies on my side.

I sit on my bike and look at the building.

Closing my eyes, I can hear the gavel slam down. The echo of my world crashing down plays in my mind.

Guilty.

Manslaughter was the final verdict, although I was originally charged with murder in the first degree of my own brother-in-law. The jury said there wasn’t sufficient evidence to show premeditation or intent. Rather, they felt it was an act of rage. Therefore, instead of life in prison without parole, I faced ten years behind a medium security state penitentiary.

Did I want to kill him?

Without question, yes.

Did I fucking do it?

Hell no!

I would have never put Michele in that situation. The two of them grew up in a shithole trailer with a mom working three jobs to feed them and a dad who drank all their money away. She was everything good in my life. He may have been a prick, but he was her brother. He was family.

Paul got tied up in some shit. Deep shit. Moving drugs through Tennessee for the Almanza cartel was not his smartest decision. Money was good. Being his dad was dead and his mom was just diagnosed with ovarian cancer, I can see his motivation to do shady shit. He wanted to ease the burden his mother faced. I get it.

Does it make it right?

Fuck no.

I confronted him when he brought in a Chevy Caprice for me to custom outfit with cut-outs to hide drugs. I fixed engines. I was not in the business to fabricate false bottoms and hidden compartments.

Did I agree with what he was doing?

No.

Did I help him by fixing the car to his specifications?

Against my better judgment, yes.

That’s where I fucked up.

Detective Lee Bates was a long-time friend of Paul’s, and he was out for blood when his buddy turned up dead. At least that’s