The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

Nick lives on the eighteenth floor and Charlotte on the seventh in this condo building, but I’ve got more phone calls to make and I can’t deal with Nick’s rage right now.

“No,” I say. “She’s sleeping. She needs to rest.”

It takes another ten minutes to convince him that coming over would be more disruptive. I spend the rest of the night making phone calls. There’s the call to her parents and then to mine. Everyone is crying. Even Dad choked up and said he couldn’t talk anymore. They all are coming down tomorrow. I make arrangements for them to stay at a hotel nearby. The last thing that Charlotte needs is the entire family hovering outside her bedroom.

When I’m finished, my fingers are cramped from being clenched around the phone. The condo is silent. Seven floors up, the street noise is dulled from the distance and the solid walls and windows. I could use a distraction. Booze, danger, anything.

But the person who matters the most in my measly existence needs me, and for once in my pathetic life, I’m going to be there for her. As I stand in the doorway of the darkened bedroom, I can barely make out her slight form under the covers. She’s always been a slight girl, more wiry than curvy. She might wish for bigger boobs or a bigger ass, but I’ve loved her since forever because of who she was, my Charlotte, rather than whether she had a big chest, lots of hair, or even two limbs.

Is it easier for a guy to lose a leg or an arm than a woman? Women have these impossible standards of beauty that they think that they have to meet: tits of a certain cup size and some magical hip-to-waist ratio. Guys just want to be able to make love to their women, protect their family, and pound a few beers.

Ah shit, that’s not even true. If I couldn’t run, jump, and climb like I’m currently able to, I’d be a basket case too.

But my love for her, my utter devotion to her will never change. It wouldn’t matter if she was in a different body entirely. It’s her, the essence that animates her body, that matters.

I strip off my clothes and crawl under the covers next to her. In the dead of the night, I close my eyes and search for the connection to a higher being and pray.

* * *

When I wake up, she’s gone.

The sheets where her body laid are cold, and for a heart-stopping, ball-freezing moment, I think the worst.

“Charlotte!” I jump out of bed and run into the living room shouting her name. My heart’s still pounding hard when I skid to a halt in the kitchen and see her at the table surrounded by her friends. A dozen magazines are strewn across the table with white dress-wearing, flower-carrying women adorning the covers.

Lainey’s eyes widen, and Reese licks his lips. Looking down, I see that I’m completely nude with my twig and berries dangling out for everyone’s perusal. And I have morning wood.

“Good morning, babe,” Charlotte smirks.

“Ah, yeah,” I say and drop a hand to my crotch. Did I dream what happened yesterday? A careful inspection of Charlotte reveals dark circles covered in makeup. No, yesterday was not a bad dream. Gathering up my uncooperative flesh, I turn and march into the bedroom.

“Jesus, those Jackson boys are well endowed,” I hear Lainey say.

“How would you know, young lady?” Reese asks.

“I’m just guessing,” she protests. I can tell by the high-pitched tone it’s a lie. I’ll have to ask Nick about that later.

In the bedroom, I make use of the attached bathroom to piss and brush my teeth. After I’m done, I throw on briefs, sweatpants and a T-shirt.

When I arrive back in the kitchen fully clothed, Reese stands and offers his hand. I shake it but look at Charlotte in confusion. She grins.

“Thank you,” Reese says. “I was all upset over hearing Charlotte’s news, but seeing you completely nude has restored my good humor.”

“No wonder Charlotte has agreed to move to San Diego,” Lainey pipes up. “I wouldn’t want to be more than ten feet away from that at any given time.”

“He’s big,” Charlotte says, “but not that big.”

Everyone laughs at this, and I don’t give a damn because my dick can be the topic of jokes every morning if it makes Charlotte laugh.

“It’s pretty damn big,” I say and wink at Lainey. “Bigger than Nick’s.”

“Right, as if I’d know.” Her wild, not-so-funny laugh ends in a hiccup. She stands abruptly, and her chair’s legs catch on the carpet. I grab it before it can fall over.

“Lainey,” Charlotte calls at her friend’s retreating back.

“Let her go.” Reese places a hand on hers. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I need some coffee,” I say and follow Lainey into the small alcove off the kitchen where Charlotte stores all her appliances, including a fancy coffee maker. Lainey has her back to me, hands braced on the counter.