His tone was sincere, and that fact grieved me more than I cared to accept. That he didn’t feel he could vent to me, hurt. But this wasn’t about my feelings. It was about him. I tried to pull that perspective into view. Touching his arm again, he wrapped his hand around mine and gave me a faint smile.
“I’m here for you when you need me,” I said.
He pulled me in, his arms around me tight, as he planted a kiss on top of my head.
“I know,” he said.
Yet somehow, I wasn’t really sure he did.
**********
The tension in the office on Tuesday was nearly insufferable. At first I thought it was just Pippy and Jackson who were acting off, but unfortunately they seemed to set the atmosphere for the entire building. Jackson made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about the company at dinner last night, which for the moment was good considering it probably wasn’t the best time for me to bring up my impromptu decision regarding Divina.
I worked tirelessly to get approval on the final drafts of several of my revision chapters, while writing two new ones documenting my escape from Colorado to Texas, and my first nights at The Refuge.
Jackson was in yet another meeting. I hadn’t seen him but once this morning when we had shared a minty kiss for all of five seconds under the cover of his town car. Other than Walt, we’d been safe from any peeping eyes. Then we’d gone our separate ways. His demeanor changed the instant he walked inside Pinkerton Press, as if the part of him that I got to see—the part of him that I loved the most—had been left outside.
I decided I would corner Pippy, make her tell me what was going on, only I didn’t see her either. Most likely she’d been invited to the “secret meetings”, which for all I knew could be about a possible alien invasion, or how to keep peace in the Middle East, or the latest recipe for safe play-dough. Urgh. It was driving me a bit insane.
It was late afternoon when I finally listened to the growling in my stomach and made my way down the hallway toward the elevators. I made sure to pass by Jackson’s office, just in case he was suddenly alone. He wasn’t, but the door did fling open a second after I passed by. I don’t know what shocked me more when I turned around—the fact that Stewart came out, or the fact that Jacob was with him. I felt my eyes widen before I reminded myself to smile. Stewart’s eyes softened as they found mine.
“Good afternoon, Miss Flores,” he said.
“Good afternoon,” I said, trying to recover from my surprise.
Jacob walked over to me and put his thin, lanky arm around my shoulder.
“Walk with me?” he asked, warmly.
I nodded as he quickly spun me back toward the elevators. I didn’t see Jackson, and maybe that was Jacob’s goal. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to see him. Stewart walked in the opposite direction, leaving us alone. I pressed the button to the floor of the café.
“How are you, Jacob?” I asked gently.
“I have no complaints,” he said. “How are you?”
I swallowed, pondering his answer. “I’m doing well, thank you.”
He looked at his watch. “Were you on your way to get lunch now? It’s nearly four.”
I smiled, sheepishly. “Got caught up with writing.”
He nodded slowly, still smiling. “I knew someone else like that once.”
The door opened and Jacob gestured for me to follow him. I did. There weren’t many people in the café as four o’clock wasn’t a normal lunch hour, but those who were there flocked to Jacob. I’d seen how people reacted to Jackson—with respect and head nods and handshakes. That was not the reaction they had with Jacob, however. He was a hugger.
Jacob was the personification of warmth and love.
I bit the insides of my cheeks as the fifth hugger made their way over to him. After his greeting sessions were through, I grabbed a bowl of fruit and a protein bar and met him at a small booth against the far wall. It was strange the way I felt around Jacob, like I’d known him a lot longer than I actually had. Maybe it was the fact that I was in love with his brother, or how his daughter was now one of the dearest people in my life…I didn’t know. But there was an understanding with him—a comfort I felt whenever he spoke to me. I tried not to think about what else I knew about him.
“How’s Jackson?” he asked me.
The question startled me. He was just with Jackson, surely he knew how he was. “Um…weren’t you just meeting with him?”
He laughed lightly,. “I like you, Angie. I can see why he feels for you what he does.” He clasped his hands together on the table in front of us. “What are your thoughts on how he’s doing?”
I put my fork down, despite the growling in my stomach. I had my own questions, and Jacob it seemed, was the man most equipped to answer them. “Stressed—but he won’t talk to me about it. I don’t know what’s going on.”
His perm-grin drooped slightly. “Yes. I’m working hard to change that—so far though he’s not too receptive to my attempts to help him. Stress is the natural by-product in a job like his, but…”
“But what?” I asked.
“I don’t want to speak for Jackson. I’m in enough hot water with him right now, but he can be so hard-headed that sometimes it takes some drastic measures to get him to see what he should be seeing.”
I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Is he in some kind of…legal trouble?”
Jacob patted my hand gently, like a dad to a daughter. “No—not exactly. He just needs to make a decision that at this point he’s still refusing to make.”
I huffed out a breath I’d been holding. “Jacob tell me what to do…if I don’t know what’s going on, then how can I help him?”
He stared at me for several seconds, his wide smile returning.
