Crystal's POV

I choked.

And then continued choking as I shot him a look of complete and utter disbelief. Because there was no way the words that just came out of his mouth were true.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "A bit overdramatic," He said to me. "Don't you think?"

"You?" I finally managed to say once I cleared my throat. "You were a cop?"

Jackson just nodded. "I was. Once."

"What the fuck happened?"

Jackson laughed and then smiled at me. "Babe, you really have a way with words." He shook his head. "Surprised?" He asked me. "That I was once on the straight and narrow?"

"Surprise doesn't even begin to cover it. Of course, that's only if you're telling the truth."

His face suddenly turned very solemn as he stared out into the distance. "Ella was my partner. Both in the department and in my personal life." His hand reached up and he began playing with the rings on the end of the chain around his neck. "She saw something in me that no one else did."

He let out a sigh and dropped the rings, opting to run a hand through his wet hair instead. "I was a . . . problem child. Constantly running away from home, constantly hanging out with . . . well, I was going to say the wrong crowd but I was the wrong crowd. I could get away with just about whatever I wanted. When I turned eighteen, my parents finally had enough of me. Kicked me out of the house. Told me they never wanted to see me again. Ella and her parents allowed me to stay with them."

I looked at him when he didn't continue. "And how did you become a cop?"

"Ella's uncle was the chief of police at that particular department," He told me. "He got me a job there. I think they all figured it would straighten me out."

"And did it?"

This got a wicked smile out of him and he turned to look at me. "Not a chance." He suddenly grew quiet again. "But Ella did. She made me want to be a better person. She was my world." He blew out a sigh. "Turns out I was good at it. Being a cop. I was really good at getting people to talk to me. Really good at undercover work. I ended up getting promoted very fast. And then it all went to shit."

I stared at him as he looked down at the floor in front of him. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his hands turning to fists at his sides. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seeming to try and compose himself. And this was probably the only time I'd seen him showing any emotion that wasn't scripted.

"We were working a case together. A case that no other cop wanted to touch. It was against a very powerful person and every time anyone ever came up with evidence against him or started building a case, he'd cut them down."

I didn't have to ask. I knew who he was talking about. I turned away from him, feeling ashamed even though this was not my fault. "My father," I whispered.

I could see him nod out of the corner of my eye.

"It would start with a warning. He'd tell you to back off. Then there'd be a second warning, but that warning would involve hurting someone. And finally, if you still didn't back off people would get killed." He shook his head again. "I should have listened to first warning," He muttered. "He told us to back off. He said we'd regret it if we didn't. Ella listened, she backed off. And she begged me to do the same." He turned away again.

He didn't have to say the next words, I could guess them myself. "You didn't though," I said softly. "You didn't back off."

His entire body went tense, but not because of what I said, but because of what memories it clearly brought back. "We were close. Closer than anyone had ever been to bringing him down. I thought I could do it before anyone got hurt. I was so wrong." He closed his eyes. "Your father never did his own dirty work. Instead, he sent Kurt Branson to do it for him. But he wasn't supposed to kill her. He was just supposed to rough her up, to send me a message."

"So why'd he kill her?" I questioned.

He let out a soft laugh and smiled slightly. "Because he underestimated her. She was not going to stand by while he did whatever he did. She wasn't afraid of having a gun in her face. She fought back." He smiled slightly again. "She took out his eye." Then he shook his head. "She pissed him off. It became personal to him. So he killed her. I came home just as he-"

He cut off and I didn't press. He ran a hand through his hair again and then rubbed it down his face. "I watched her die. And my world ended," He whispered. "And maybe I would have gone after him. Maybe I was in too much of a shock, I don't know. But it didn't matter because he didn't give me the chance. He had soaked the house in gasoline. He threw a lighter in and took off. He knew I wouldn't follow him."

"Why wouldn't you have?" I asked him. "Why didn't you go after him then?"

He turned to look at me briefly before turning away, pain in his eyes. "Because my infant son was on the second floor."

I stopped breathing.

He shook his head again. "I couldn't-I didn't . . . I was too late. He didn't make it."

I didn't have words. It wasn't like there was anything I could say. Nothing would make any of what had happened to him better. Nothing.

He cleared his throat. "Kurt Branson I could spend the rest of my life hunting down. I knew it was going to take a while, but I could do it. Problem was he was being protected by Lawrence Carver. I knew from experience that there was no legal way to touch Carver so . . ."

"Jackson Storm was born," I finished for him.

He nodded. "It wasn't that hard. Ella had been the only thing keeping me on the straight and narrow and without her, there was no reason to play the good guy anymore." He shot me a wicked smile, his entire expression, and posture back to the way it had been nearly the entire time I'd been stuck with him. "Besides, I'm much better at being the bad guy."

"Jackson," I whispered. "I'm so-"

He held up his hand to cut me off. "I don't need your pity or your apologies for what your father's done."

I shook my head. "Still," I said. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine. . ."

"No," He said as he continued to stare out at the open ocean. "You can't."

There was a silence that settled over us. And even though there were seagulls flying overhead, waves crashing against the shore, and a breeze rustling the nearby trees, I didn't hear any of it. It was like nothing existed except for the silence between us. But it wasn't awkward. Wasn't filled with all the things we wished to say to each other. Wasn't deafening. It was just, peaceful. Quiet.

And yet, even with how peaceful it was, my mind was anything but. I couldn't help but replay his words. Couldn't help but imagine what had happened even though I knew I could never actually come close to imagining what had really happened. And my heart went out to him. As he'd put it, he'd lost his whole world in one day. He'd lost everything. I didn't even know what to say, of course, there was nothing to say.

Of course, the story of his past had suddenly answered so many questions and at the same time, brought about a million more. While I knew that I could never truly know Jackson, I finally felt that I could understand him a little better. Could now see and understand why he did the things he did. Why he chose to push me away.

