by C. L. Stacey
She’s crying.
I’m scaring her.
“Jackson, please, what’s wrong?” she sobs.
When she sees me reach for my tie, she acts for me. Her hands work quickly to unfasten it from around my neck, yanking it through my collar before tossing it off to the side, then her fingers come back up to undo the two buttons at the top of my shirt. I feel my lungs give in when her hand makes contact with my skin, closing over my rapidly beating heart.
I breathe in, gasping loudly.
“Breathe,” she begs me, her teary gaze holding me steady. “Breathe, Jackson, like you taught me.”
Lexi cups her other hand around my cheek. I close my eyes and focus on her touch, using it to remind myself to keep breathing.
It helps. She helps. Her being here, her touch, it all helps.
My eyes fly back open when I hear Lea’s voice in the background, but I don’t look away from Lexi, needing to hold this connection with her for as long as possible. But then she begins to turn away from me, and I wrap my hand around her wrist as a desperate act to keep it there.
“Don’t go,” I beg her.
“Shh, hey…” She rubs her hand in soothing circles over my chest. “I’m not going anywhere, I was just asking Lea for some water.”
Even with her assurances, my fingers remain wrapped around the wrist of the hand she still has over my cheek. I’m a bit resistant when she begins to lift it, but her eyes do their reassuring, and I eventually let go.
Lexi’s fingers comb over my hair, softly stroking their way through, and I feel a warm calm wash over me. My breaths come easier now.
In.
Out.
In again.
Out again.
I feel my heartbeat begin to slow, drumming at a steadier pace against the palm of her hand. Then it speeds right back up when I realize her timing. “Did you see anyone—did anyone stop you on your way up here?”
My question makes her frown, and I feel a fraction of relief when she shakes her head. “No. I came up straight from the lobby,” she says.
They must have just missed each other. Lexi probably boarded another elevator while Brad was still making his way down.
I blow through a million different scenarios, all of which include Brad running into Lexi, and I can’t stand the thought of her learning his version of the truth.
When the time is right, I have to tell her. There’s only so much I can do to prevent a possible run-in between the two. Even with the photographs I have in my possession to use as leverage against him, Brad’s not exactly in the right state of mind to be making any rational decisions.
Who knows how much longer I have now. Weeks? Days?
But she’s just beginning to let me in… I don’t want to have to walk away from her now.
Telling her myself is really the only choice I have left, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I have to tell her, but I don’t want to. There’s a chance I could lose her… I don’t think I’ll be able to handle that.
Lea shows up again, a chilled bottle of water in hand, and Lexi unscrews the cap before handing it to me.
“Do you feel calm enough to drink?” she asks.
I sit up and take the bottle from her, my gaze fixed on the label. “Do me a favor, Lexi.”
“Okay, what is it?”
I pick my head back up to meet her attentive gaze. “I know I was the one who asked you to come have dinner with me… but don’t come back here. To this office, I mean. From now on, I will come to you.”
Something skitters across her eyes, a look of true understanding when she empathizes with my earlier episode, and she rubs a comforting hand over my shoulder. “Does this happen often? Is that how you knew how to handle me in that elevator? Why didn’t you tell me? You shouldn’t have to go through that sort of thing alone, I would know…”
I reach over and take her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. “Answer me, Lexi.”
“Yes, okay.” She nods. “Should I go wait for you at home then?” she asks, shifting her weight like she was getting ready to stand.
“No.” My grip tightens around her fingers, keeping her at my side. “Let me take you home.”
“But I drove…”
“Then you drive. I’ll ride with you.” I begin to get up, but Lexi drops a hand over my arm.
“Wait.” She pulls on my hand, inspecting the cuts across my knuckles.
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“No, we need to clean this up before we go. Where’s your first aid kit?” she asks.
I lose this one, too, like I do all the others, and we don’t go anywhere until Lexi takes tender care of my wounds.
All I can do is watch as she works, and I pay close attention to how her brows furrow cutely together when concentrating deeply on her task of cleaning and wrapping me up.
What will I do if she refuses to forgive me? The unwelcome thought fills my head. How will I ever let her go?
The whole drive home, my mind keeps taking me back to the episode in his office. I don’t recognize that man. That man is terrifying.
The look in his eyes… God, I can’t even begin to explain it.
Jackson obviously has his own demons. All this time, he’s been suffering so much pain, but he hid it so well. I had no idea.
This is beyond me. I want to help him, but I have no idea how.
It all makes sense, why he’s so afraid to be alone.
Does he suffer these episodes often? How often do they occur? What the hell could have triggered something like this, and how do I prevent it from happening again?
Others may have run away from him, but all I could do after witnessing that was run toward him. Call me a masochist, but I wasn’t about to leave him there. Not when I have insight to what he may have been feeling inside.
Beaten, helpless, powerless… You don’t leave someone who’s suffering from all those things alone. You just don’t.