“Jackson and I are over a decade apart, but it’s never felt like that. I swear he thought like an adult when he was ten. It was painfully annoying at times to have a younger brother that was wittier, smarter, and a heck of a lot more talented…but he had this idea that following in the footsteps of his dad and I was what was expected of him. That’s not how it was. His father—like me—saw the potential that Jackson lived up to when he was writing,” Jacob’s eyes were focused elsewhere, as if far away from me. “But then several difficult things happened at once—and he let it all go. Though I appreciated his help and support when he came to relieve me, I never wanted this for him.”
I nodded, feeling the emotion behind his words.
“When life feels out of control we often go back to a place where control can be found—even if it’s the wrong place,” Jacob said.
“He told me about Livie.”
He nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“But I keep feeling like there’s more to the story…”
Jacob sighed. “Guilt is a dangerous thing, both when you’ve done wrong, and when you’ve been wronged.”
“You mean he can’t let go of her?”
He shook his head as if to disagree with my question. “I was with her…when she died. It was a tragedy that I’ll never be able to make sense of this side of heaven, but I was there when she said her final words.”
I gaped at him. “What did she say?”
I instantly felt guilty for asking such a question, but Jacob continued as if he had expected it.
“She said four words: Tell Jackson I’m sorry.”
My eyes pooled with tears. “Their fight. She was apologizing for their fight.”
“Yes.”
“Oh gosh. No wonder…”
I couldn’t even speak the words aloud as every scolding I’d received from Jackson over my misuse of those two little words came flooding back into my mind. He hated those words: I’m sorry. And I finally thought I understood why. It wasn’t because Livie had spoken them with her dying breath, but because he’d never been able to speak them to her. I closed my eyes briefly and cleared the emotional lump building in my throat.
“So what do you want from him? For him to step down as C
EO?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Though I’d asked Jackson many times why he was choosing the family business over his writing career, or why he had given up his dreams for the regrets in his past, I couldn’t imagine telling him to quit. That was his decision to make.
Something in the way Jacob answered though, something in that simple, one-worded response told me he wasn’t just being asked.
“Jacob, believe me when I say that I want Jackson to pursue his talents as much as anyone, but I don’t think that forcing his hand to make that decision is what he needs. If you push him out, do you really think he’s just going to run right back to writing again? I don’t.”
Jacob seemed to consider this. “It’s not just up to me—there are others involved, but yes, my hope is that he will not only turn to writing again, but that he’ll see a future with the woman who loves him.”
I looked away, my face flushing hot. “It’s that obvious?” I murmured.
“Both ways—yes.”
I smiled, hoping he was right about that as he took out his phone and checked the screen.
“I need to get going, Angie. My bride is waiting for me. She’s been out doing some damage to my bank account with my daughter.”
Oh, so Pippy wasn’t in the meetings today after all. I was relieved to hear that. Being pinned between her boss—who was also her Uncle—and her father, would not be easy.
“Okay, thanks Jacob. It was nice to talk with you.”
“No, thank you,” he said, picking up my hand and planting a kiss onto the back of it. “You’re a treasure, Angie.”
And then he was gone.
I opened the seal of my fruit bowl and stabbed at a watermelon chunk, but apparently eating was not in the cards for me today. I jumped as a piece of paper was slammed down next to me at the table where I sat. A large hand was attached to it…one I knew quite well.
“What is this?” Jackson seethed.
Uh-oh.
I smiled up at him, hoping to find a hint of understanding.
“Jackson, I don’t know if now is the best time to talk about that.” I sighed, picking up my water and taking a swing.
“And when would be the best time, Angie? Friday morning? When I watch you on TV!” He gripped the back of his neck, obviously working hard to stay calm since we were in the very open and public café.
I leaned back, hoping he’d sit down. He remained standing. This fact bothered me—a lot. I crossed my arms over my chest like a child in time-out.
“And you’re just an open book about all your life decisions,” I said. “If you want to talk with me about this, than you can sit down and stop looming over me like some kind of middle-school bully.”
He glowered at me, but sat down in the seat that his brother had filled only moments before.
“Cancel this,” he said firmly, pointing to the paper, which appeared to be some kind of confirmation from The Eastman Morning Show. I’d been stupid to think I could hold onto that information without him finding out.
“Jackson, I need to set the record straight-”
He laughed darkly. “You won’t even get a word in, Angie. That woman is a viper. It’s her life’s ambition to hunt her pray and eat them alive. The first time was bad enough—how could you even consider this? I thought at first it was some kind of mistake, that is until I saw your email attached to the bottom of it.”
I sat up straighter, not willing to be intimidated by him.
“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me how strong I am? Telling me that I should share my voice with the world? Well, here’s my chance. I’ll admit it was a quick decision, but it’s done now.”
“When did you even make this decision? What brought this about? You never even told me you were thinking about talking with her again.”
He was right. I hadn’t thought about it—not once.
I stared at him, unwilling to answer with the truth that was sure to get me into even deeper trouble. But a second later he rubbed his hands down his face in frustration, lowering his voice as he leaned across the table.
“You read them—your reviews?”
“Yes. They are my reviews to read, Jackson. I can’t just live in a Lala-Land bubble for the rest of my life. I have to deal it—the backlash.”
