Hell And Back(67)

The camisole goes back into place, covering my breasts. We turn like we are cuddling, Jackson whipping the sheet up over us to cover our naked lower halves.

“Morning everybody!” Lilah says while she runs to the bed and jumps in with two knees. Jackson has gotten it down now so that he blocks his balls.

“Hey there, princess, did you have good dreams?” he asks her just like he does every morning.

“I dream fairy tales and rainbow,” she answers, another thing Jackson taught her.

It’s been more than two months since the Adam fiasco and a lot has changed. There are no more security details watching us.

Not because Jackson didn’t want it, but because I drew the line. We are fine, Lilah’s fine, I’m fine, and the house is safe. It’s booby trapped, for crying out loud.

He finally gave in and cut the security details, but that didn’t mean it didn’t come with stipulations. I agreed not to leave the house without my cell phone. He was firm on this, saying he didn’t care if it was just to put out the trash. If I was going to be outside the house, my phone was in my pocket. This made sense to me, so I had no problem agreeing.

He also told me he’d put some kind of hidden app on it that would track my every single move. Two weeks ago, I forgot to take it with me when we went over to his house during the day to play in the sand.

I was there maybe an hour when he walked into the backyard with steam practically coming out of his ears.

“Where are you?” he asked, knowing full well where we were. “Where is your cell phone, Bella?” I knew him well enough now to not poke the bear, so I just told him how sorry I was for forgetting it and promised to never let it happen again. I also had to give him extra sexual favors because ‘I owed him for making him worry.’

“Okay, we should get downstairs,” I say while trying to fish under the sheets for my discarded panties I know he took off.

“I threw what you’re looking for on the other side of the room.”

I turn to see my panties lying on the floor in front of the bathroom door.

Turning around, I glare at him while Lilah asks, “What you looking for, Momma?”

“My shoes,” I answer, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Can you check in your room to see if I left my slippers in there?”

I’m hoping she doesn’t notice the slippers are right next to the panties. Instead, she jumps off the bed, giving me just enough time to pick up the panties and make it into the bathroom.

“They no here!” I hear Lilah yelling from her room.

“She found them,” Jackson says, walking into the bathroom with a smirk on his face wearing his basketball shorts.

I stop from brushing my teeth, pointing my toothbrush at him. “Not cool, Jackson, not cool.”

He laughs at me, turning on the sink, and putting toothpaste on his own toothbrush. “Stop wearing them, and I won’t throw them,” he says right before he puts the toothbrush into his mouth.

My glare stays on him until Lilah comes in, complaining she is starving.

“My poor girl, always starving,” I say while I wipe my hands on the towel. “Let’s go feed my starving girl and fix Jackson’s coffee.”

We started this routine soon after Jackson semi-moved in. He is never home anymore. He has most of his clothes here, slowly bringing more of his stuff over and never taking anything back.

Once we started mixing our clothes and doing laundry together, it was evident we lived together.

We still go over to his house sometimes to eat and play with the park that is in the backyard. But other than that, he is always here.

I’m surprised he hasn’t moved his television in since he always complains ours is too small.

I start the coffeemaker brewing and begin opening the curtains since it’s a nice, sunny day outside.

“Momma, I want fluffy eggs,” she says while she pulls out her chair and climbs into it with her coloring book. Fluffy eggs in Lilah’s world are scrambled eggs. “Wiff toast.”

“Coming right up,” I tell her, grabbing the eggs, milk, and a frying pan. I crack the eggs and start mixing the ingredients to make her fluffy eggs.

I walk over to the stairs, yelling upstairs, “Want fluffy eggs, Jackson?” Hoping he can hear me with the water running.

“Sounds good, angel, I’ll be down in a second,” he yells from somewhere upstairs.

Breakfast is almost done when he comes barreling down the stairs. “Sorry, angel, gotta go. We got a lead on Lori.”

Her name makes me gasp out of shock. I met her mother, Marissa, when we went to the diner in town. My heart breaks for her. Each time Lori calls, Marissa is filled with hope and then ripped to shreds when nothing comes of it.