I chance a glance in his direction, but even if I were full on staring, he wouldn’t have noticed me. He’s a thousand miles away right now. Elbow resting against the door with his head in his hand, eyes fixed straight ahead, staring off into nothing.
Where’d you go, Jackson? I want to ask, but I don’t.
Talk to me, I want to say, but I don’t.
I pull the car into my assigned spot in the parking garage and kill the engine. He unbuckles himself from his seat when he hears me do the same.
“Jackson…” I begin.
“Wait here,” he says before opening his door.
He steps out and rounds the car to my side, opening my door for me.
Typical Jackson. Even when he’s completely beside himself, he remembers his manners.
Jackson opens the door to the backseat and pulls out the takeout bag I’d brought up to his office earlier. My eyes drop to his wrinkled white shirt, my gaze lingering a while on his chest when his muscles contract with his reach.
I finally come to when his hand closes around mine to lead me inside the building.
We say nothing as we cross the lobby.
More silence when we board the elevator.
When we’re standing at my door, I pull my keys from my purse and let us inside. He walks in first, checking his surroundings as if he’s looking for something, or someone.
I set my keys down in the bowl that sits on the small table at my entryway. “Jackson, look at me.”
He turns to face me, and I take the bag from him, setting it down on the table next to my keys, then I wrap him up in a tight embrace.
When I was at my absolute worst last Sunday, a hug from him helped me pull it together. Maybe this will help do the same for him.
I reach up, cradling the back of his head protectively to me when he hugs me back. His strong arms nearly crush me, cutting off my air supply, but I say nothing.
This is all I can think to do for him, so I allow him all the time he needs.
“Talk to me, Jackson,” I plead with him, runn
ing my fingers in soft, soothing strokes against the back of his head.
He drops his forehead to my shoulder, his arms tightening their hold around my waist. “What perfume do you use?”
The random question throws me. “Huh?”
“Your perfume, what is it?”
“Romance by Ralph Lauren. Why?” Then I remember something Stephanie said. “Oh, my God, do you hate it?”
“What?”
“Is that why you’re asking me? Do you hate it?”
His mouth releases a knowing sigh. “What exactly did Stephanie tell you?”
“You fired someone for wearing perfume you didn’t like,” I answer. “Do you hate my perfume?” I ask a third time.
“No, it’s nice,” he finally answers. “And I would never fire you.”
I giggle, the sound muffled by his shirt. “You’d be a shitty friend if you did.”
“So I won’t.”
Sensing his playful side returning, I joke, “Your hug’s about to expire, Jackson. I can barely breathe.”
“Oh, right.” He releases me. “I’m sorry.”
I smile and pick up the takeout bag, shaking it between us. “Sushi surprise!”
Jackson scowls at me. “I told you not to spend money on me.” He takes the bag from me.
“Hence the surprise.” I roll my eyes. “Duh!” I walk ahead of him, leading the way to the dining room.
“What, no cartoons today?” he smarts.
“Shut up and sit down. I’ll grab us some waters.”
I return with a couple of chilled bottles and set one down in front of him before taking a seat in the chair he already had pulled out for me.
He hands me a pair of chopsticks, and I take them with a smile. “Thank you.”
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks.
“Shoot.” I pick up a piece of my salmon and drop it into my mouth.
Jackson goes straight for the Red Dragon roll, popping a piece of it into his mouth. “What’s with your cartoon obsession?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Who doesn’t like them?”
“Well, adults our age usually grow out of them,” he quips. “How old are you again?”
I drop my mouth open, still full of fish, and I let out a sarcastic, “Ha-ha!”
It makes him laugh. “That’s disgusting.”
“Sorry.” I giggle, finishing the rest of what was in my mouth before I answer him. “Well, if you must know, I love them because the child inside of me will live on forever. However,” I hold up a finger, “I especially love them during Red Week.”
“What the hell is that?”
“The worst gift Mother Nature has bestowed unto us women,” I answer unabashedly.
Jackson stops mid-chew, pausing to look at me. “Lexi…”
“Fun fact about being my friend, Jackson,” I warn, “I’m not shy.”
I expect him to groan or set down his chopsticks or to call me disgusting again, but he doesn’t. His head knocks back when he gives the heartiest laugh I’ve ever heard from him. “Red week,” he repeats, shaking his head back and forth. “That’s clever.”
“Yea? What do you know about it?”
“I know that girls are typically meaner than normal during that week.” He takes another bite of the same roll.
He likes tuna, I mentally note.
“Utter the letters P, M or S during that week, and you die. Men have died for far less, Jackson.”
He laughs again. “So there are rules?”
“Hell yea!” I exclaim. “Well, I can’t speak for the rest of the female population, but I do. I have a bunch of them, actually.” I shrug. “I have a specific list of things—a guide if, you will—guaranteed to help keep me as mellow as possible during that week.”
“Okay.” He sits back in his seat. “Tell me.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He nods. “I want to know.”
“Do you need me to get you pen and paper?”
He laughs that great laugh again. “No, I’ll commit it to memory.”