I looked over at him, studied him once again like I had done when I had first met him, and then again when I had tracked him down. The first time, I hadn't known anything about him, so I only saw what he wanted me to see. The second time, I had learned who he was, a conman, and so, I had only seen what I expected to see. And finally, as I looked at him now, after being forced to get to know him, I saw . . . well, not whoever he used to be. That man was long gone. I saw him as Jackson Storm, except not how he portrayed himself and not how I expected to see him, but rather . . . I saw him, for who he was now.

The silence continued between us. That is, until Jackson Storm opened his trap once again.

"I hated you."

I turned to look at him in disbelief, all thoughts of the horror he'd gone through and how sorry I felt for him suddenly flew right out of my head. All thoughts of understanding, gone in a flash. But then, Jackson Storm could bring out the worst in anyone even when you were feeling sorry for him it seemed.

"Oh, right," I said sarcastically. "Because you were such a saint to be around."

He smiled widely and for a moment it was easy to forget about the conversation we'd just had.

"Actually," Jackson said. "I don't think hate, even begins to cover it. I saw you as nothing more than an extension of your father. Saw you as nothing more than a way in which to get back at him. Your father ruined my life and getting to you seemed the best way at which to get back at him." He shook his head and stared down at the ground. "And it was easy to hate you," He said. "To use you. All I saw when I looked at you was a spoiled daddy's little princess. I saw a way to ruin the only one he truly loved, just as he'd done to me. I had thought I'd left you broken and crying to your father."

He let out a soft laugh. "And then you showed up on my yacht." He turned to look at me, some emotion I couldn't identify shining in his eyes. "Dressed in a suit instead of your fancy dresses, hair black as night, and eyes a stormy grey . . . and so very pissed off for some reason," He said with a smile. "You know, I did recognize you. But in my head, there was no way I could have been so wrong. There was no way that the woman standing in front of me was Crystal Carver."

He turned away from me once more to stare back out at the ocean. "There's only one other person in the world that's been able to fool me so bravo to you." He grew silent for a moment. "And you did fool me. And I was oh so intrigued by you when you showed back up on my yacht. I got a glimpse of who you really were and I was . . . impressed. Surprised as well, that you were truly good. Working to take down your father. Nothing like the man who raised you even though you had every reason to be. But you weren't."

Jackson let out another long sigh and looked down at the sand in front of him. "And as time went on, I found myself forgetting that I was supposed to hate you. Forgetting that you were the daughter of my enemy." He looked up from the ground and to me, his eyes-which looked so very tired-locked onto mine. "Although," He continued as he looked away. "It was easier hate you when you hated me. So I'd flirt, I'd invade your personal space, I'd mock, I'd poke and I'd prod." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes. "And I'd keep you hating me."

He suddenly let out a disbelieving laugh and then ran a hand through his wet hair. "And then you went and did the stupidest thing you could possibly do."

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him.

He ignored me and shook his head. "I don't know when it changed," He locked eyes with me once more. "But you suddenly stopped hating me. Stopped seeing me as the conniving bastard you continuously called me and started seeing me as . . ." He trailed off and shrugged. "human. I guess that's the best way to put it. And even when I continued to try and push your buttons after that, you just . . . let me. Still wouldn't hate me, not like you did before." He tilted his head toward me. "Rather stupid of you."

I smiled at him and let out a shrug. "Or maybe it was the long con," I said. "Get you to drop your guard and then I'd finally strike."

He laughed and turned away with a smile. "If you say so."

I rolled my eyes as I stood beside him, looking out at the ocean as he did. And for a while, we just stood there, side by side. Staring silently out at the horizon.

I found myself thinking over our conversation. Over everything I'd just learned. Never in my wildest dreams could I have guessed what Jackson's past had been like. And I could never imagine what it was like to have all of it ripped away.

I found myself wanting to say something to him. But honest to God, I couldn't find the words. Not that there was anything I could say. Nothing I could say or would say would ever change what had happened. Nothing would make any of it better.

"You really were a cop?" I asked before I even realized I was going to say anything.

Jackson chuckled. "Is that really the only part of my storytelling that you picked up on?"

"That's the only part I'm having trouble believing."

Jackson threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, Babe," He said. "I was really a cop. I could show you proof, but then . . . I'd have to kill you."

I rolled my eyes and he reached out to tap me on the nose. "Not if I killed you first."

Jackson just smiled.

"Ella really kept you on the straight and narrow then, huh?"

Jackson's smile was gone, though he didn't appear angry that I'd mentioned her. There was a sadness in his face, of course, but he didn't get angry as he'd done the one other time I'd almost mentioned her.

He nodded solemnly, a sad smile spreading across his face. "Ella, wanted me to be good. Asked me to be," He shrugged. "so I obliged. I wanted to be a good person . . . for her."

I just nodded. Continued to stand silently beside him. I didn't really know what to say to that. My heart ached for him. For everything he'd been through. For everything he'd lost. But, there was also another reason. Stupid and completely unreasonable, but I was wondering if he would ever do the same for me. If I would ever even measure up to the woman who had captured his heart.

Of course, to question that out loud would be to admit I cared for the bastard and to hope that he'd admit the same. Which was something he'd never do.

"You never asked," Jackson said softly.

I turned to him with a frown. "What?"

"You never asked," He repeated.

"I never asked, what exactly?"

He didn't look at me. Actually, he appeared to be making a point not to look at me. "You never asked me to be anything other than who I am." He finally turned to look at me. "And for that I am grateful."

I shrugged. "I didn't realize there was an option," I replied.

He laughed and shook his head. "You really are something else, Manipulative Bitch."

I shook my head with a smile. "I'm taking that as a compliment, Conniving Bastard."

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