Living On The Edge // Aerosmith

Jackson

I'm real good at leaving. If I had to pick one personality trait that summed the rest up, that would be it. I leave. Maybe it's because my earliest memory is leaving. And maybe it's the only way I know how to deal with things when they get tough. Maybe it's because I don't remember a time when I had to work through shit to get to the good stuff. I leave before stuff can get good.

Right here is a prime example. I don't want to be here. I want to leave. But no one else is going to step up and take this on for me, so I don't have a choice. I feel like crawling out of my skin, the anxiety is pushing my limits. I'm sweating. It's most likely due to the heat of the sun, but I'm positive my fucking nerves are playing a part.

I toss the ball and watch as Polly follows it with her eyes but has no energy to chase after it. Her favorite fucking thing in the world, playing fetch in the waves, and she's too damn sick to do it. My heart is fucking cracked. How do I say goodbye to her?

I pick up my mutt—some mix of breeds I've never bothered to figure out—and carry her to where the ball now floats. Polly opens her mouth. The ball finds its way between her canines and she clamps down. Fucking hell, I'm going to lose it. I can't take this heartbreak. It's too much. Her dark brown coat is dripping with ocean water as the waves roll over us. I pull the ball from her mouth and toss it back toward shore. Polly watches it once again, this time with a whine attached to the look.

Fuck me.

"Come on, baby girl. Let's get your ball."

We make it back to the ball and she follows the same pattern.

Somehow, I let my brain take me somewhere else. A time when Polly was a pup and full of energy. I was just a kid, five or six, but damn that dog was everything to me. The only thing my mom ever did for me that lasted. The only gesture that said she loved me was letting me have this dog.

I can tell Polly is about out of the minimal strength she had so I carry her to the little wagon and gently lay her on the blanket inside. I pack up the few things I brought and head across the sand to my truck.

"Sweet dog," some old lady says. "You must love this poor thing."

I look up at her and give a sad smile. I can't speak, because yeah. I love this dog more than anyone else in my life. A boy and his dog, isn't that the sentiment? I can't remember much in my life before Polly. I remember being fucking sad all the time. I remember my mom telling me to stop whining. Then I remember holding her, scrawny little thing licking me everywhere and squirming. I laughed. My mom left me with the pup and that was that.

I make it back to my truck and load my girl in the back seat surrounded by blankets. Once I get the rest of my gear set in the bed, I hop in and check on her one more time. Her head sags to one side, eyes already closed.

Fuck. My heart can't take much more of this. In a split-second decision, I start up the engine and make the drive to my mom's place. Maybe she'll take mercy on me and drive Polly to the vet tomorrow for her final moments. I can't fucking do this.

***

I knock on mom's door with my knee, holding Polly in my arms because the damn dog can't even walk anymore.

"Coming!"

A second later the door to her double wide swings open. Mom's eyes shine when she sees me before she notices the dog in my arms. The look she gives when she realizes what I'm holding makes my stomach hurt.

"Well, you've got an armful. Come on in." Her voice is not welcoming, but what did I expect. The queen of detachment isn't going to offer emotional comfort willingly.

"Thanks." I carry my dog to the couch and lay her down. When I turn to face my mom, resolved to ask what I came to ask even knowing what the answer will be, I find her with crossed arms and a hard look.

"You always were soft for that dog. Too much like your father." She steps closer to Polly, giving her what little affection the woman is capable of by rubbing one of her ears. "You were a blubbering mess for a week after we moved here, remember that?"

"Not really."

"Wouldn't stop crying over leaving that friend. Thought I'd lose my mind with the noise."

I say nothing, letting her talk about that day we've never discussed. I've tried asking her what happened for us to pack up and move away from my dad, but she's never been willing to tell me a damn thing. "My business," is all she's ever said. So I soak up every word she tells me now, not asking what friend she's talking about that I can't remember for fear of interrupting her flow.

"I went to the pound thinking I'd get you a furry friend instead, a mutt that didn't cost more than a few bucks for its shots. All they had was this skinny thing, of course a girl." Mom shakes her head with a bitter laugh. "Figures."

I move to sit next to Polly, not really liking the way my mom is talking about her. When I break into my mom's range of vision, she turns away from me. I watch as she grabs a cold drink from the fridge before speaking again. I get the sense she's weighing her words, deciding which ones I'm worthy to hear.

"You wanted to name the mutt after that little girl. But I couldn't have her name in my house so I told you Polly was close enough. Thank goodness you agreed. I didn't want to have to take the mutt back after everything. You wouldn't ever have stopped the whining if I had."

"Fuck, mom. I was a little kid." I defend the boy I was while playing my dog's name over and over in my head.

Polly...Polly... What name could I have been thinking of.

"Sure, you were. I know that." Her tone snaps at me. "I had a lot of pressure on me, ya know. Suddenly a single mom in a new town. Your father not pitching in a dime, I had to figure out how to take care of everything." She slams her glass down but I hardly notice, already in my head trying to remember something about the friend I'd left behind.

