All Who Dream (Letting Go)

by Deese, Nicole

  Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized me and went in for the kill—luckily, I’d been waiting for this moment. “After our last interview, we were inundated with responses from our viewers. There were many that seemed to question your character and your credibility. For a woman who often chooses to hide behind her faith, what response do you offer those who deem you and your new agenda nothing but a quest for fame?”

  I looked from Divina toward the camera. “There will always be people who don’t understand. People whose lives have been untouched by the hurt and destruction of abuse, and those people bring me a great sense of hope. In my opinion, a perfect world is one without the oppression of others. So until we can all share in that same sense of freedom, my quest will be for those who still need to be told it exists.”

  Divina quickly cut to a commercial break, and just like that, the interview was over. She glared at me for a long second as the camera moved away from us. Throwing down her note cards, she rose and walked over to the news desk, saying nothing more.

  I smiled. The satisfaction was intoxicating.

  I stood. As the bright lights went off in the living room set, I was finally able to see out into the darkness of the studio. Jackson was still there, a look of pride filling his every feature. I walked to him, my smile unbreakable.

  “You were…amazing,” he said in a voice that caused my heart to knock against my chest.

  “It felt good.”

  “It was good,” he said.

  Together we walked out of the studio and into the parking lot. We faced each other in the sunshine, his hands in his pockets as he looked at me. A gust of wind seemed to bring back the memories of last night, my momentary satisfaction fizzling as it’s invisible fingers ruffled our hair..

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Here?” I asked, motioning at the parking lot.

  “No, are you free tonight?”

  The question stung. I’d been with him nearly every night since I’d arrived in New York, why would I have made other plans?

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I’ll come over at seven—we can go for a walk, okay?”

  “Fine,” I said, suddenly feeling a bit like when my dad took the family dog for a “drive to the farm”. This scenario felt eerily similar.

  “Walt can take you back to your apartment if that’s where you want to go. I have a meeting in a hour…so I’ll take a cab.”

  I hadn’t been planning to return to my apartment, but now that’s exactly where I wanted to go. Something told me that going to the office was not going to be beneficial today.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you tonight,” he said, hesitating as his eyes roamed my face.

  The urge to vomit was back again, only this time I had no remembered voicemail to soothe my nerves.

  It was going to be a long wait until tonight.

  A very, very long wait.

  Chapter Forty

  It wasn’t a total waste of a day while I waited for Jackson. I was actually able to video chat with Sally from my apartment on some ideas I had for the new chapters, documenting specific details of my emotional recovery. I’d spent most of the morning looking through my journal and remembering certain lessons while going through the steps outlined in The Refuge curriculum.

  I had also called Maggie to ask her advice. As usual, she was very encouraging, and I learned that Jenny had made it out of the ICU. Her status had improved greatly in the last twenty-four hours. Her boyfriend was in custody and awaiting trial. I said a silent prayer for her as I ended the call.

  In the afternoon, I walked down the street to get a peach smoothie. The day was cooler than usual—especially for July. The sun was out, but it was hidden behind the clouds, and there was little humidity to battle with. My hair was grateful for that fact.

  And then…I watched the clock.

  As the last couple hours ticked by, I grew increasingly anxious. Did Jackson want to talk about work? About Livie and Stewart? About us…?

  We had never had the official define-this-relationship talk, but Jackson didn’t seem the type to need to make a declaration in order for something to be. Up until the last few days things had felt like they had progressed with us, like we both felt for each other what we hadn’t yet said aloud. But the last seventy-two hours had been a game-changer of sorts.

  Jackson had been different—distant.

  I didn’t believe he was still in love with Livie, although it had been quite a shock to learn she was still connected to his life—to the company, through Stewart. Why couldn’t he just let go? Was his regret over how he ending things with her—or how he wasn’t there for his brother during his treatments, still that strong? It was a complicated mix of layers upon layers of rationale that I probably wouldn’t understand, but I needed to try. One of us had to put forth that effort.

  Finally, the witching hour was upon me.

  Jackson knocked on my door. I opened to find him wearing dark camo shorts and a grey t-shirt. He looked so boyish, hands in his pockets, as he waited for me to lace up my shoes. We walked together down the hall and into the elevator, not saying much. The tension rolled in my stomach like bad Thai.

  As we crossed the street and made our way to Central Park, I noticed how he stayed away from me—how his arm never brushed mine, how our hands never touched—not even accidentally. He was guarded. With each step we walked, my sympathy for him waned. In its place was a mounting level of frustration.

  When he sighed, I decided I was done with the silence.

  “What’s going on, Jackson?” I asked, my voice stronger than intended.

  He glanced at me. “That’s a loaded question.”

  “Well, then you should probably start talking.”

  He exhaled loudly, running his hand through his hair.

  “They’ve given me an ultimatum.”

  I stopped, causing him to stop as well.

  “Who has?”