He looked up at me sharply, though his voice was still low. “Think about what you’re saying, Angie. It’s all the backlash that Divina created—the same woman you’re wanting to talk with again on live TV.”
“I just want a chance to be heard—to state the facts in my own words.”
He shook his head, reaching out to take hold of my hands. I was surprised that he did something so personal. We were not in a private setting; we were at his work place. “Angie—please. Whatever bad reviews you’ve read, it isn’t worth going back on the show with her. I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
I let his words soak in. I cared about what he thought, and deep down I knew he was probably right. I’d most likely fry on that hot seat again, but something tugged at me even deeper. Sure, I had initially made the decision out of anger, but it didn’t feel rash to me anymore.
I needed to do this, to face my fear.
“I can’t explain it, Jackson, but I feel like I need to do it. I can’t let my fear control me—not anymore. But…I do want you with me.”
He closed his eyes briefly and took in a deep breath.
“Fine,” he said eyeing me narrowly. “I’ll be there.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Wednesday came and went quicker than I thought possible. The tension around the office was less, though Jackson was still off. He drilled me for over an hour on our way home while stuck in bad traffic, asking me the kinds of things that Divina was likely to throw my way. I winced several times as if proving his point, but I didn’t go all comatose like last time—so at least I was making some headway. He laced his fingers through mine, as we walked into my apartment just after seven.
He looked so tired when he walked me to my door. I was supposed to change for a nice dinner out—Jackson had made us a reservation, but I just couldn’t do it, not when I knew he wasn’t sleeping at night. Not when I knew he had so much more on his plate than what he was sharing with me. We didn’t need to go out. We just needed to be together.
“Jackson, why don’t you come in, and I’ll just go grab us a pizza next door? We don’t need to go out anywhere tonight. I just want to be with you.”
He stared at me for a moment and eventually nodded. I smiled, reveling in the mini-victory. I left him inside to make the call while I ran to grab the best New York Style pizza I’d ever had. Cody and I had enjoyed several slices there when he was here.
On the one hand, the idea of leaving Jackson in four days made my stomach hurt, but the idea of seeing my Cody again filled me with joy. It was hard to reconcile one feeling over the other.
When I got back, I knocked twice, but there was no answer. I used my keycard then, balancing the large box as I used my foot to prop and hold the door. Before I had even turned around, I knew what had happened. He was asleep.
His suit coat was off, as was his tie and shoes, and he was spread out on my couch. I quietly set the pizza box down and went into my bedroom to change into my yoga pants and t-shirt. If he was going to get comfortable, I would too. He snored softly as I made myself a plate of pizza and grabbed book three in his collection.
I read for over two hours. He never woke up.
I put the book down as I realized that once again I was an anxious ball of worry over the characters that Jackson had created. My gasps were going to be responsible for waking him if I didn’t stop soon. I picked up my phone and texted with Cody, him on Charlie’s phone, and then finally went into my bedroom to sort through my laundry. One of the nicest perks of living at the T. Ross building—laundry service. I would miss that.
Finally, I heard some movement. I peeked my head out into the living area and Jackson was upright, but still looked hal
f-asleep as he scrubbed his hands over his face. I walked out quietly.
“Hey, feel rested?” I asked.
He looked up at me, a bit startled and then smiled lazily.
“You should have woken me up,” he scolded sleepily.
“No. I’m glad you got some sleep. I kept myself busy, although I’m afraid your pizza’s cold. Can I warm it up for you.”
He just started at me, blinking.
“What?” I looked down at myself self-consciously. Okay, so I did look a little homely—or a lot. I felt my cheeks heat.
He held out his hand to me and pulled me down next to him. “You’re too good to me, Angie,” he whispered into my hair.
Goosebumps traveled up my arms and neck. “There’s no such thing as too good.”
He laughed. “That sounds like something I’d say.”
I kissed him on the cheek and got up to grab his dinner. Sadly, he left soon after. So to soothe myself in his absence, I picked up his book. Only I didn’t start where I left off, I went to my suitcase and pulled out book five and flipped to the back. I needed resolution, something happy, something promising.
But that was not what I got.
I stared at the last page, wishing the words to rearrange themselves. Wanting the ending to say something other than what it did. But there it was. Jackson did not write a happily ever after. He had written quite the opposite. I didn’t know what made me sadder: That the characters I loved didn’t love each other enough? Or that Jackson’s writing was behind that outcome.
Rosie may have been right when she quoted that endings are only as great as the journey that made them, but what’s the point of a journey if it ends in heartbreak?
My sleep was fitful at best.
**********
I stayed in the car, watching for Jackson to walk out of his building Thursday night, the night of the National Publishers Association dinner. I literally stopped breathing when I saw him. Someone with his good looks should come with a warning label. Seriously. I had to work so hard to fit into the “not-so-bad-when-I-try” category, when Jackson rocked the “super-hot-and-didn’t-try” category. He ducked into the car and still I couldn’t exhale.
All Who Dream (Letting Go) Page 25