Page 54 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

He glanced at me again. “It’s not because I’m ashamed of you.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Silence stretched for a few seconds. He kept his eyes on the road. I studied the tight line of his jaw.

"Does he usually keep tabs on your life?"

A quiet breath left him. "Let's just say he's used to knowing everything."

I filed that away and looked back out the window.

A minute later, he tapped the screen. Low music filled the car, a rough male voice and acoustic guitar, quiet enough to leave room if we wanted it.

The restaurant occupied the ground floor of a brick building off the main street. Inside, the room was quiet, with maybe twenty tables. The hostess smiled the moment she saw Jackson and led us to a booth in the back.

Once we sat, I asked, “How’d you find this place?”

“My mother used to bring me here.”

I looked up. He held my gaze for a beat, then opened his menu like he hadn’t just offered me something private.

I let the silence sit between us.

The waiter arrived a moment later. I ordered the first thing that sounded good; Jackson did the same and asked for sparkling water. When it came, he poured both our glasses without comment.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Always.”

“Why Environmental Science?”

He set the bottle down. “That’s not really the question you want to ask.”

I didn’t deny it. “Why me, then.”

Jackson leaned back slightly, eyes steady on mine. “I’ll answer that when you’re ready to hear it. You’re not there yet.”

“Try me.”

A small, knowing smile. "Not tonight."

I held his gaze another second, then gave up and looked away.

The food came and it was excellent. We ate in comfortable silence for a while. Eventually I circled back. “You said your mother used to bring you here.”

He set his fork down. “Yeah. She loved this place. We came whenever she could get away.” A pause. “She died when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry.”

He gave a small nod. “She almost died having me. The doctors told my father not to risk another pregnancy. He didn’t listen. She went into labor too early. Neither of them made it.”

I stayed very still. Thomas Black wanted something, and people around him paid for it. I’d learned that at thirteen. Jackson had learned it at ten.

“And your father?” I asked.

Jackson looked down at his glass for a moment.

“He was there,” he said finally, “but he wasn’t present. Not the way she was. After she died, he threw himself into pack business. I became more of an heir than a son.” He lifted one shoulder. “I was mostly raised by the staff. There was an older wolf named Agata. She used to help my mother with me when I was little. After everything happened, she stayed on. She’s the one who made sure I ate, did my homework, and didn’t turn out exactly like him.”