  “Jacob and Stewart are calling a board meeting—asking for my resignation.”

  “They have the votes they need to push you out?” I asked.

  “They think so…they want to vote Stewart in.”

  “Why…I don’t understand?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “There was a contract signed between my father, Jacob and Stewart before he died. It stated that Stewart would have the same rights to the company as any Ross successor. If something had happened to Jacob, Stew was next in line. But since Jacob was still alive to vote me in when I showed up, Stewart took a back seat to me. Now Jacob wants to reinstate the succession. He claims that Stewart should be in the CEO position…not me.” He pulled on his neck with one hand and then start walking again. “The legalities are a bit more complicated than that.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m gonna play their game. I’ve called some secret meetings myself…to win back some votes before next week’s board meeting.”

  I nearly stumbled over my own feet when I heard him say that. “You…you’re going to fight them? Why would you do that, Jackson? You aren’t even happy there!”

  “Happiness is an illusion, Angie.”

  As we walked into a shaded area of trees, I let out a frustrated cry. He turned sharply at the sound—his face startled. I stopped walking, unwilling to pretend that the more steps we took would take us somewhere, but I knew they wouldn’t.

  I swallowed, feeling like I’d just been slapped in the face. “Is that what you think I am, then? Just an illusion?”

  He stared at me, the answer in his eyes loud and clear.

  I took a step forward, picking up his hand. “I am real, Jackson. This—what we have together—it’s real.” My voice cracked under the weight of emotion, straining to be heard. “I’ve lived in an illusion before—my marriage was one.”

  He blinked, looking at our joined hands silently. I stared up at his face, the pressure building within my chest. I was overcome with the words I had read recentl
y circling inside my head. I could recall them easily…because they were his words.

  “I know how your series ends, Jackson,” I said.

  “What?” His face was both stunned and confused.

  “I read it—I skipped ahead,” I said defiantly.

  His features darkened as I felt his hand slip from mine. “And?”

  “It’s awful, Jackson—heartbreaking! I couldn’t believe you just left them like that—Quinton and Reagan.” I folded my arms in front of me, catching his eye momentarily. “But I get it now…I so get it.”

  He laughed, humorlessly. “Is this where you psychoanalyze me, Angie? Why don’t you just tell me how you really feel!”

  “Fine.” I refused to look away from him. “I think you’re acting like a coward.”

  “What did you say?”

  “You’re. Acting. Like. A. Coward. You tell yourself that you can’t be happy, that you can’t dream—that you can’t love again because of all your regrets.” I threw my arms up gesturing in every direction. “But look around you, Jackson. You’re the one who hasn’t moved on.” I lowered my voice. “I don’t understand why you keep fighting for a life that makes you miserable…not when your life could be so much more.”

  For a brief second, his hand reached for me, but he pulled it back before contact was made.

  “I tried to tell you,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have let you get so close to me.”

  My breathing faltered, my body shuddering at his words. I took a step closer and put my hand up to his face, my heart aching as I spoke. “That was never in your control, Jackson. No one gets to tell my heart who it will love.” Tears spilled down over my cheeks before I could stop them.

  “You can’t love me, Angie,” he pleaded. “Please don’t love me—you deserve a better man.”

  “I already love a better man. He just can’t see that you’re one and the same.”

  He closed his eyes as I held his face between my hands.

  “Angie.”

  “Haven’t we both lived with enough regret?” I whispered.

  His jaw flexed in the moonlight, as he took my hand away. “I’m saving you from another one.”

  I shook my head, pain shredding my heart in two. “No, Jackson…denial never saves us, it only delays us.”

  He watched Reagan, as if in a dream. She’d just loaded up the remaining boxes into her trunk and was walking back to lock her front door.

  During the last year, Quinton’s life had been flipped upside down by this woman—turned inside out. They’d each sacrificed and risked their lives with the hope of saving the other.

  But sometimes, even the best intentions, even the strongest courage, even the deepest love…cannot save us from ourselves.

  As she glanced down the street one last time, she confirmed what they both already knew: True love was only a dream.

  Heartache was a cold, seeping pain, one that chilled me to the bone.

  It had all been so civil: Jackson walking me back, kissing my cheek, driving away. Yet nothing in me felt civil. Nothing in me wanted to believe that our last words had just been uttered. But they had. The only promise spoken to our future was a weak, yet dutiful goodbye.

  By the time I got inside my apartment, my head was pounding in equal measure with my heart. I wanted to scream, or cry, or hit something, but the throbbing in my skull kept me from all of those. I walked into the room and nearly tripped over the suitcase I had pulled out earlier. It was then that I was jarred back into the present.

  The reality that I was leaving in just over twenty-four hours was suffocating. I lay on the bed, curling up as small as I could and touched the spot on my neck that had once brought me comfort, strength, and hope.

  But now what lay under my fingertips was the same thing that lay heavy in my chest: Emptiness.