"Yeah, Mom, I know." It's a lame attempt to pacify her but if she chills out, she might say something else. Any time I've ever asked she's shut me down hard. I don't want her to stop talking yet.

"You don't really, though. Little boys can't really understand what mothers go through for them."

I rub Polly's back, half listening now.

"You should tell me, Mom. Then maybe I'd understand."

She shakes her head, looking out the grimy window over her sink. "So much like your father. He always told me he wanted to listen, to understand. He never could. I didn't want you to grow up to be like him. It's why we left before it was too late." She turns to face me. "I guess I waited a little too long."

"What?" Now I'm snapped out of my thoughts rolling along trying to figure out a name.

"The day we left. Don't you remember?"

"No, Mom. I don't. I hardly remember a thing before Polly."

Mom hisses and stomps over to the door, grabbing her purse and shoving a hand inside. Seconds later she produces her pack of cigarettes and lights one up.

"I'd caught him, again. He lied to my face one too many times. And you and that girl were out in the mud listening to the entire thing. I stormed out of the house to find you gaping at me. Little Holly was crying her eyes out."

Holly.

The air rushes out of my lungs and my mind is abruptly flooded with memories.

I can picture long blonde braids and muddy cheeks. We used to make mud pies all the time. It was an escape, I think. She was sad all the time so I would tell her we needed to have a party. Because no one could be sad at a party. We'd make mud pies and mud pizza and mud ice cream for our party. She'd laugh. I'd laugh because her laugh made me feel good.

Fuck. How did I forget her? She was my best friend. I saw her every day. I wanted to name my dog after her, so I'd never forget. I knew at six years old that I'd never see Holly again. My mom snuck us away in the middle of the night to get away from my dad and told me we could never go back.

But I forgot her anyway.

I slide back into the present, slowly realizing my mom is still grumbling about what a shithole we'd left and how much better off we were here than we would have been if we'd stayed.

"Where?" I ask.

"What?" Mom stops her rant to look at me.

"Where is the shithole we left? Where did we live before?" I stand and take the two steps in her direction that put me directly in front of her.

She scoffs. "I'm sure you remember it."

"I actually don't. I have no idea. No memories." I neglect to mention the flood that just rushed through me when she said Holly's name.

"Why you asking now, after all these years?" She eyes me.

My own fucking mom.

"I never asked because you'd shut me down if I ever brought it up. I didn't want to upset you, so I shut the hell up. What are you afraid of?"

She looks at Polly, not an ounce of compassion for the dog on death's doorstep that's been my best friend for more than fifteen years.

"Nothing. It's just a time in my life I don't care to remember. I had my reasons for leaving. Keeping you from being just like him was reason number one." Her scathing gaze turns back to me. "Looks like I failed, epically."

"Holy shit, mom. Tell me how you really feel. What the hell have I done to get this from you."

She has the decency to look ashamed, turning away from me and back to the grimy window. She takes another drag from her cig before answering me.

"You just remind me too much of him. It's hard."

"Can't really do much about that. DNA has a funny way of doing its own thing."

Mom takes a deep breath. What she says next brings another flood of memories.

"Fallbrook Hills."

I suck in a breath.

"We lived in a little shack on a dirty street littered with motorcycles. At least you never took that up. I don't know what I'd have done if you'd been a gearhead like all of them." She shakes her head.

"That dog doesn't have 24 hours left, son. You best take her home and keep her company." Mom doesn't give me a second glance as she retreats to her bedroom.

My mind wanders to a place I barely remember, the sweet face of a little girl that had been my best friend filling my thoughts. I gather Polly in my arms as Holly takes up space in my heart once again.

I think I remember telling her I'd marry her one day. Get her out of there.

I wonder if she remembers me. I wonder if she's still in that place, Fallbrook Hills. Or if she's moved on, had a family of her own. Found a way to be happy that didn't include mud pies and mud pizza and mud ice cream.

I put Polly in her makeshift bed as I make a decision. She's going to be gone tomorrow, my best friend since I was six, and it's time I go back to that place Mom and I left. Time to try something new.

Returning.

Jackson. Need I say more? I already LOVE this man. The dog??? OMG that fetch scene was inspired by a TICTOK just so you know. I saw a guy helping his dog play fetch in the water for the last time and knew it was Jackson. He loves that mutt. I'd love your reactions ❤️

If you need more Fallbrook Hills, want to know some of the other key players in this story before Jackson gets there, check out Inevitable and Unexpected, the first two books in the Blue Bloods series, and you can also read Not Quite Enough or More Than This (books 1 and 2 in the Fallbrook Hills series) for some of the other characters that will pop up in this story!

Here we go, another ride into Fallbrook Hills. next up will be Holly. The energy that's already pouring out of this story has me giddy with excitement! I hope you're along for the journey.

I'm all over the place with this playlist. But Jackson is ready to Live on the edge .

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Thanks so much for reading!