Jackson slipped into the staff office at the furniture store, grabbed a couple of work uniforms, and pulled them on without a second thought. When the movers were busy, he slid right into their group, blending in like he belonged there.
He rode with the installation guys all the way to the Martin family’s place. The only one home was the housekeeper. Jackson helped haul in the furniture, following her directions as she relayed Tina’s instructions, making sure the bed ended up in exactly the right spot.
Before the crew left, they picked up every scrap of packaging, leaving the house spotless—no mess, no evidence they’d even been there. As the installers loaded the last boxes into the van, Jackson slipped away, ducking around the corner and hopping into the car waiting for him.
The second he got in, he ripped off his baseball cap and tossed it onto the floor. The deep blue uniform hugged his frame, making him look even more rugged than usual.
He fiddled with the air conditioning vents and grumbled, “I’m dying in this heat.”
Aiden snickered. “Not gonna lie, you pull that outfit off. Looks good on you.”
Jackson just snorted, sprawling out in the passenger seat. “What doesn’t look good on me?”
Aiden grinned as he pulled into traffic. “You could make a trash bag look designer, man. Seriously.” He’d figured out by now—Jackson responded way better to flattery than to any kind of pushback. Try to argue and Jackson would talk circles around you.
The car moved slowly toward Cloud Peak, the city rolling past their windows. They hit the first traffic light just as it turned red and came to a stop.
Aiden drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, annoyed. Jackson hated getting stuck too. All that waiting, just to get stopped at the last second? It was the worst. Like finally making it to the bathroom, pants down, only to realize you’re constipated. That kind of frustration.
Riverdale traffic was brutal. The red lights were long enough to make you think twice about your life choices. Jackson pushed a hand through his hair, slouched against the door, and stared out at the crosswalk.
Twenty-five years later, she still chose to go with the flow, as if nothing about Jackson was worth breaking the pattern for.
“Want me to pull over?” Aiden asked, voice low.
Jackson let out a heavy sigh, eyes lingering on the spot where she’d disappeared before finally looking away. “No. Let’s just keep going.”
Aiden’s hands tightened on the wheel. He wanted to say something, to comfort him, but what could he say? He could guess from the woman’s face—this was Jackson’s mom. The one who left and never looked back.
Maybe she was cold, but maybe there was more to it. Things were different back then. After hearing Jackson’s story, Aiden had always wondered—if they ran into each other in Riverdale, what would it even look like? How do you face something like that?

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