Sleet Kitten: Book One of the Sleet Series
Sleet Kitten: Chapter 47

I’ve been avoiding Jackson. I can admit it. And I’ll continue to avoid him. After my day with Meghan, drinking and ignoring the issue of men and how quickly and completely they can mess with our lives, I was feeling better. I wasn’t feeling great, but I was trying to force myself to not care. The long night of sleep, the blocking of every Sleet related site, the unread texts and unopened voicemails from Jackson, it was all helping. I was almost able to pretend that my time with Jackson had never happened.

I didn’t want to spend the day sitting at home, side-eyeing my hidden stash of notes from Jackson, so I spent the day working at a coffee shop. A random one that I’d never been to before, so as to not taint it for future use with bad memories.

It half worked. It worked until I overheard a pair of young teens watching the “Candyman” video. I was so instantly thrown into a mixture of longing, rage, and sadness, that I clutched my pumpkin-spice latte, which was in a paper cup, to my chest. Newsflash, for all you dummies like me, you can’t really clutch a paper cup. If you try, you don’t so much clutch it as you do crush it. So, there I was, waging a war against my emotions, while my sweatshirt waged a war against milk, espresso, and pumpkin-spice flavoring. Thus, bringing my status one notch below basic bitch to pathetic bitch. Luckily for me and my wardrobe, no effort was put into dressing for today. My black leggings and already-stained University of Minnesota sweatshirt will continue to live another day.

Drink disaster aside, I’m glad I left the house today.

I’m scrolling on my phone, shopping for candles I don’t need on Etsy, when a text from Jackson comes through. I’ve done a good job of not reading his messages, but this one popped up while I was already staring at my screen.

Jackson: Kitten, if you’re home, please answer the door.

Instantly, I put my phone face down on the table. As if me looking at the text would somehow alert him to my location. Why would he be at my house? What does he really need to say to me?

There’s a part of me that still replaces it hard to believe that he’s a bad guy. He always seemed so genuine when we were together. And if he was being his true self with me, then it might stand to reason that he feels bad about how things went down. Maybe he really loves Lacy, and her coming back into his life was just terrible timing for me. But does apologizing for it really help me? No. The answer is a resounding no. In fact, the absolute last thing I want to do is look into his face while he tells me that he’s in love with Lacy. He could just text me that he’s sorry. I have to admit that maybe he has.

Once again, I have an internal debate on whether or not I should read his messages. Ultimately, I decide on not. Not yet.

Of course, now I’m worried about going home and replaceing Jackson on my front step. Being a total baby, I call Meghan to have her check the game calendar. We both know I could’ve done that myself, but I didn’t want to go online and possibly come across more Jackson drama.

I feel like I should be comforted knowing that Jackson will leave town tonight, for another pair of away games. Meaning he won’t be back home until late Sunday night. Which gives me the whole weekend to worry about him, while I don’t have to worry about running into him.

–

I’d like to say that’s it – that I forgot about Jackson, and I moved on. I met a hotter guy, and we fell happily in love. But I can’t say that. Because it’d be a lie. A big fat fucking lie.

It’s Sunday. The Sleet are playing another away game tonight. Meghan told me as much on Friday, but I double-checked this morning. While online, I looked at the score from last night’s game. They lost. Their winning streak cut off by a single point. I also saw several articles about Jackson. They weren’t related to his women. They were about his playing. The first one read: “Jackson’s Anger on the Ice.” The next one included a video: “Punishment by Penalties.” There was also a fan-written piece: “Women Make Him Wilder.” I’m definitely not reading that one.

The overarching theme is that Jackson’s not happy. But if he got his dream woman back, wouldn’t he be thrilled? Would my reaction to his rekindled relationship really be causing that much of an effect on him? I would think that he’d be playing better than ever… Is it possible that I’ve been wrong? That I read this all wrong?

I told myself that cutting contact was the right thing, but maybe I was wrong there, too.

I need to know. I open my texts from Jackson and start with the morning after I found Lacy in his home.

Jackson: Good morning, Kitten. Sorry again about last night.

Jackson: Kitten, please answer your phone. I saw Henry tonight. He told me everything. I need to talk to you.

Jackson: I’m so sorry. Please call me back.

Jackson: Kitten, if you’re home please answer the door.

Jackson: Kitten, I have to fly out tonight. Please trust me when I tell you I’m not with Lacy. I know this looks bad but I promise it’s not like that. Call me anytime.

Jackson: We’ve landed. I’m thinking about you. Goodnight, Kitten.

Jackson: Good morning, baby. I’m not giving up.

Jackson: I know we need to talk in person but I hate not having any contact with you. So I’m going to keep texting and calling. Goodnight, Kitten.

Jackson: Good morning, Kitten. I miss you.

I’m frozen in place. That last text was from this morning. He’s not with Lacy? How? And what does he mean he talked to Henry. Like the door guy? What does he have to do with anything? I’m so confused. Is this really all one big misunderstanding? One big naked-woman-answering-your-front-door type of misunderstanding?

I’m still skeptical. But I feel something in my chest that’s been missing since I first saw those photos. I feel hope. It’s so small, yet it’s so consuming, so overwhelming, that I need to sit down.

Wanting to push this feeling to either grow or disappear, I open the texts from Steph. There were fewer of them. Ultimately, they said that she understands why I’m avoiding Jackson, but that she knows the full story, and that Lacy was an evil stalker bitch. She ended with a plea for me to call her.

I tried to pretend that I didn’t care about Jackson anymore. But if I were on reality TV, someone would be shouting at me, “And the lie detector determined that that was a lie!” I more than care about him. I love him. That’s why these last few days have hurt so much. Because sometime between our first meeting and our night together, he crawled into my heart. And I can’t get him out. I did my best to claw him out of there after seeing Lacy in his home, but he stayed. He has residence in my chest. And I owe it to myself to replace out what really happened.

I check the clock and see that his game is about to start. I can’t call him now. Then he’ll be flying home and landing late. Tomorrow I have an early meeting at my boss’s office, then Career Day at my brother’s school. I haven’t talked to Alex since he interrupted our ice-skating, but I imagine that Jackson has opted out of attending. I wouldn’t blame him, since I’ve been refusing to talk to him. Plus he’s been swamped with the fallout from those pictures.

So, after Career Day, I’ll call him. But right now, I’ll call Steph.