#chat. jackson

@jackson-darby

Coming back was not in her plans- but when Grand Daisy asked her to help plan her second romance, Stori couldn't say no. Her own bitter heart should not ruin her experience. Picking up dinner in not even the second-best Irish pub on the West Coast- in fact, when she caught sight of who stood behind the bar, Stori was sure it was the absolute last place she'd want to be. It didn't stop her from fucking with his head and picking out their wedding song on the jukebox to play ten times in a row.

She wondered if he remembered, but she doubted it- the song filled the pub for the fourth time in a row, and it seemed like people were catching on. Instead of leaving when she to go order Stori sauntered towards the bar, took an empty stool, leaning nearly across the bar, "God, I hate this fucking song." She spoke loud enough he'd hear- loud enough that she could get the words out without her voice cracking.

Stori's house late evening/early morning

@jackson-darby

The night was blossoming into the morning. Stori had yet to fall asleep and was several chapters deep into an old smutty novel when the sudden sound of breaking glass had her throwing the book to her floor. Buttercup was snoring soundly under the covers, reminding her that he was a shit guard dog. The sound of rustling came again from somewhere in the front of the house. Lola was out of town for god knows how fucking long, meaning there was no reason for anyone but her and her snoring dog to be here, but the crash of glass was enough to startle Stori out of any sleepy haze she had. Clutching her phone, she calls him without thinking better of it- exhaling relief when he does answer, "Jack-" She whispers his name, not wanting to alert whoever it was that she was awake, "I think someone is in my house. Can you please come?" She asks, not waiting for him to answer before telling him he can find the spare key inside the tail end of a skimpy mermaid statue out front.

Skittering runs past her door, and Stori yelps quietly, accidentally throwing her phone. The hope he comes falls into the pit of her stomach a few moments later as she grabs the bat from under her bed and carefully peers out of her room, shutting the dog in with a quiet click as she listens for the clicking of feet on hardwood somewhere in the dark. Bat clutched in both hands, Stori swings into the shadow connecting with nothing.

I won't take any excuses this time, little Dove. I'd assume you made him up if I never met the boy. Now I fully expect my grandson-in-law to attend all wedding events this way forward. Show up with bells and the boy. As the bride, I get to make these requests, so now arguing. He will never be too busy for his family.

Grandy Daisy's words rang like a bell in her mind, wedding bells, warning bells. She wasn't sure, nor did she have time to second guess what she was about to do. She should have called and asked in advance, but Stori knew better than to give Jackson a chance to get out of any sort of responsibility. So she did what she did best, showed up unannounced, dressed for an event they both needed to attend in less than an hour. Banging on his front door, Stori sang his name, giving him a dazzling smile as he swung the door open, "Well, you're not dressed at all for a rehearsal dinner." She pouted and extended out a dry cleaning back with a suit she'd picked out for him earlier in the week after she knew she didn't have a choice. "Good thing I have the perfect thing for you to wear. Get dressed."