“Okay. Ready?”
“Hit me.”
“Number one: Do something great on the first day of Red Week to take my mind off the fact that Red Week has begun its torture on my uterus.” He doesn’t cringe at all from the overshare. Instead, he grins. “Number two: Bring me chocolate treats. Bring me dark chocolate, and you die. I hate it.” He chuckles, notes it, and then nods for me to continue. “Number three: Never argue with me during Red Week. During Red Week, I am always right. I am the Queen of Red Week.”
Jackson holds out a hand, hitting pause. “Doesn’t that rule apply every day to you women?” he points out.
“Very good, that was a test. Number four: You already know. PMS. Don’t mention it. Just don’t, because you die.” Nods again. “Number five: Disney movie marathon. All day, every day, and then I have a good cry afterwards. You can’t laugh at me, or—”
“I die?” he completes my sentence with a laugh.
“That’s right!”
“That it?”
I nod, and then I frown. “You are the first guy in the history of men to sit through that without any complaint. What’s the matter with you?”
He takes a moment to think about my question, and he shrugs. “I’m used to girls, I guess.”
I’m not sure I like that answer too much, but I don’t let it show. “Good for you. I guess you’ll do fine, then.”
Jackson takes another bite of his roll, offering me a closed-mouth smile. “When’s your cycle start usually?”
“Birth control guarantees the first of each month, and it lasts until the fifth.”
He looks up with a calculating expression. “So it passed this month?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.”
“Why?”
“Just asking.”
I’m truly fascinated by him, a guy who doesn’t care. I’ve never come across one before. He’s like a unicorn. A hot, billionaire unicorn. “You’re such a weirdo.”
“Well, this weirdo’s gonna be a model friend during your next cycle, so let’s see how weird you think I am when the time comes.”
I giggle from behind my hand, my mouth still full from my bite of the Sunset roll. I pick all the tuna cuts and rolls, set them in the Red Dragon box, and push it toward him.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t like tuna,” I lie.
A week has come to pass, but I still haven’t mustered up the courage to tell her.
The longer I wait, the worse I’ll come off, but I can’t fucking do it.
Losing her now would be too much for me to handle. Like I told Jessica that night, I need her in my life. She makes it better. I don’t think so much when she’s around, and while that sounds bad in most other cases, it’s not for mine.
Lexi silences the voices in my head, temporarily stunts the ever-growing guilt in my heart, and she just makes me… happy.
She makes me want things.
I want to go out more when I’m with her.
I want to be around her friends.
I want to work less.
I want to see her, all the time, and I want to hear her voice when I can’t.
I want to be nicer.
I want to be a better person.
I want to be a person she can depend on.
I want to be her closest person.
I want to be her person.
I want her.
I want her.
But I can’t have her.
It wouldn’t be right for as long as I’m lying to her.
We’ve spent every day of the past week together—not including the hours of the workday. I’m too paranoid to skip a day. I need to know that she’s okay.
When I’m not with her, Daniel is. Only she doesn’t know it.
I can’t have anything happen to her. I think I’d die if something did.
Is that drastic? That sounded drastic in my mind. But it’s the truth.
<
br /> We’ve just grown so close these past few weeks… I’ve known her, on paper, for the past almost five years, but this is different. I know her now, the kind of person she is. She’s a good, honest person. She cares about others. She cares about me, and she doesn’t even know me. Not really.
Lexi’s about to take Caleb up on his offer to sign her to his agency, and while I can’t imagine being apart from her while she’s away on photoshoots, I can’t honestly say that it’s a horrible idea.
Maybe that will be the best thing, to keep her far away from me.
But how is it the best thing for me when all I want is to be with her? I’d be alone again.
I was okay with it before… I wasn’t happy, but I was living. That’s something, right?
No, it’s nothing. I’d be left with nothing. I’d be empty again, hollow.
I’m being a selfish son of a bitch, but I hear that love makes us selfish, and stupid. Is that what this is?
What if I love her?
What if I’m just stupid?
What if I’m crazy?
Crazy stupid.
Can she ever love me?
Sometimes I think that she can.
When we’re spending time together, and I see the way she sees me, the way she steals glances my way when she thinks I don’t notice, I believe in my heart that she honestly could. But then I remind myself that she hasn’t fully let me in yet.
While she has somewhat lowered the walls she keeps surrounding her heart, there are secrets she still keeps, secrets she thinks I know nothing about. But I do. I know everything there is to know about her.
Within those walls, she houses her pain and sorrow, her grief, her scars, but she masks all of it with her beautiful smile.
Where does she find the strength?
I wish she would choose to open herself up to me more instead of keeping them all tucked away, but I don’t have the right to ask that of her. Not while I’m the bigger liar out of the two of us.
I need to hear her voice. I’m going insane alone here in this big ass house with nothing but my thoughts.
This is why I need her. She quiets those voices in my head.
Harper gets married this Saturday. Lexi’s at Skins, the strip club, with the bachelorette party she’s throwing for her friend.