  Chapter Forty-One

  I was brushing my teeth when I heard a knock at my door. Abandoning my task, I hustled to answer. My stomach leapt to my throat as I reached for the knob. But on the other side was not the most stunning eligible bachelor I’d ever laid eyes on…it was Pippy.

  She entered like her usual ray-of-sunshine self, handing me an orange smoothie concoction, which she said she added an energy boost. Tears filled my eyes even as I smiled at her.

  “Don’t start that yet,” she warned. “I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

  I nodded obediently as one rogue tear slipped out.

  “What can I help you pack?” she asked. “Can I put your dresses into garment bags?”

  “Sure,” I said, humoring her. She had insisted we pick up a few bags the other day; she couldn’t stand the idea of my formal wear going inside my suitcase. As we walked into my bedroom. Just the sight of those dresses felt like too much to bear.

  Pippy lifted each gown up like it was a piece of lost treasure, and carefully tucked it into the garment bag. She was unusually quiet, which told me she had something to say.

  “What is it, Pippy?” I asked, sitting on the bed.

  She smiled, sheepishly. “I heard what happened.”

  My insides dropped as if a giant magnet inside the earth’s core was pulling them downward.

  Was Jackson just going around announcing the end of our never-to-be-defined romance?

  “He told you?” I all but whispered.

  She shook her head, slowly. “I overheard them talking about it.”

  “Them who?” I asked.

  “My dad and Stew.”

  My mind was reeling. “Okay…what exactly are you talking about?”

  “The Publishers dinner two nights ago. When Stewart punched Jackson. What did you think I was talking about?” She asked, her eyes round with interest.

  “Nothing. So…what did Stewart say?” I said, scrambling to change topics.

  Pippy continued to eye me like a mental patient as she spoke. “He said that he was sorry for getting out of control and hopes it won’t hurt the company. That such a thing would never happen again…and that he wishes Jackson would give him the chance to explain the truth. But he won’t listen to anyone.”

  “What was she like—Livie?”

  She exhaled loudly. “She was kind and beautiful and spunky…”

  I glanced at her. “But?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just never felt the chemistry between them. She was just always there, ya know? Everything was so expected with them. They were each other’s safe choice.”

  “Do you think there was something more going on with her and Stewart?”

  She shook her head. “My dad grilled him relentlessly on that subject once her letter surfaced. Whatever attraction they felt for each other was never acted upon. Despite what Jackson thinks, Stewart loves our family…he would never willingly hurt him. He is much too loyal to the company and to my brother to do something like that. It’s not his character.”

  “Jackson won’t let it go. He’s gonna fight for the company so that it’s not passed on to Stewart.”

  Pippy ignored me. “You have the spark.”

  “What?”

  “What I never saw between him and Livie. There’s tension and passion and…joy when you two are around each other. It’s like watching the best romance drama unfold. He loves you. I know he does.”

  I fell back on the bed, covering my eyes with my arm.

  Pippy did the same, quietly breathing next to me, as if waiting for some romantic sentiment to come out of my lips.

  “It’s over, Pippy. Jackson didn’t choose me. He chose her—he’s still choosing her.”

  Pippy rolled over and put her arms around me. With or without the ties of a marriage, Pippy was the little sister I had always wished for. I refused to lose her.

  **********

  Hope was a funny thing.

  Once you had it, it was hard to kill.

  All night I waited for him to call, or text, or even come over. To tell me he’d been wrong, to tell me his past couldn’t be fixed by penance. But
my waiting, it turned out, was all in vain.

  With one last look at the building that had been my home for the last six weeks, I walked out to the empty town car Pippy had reserved for me. Walt took my bags and put them into the trunk while I climbed into the all-too-familiar backseat.

  “I took the liberty to provide you with a lock for your each of your suitcases, Ms. Flores. Here’s your key.”

  I thanked him and tucked the key into my purse. He guided the car into traffic, and I watched as the city passed by my window on the way to the airport. New York was a city so full of sounds and smells and life. I thought of all the dreamers who had sacrificed everything to be here, the ones who had left family and friends and loved ones. I thought of the ones who had been willing to start over, no matter what the cost, without any promises in return.

  That’s what hope did: it blinded us to reality.

  **********

  “Mom!”

  My heart lifted at that word spoken in a beloved voice.

  I ran to him in baggage claim, and Cody threw his arms around me as soon as I was within hugging range. There was no sweeter hug in the entire world. He talked a million miles a minute as Briggs grabbed my bags off the belt. We headed to the car, an inferno of hot air hitting me the instant we walked outside of the Dallas airport. Briggs and I listened and laughed as Cody recapped his favorite moments of soccer camp—again.

  What a strange feeling to walk inside my house.

  Though the place was familiar, it was unmistakably absent of that homey feeling.

  Waiting for us in the living room, Rosie rushed at me as I dropped my purse onto a side table.