I heard the shower water splashing over Jack.
He was the only one here. He wouldn’t hurt me.
You’re safe.
I took a deep inhale, and let all my air out, not realizing the weight I’d been carrying, the intensity required to maintain a mask and keep up the game for so long.
Within seconds, my eyes drooped.
*
The wood floor creaked beside my head, and my body shot up.
“It’s just me.” Jack’s hands were raised, he crouched near my legs, holding a blanket. “Was just gonna cover you up. You were out.”
I wiped at my face, orienting myself, nodding. “No, yeah, sure, go ahead.”
Jack placed the blanket on top of my legs, stood, and stepped a few paces away.
His hair was still wet, and his chest bare. His jeans hung just below the muscles at his hip bones. He smelled fresh, like soap and shampoo. We stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, me still just waking up, him just … well, I wasn’t sure what he was doing, just standing there.
He scratched at the hair on the back of his neck.
“Okay, well,” I said, “I guess I might take a shower now, too, if that’s okay?”
I felt exhausted and didn’t want to move, but I didn’t know what else to say. This close space, this close proximity to Jack—his presence sometimes felt overpowering.
And right now, I was too tired to start up any sort of meaningful conversation. A shower sounded like the next best option.
I pushed my way up and took a few steps in that direction.
“Sage, wait.” Again, Jack rubbed the hair at the base of his skull. “I wanted to say something to you.”
His forwardness froze me. Since the first moment I’d met him, Jack had never been so direct with words.
“Okay …” I said.
Jack pulled out one of the chairs at the breakfast table and sat down. Slowly, I lowered into the chair next to him.
“I’m going to attempt to be very real with you. It’s not comfortable for me.” His expression seemed to say more: but this might be the only time I get a chance to say it.
Blood pulsed to my ears. “Okay …” I said again.
Jack glanced down at his hands, clasped between his knees. A giant pause hung in the air, like a debate was going on in the inner workings of his mind. Then, with no warning, he changed directions. He slapped his thighs and leaned back, pulling a pink pouch out of his pocket.
From the pouch, he retrieved a thin, gold bracelet. “This is from Beckett. It was our mom’s.” The small chain dangled from Jack’s fingers.
I didn’t move. Jack didn’t pull his hand back. The bracelet hung there in the space between us. He moved it a little closer to me, offering it.
I wasn’t sure how to respond. My mind still reeled from the obvious switch of directions, wondering what Jack had really intended to say. But I knew one thing: I could not accept this gift.
I held up my hand. “Jack, no. It’s your mom’s. I don’t want to take something like that from you. It’s yours. And Beckett’s.”
“Beckett wanted you to have it.”
What about you? Do you want me to have it?
“Here. Let me put it on you.” Jack leaned forward with his usual cool, closed demeanor, not giving me a chance to refuse again.
He wrapped the bracelet around my right wrist. I tried to ignore the closeness of his neck, his hair, his face, the bare skin of his chest, the way his fingertips felt at my wrist … and then he finished and sat up in his seat again.
The bracelet on my wrist felt even more awkward than seeing Jack hold it out to me. I didn’t like the fact that Beckett wanted to give it to me, especially because, at this point, I still didn’t fully trust him. But Jack seemed satisfied at seeing me wearing it, so I left it there.
“I told him I’d give it to you.”
So much more rested behind Jack’s eyes. What was he thinking in that mind?
I nodded. “It’s very kind, thank you.”
He could sense my discomfort.
I knew he hadn’t said whatever he originally intended. But should I expect anything different? This was the unreachable Jack Adamson. The “tough shell to crack,” according to his late best friend, Caesar. Nothing I could say now would change Jack’s mind about talking or not talking, so I wasn’t even going to try.
I stood to go to the shower without saying another word.
“Sage, wait.” Jack stood up in front of me, just a foot away.
When he didn’t say anything more, I raised my eyebrows, my heart stopping for a beat, my mind knowing that if whatever Jack had to say was this difficult, he was trying to express emotions no one ever saw.
But then Jack cursed and rapped the tabletop twice with his knuckles.
And I knew.
I could already tell.
He wasn’t going to say anything at all.
I felt desperate to experience that pull we had before. Maybe it would help him in this moment? Where did it go? The attraction to Jack still pulsed through me, my connection with him evident, but I wanted that jolt, the electricity, the awakening of my cells—and Jack’s cells, too—to remind him, and me, of what really flowed between us.
Wait, maybe I didn’t really want that, exactly.
What I really wanted was for Jack to feel … safe. Safe enough to be open with me. I wanted him to know he could say whatever he needed to. Maybe our pull wouldn’t help him feel that at all. I didn’t know what could help Jack get to the point where he could open up.
My frustration welled: at Jack, at the circumstances, at the complications. At my desperation to be that person for him.
“Just say it!” I finally cried. “What are you so afraid of?”
Jack held my gaze. “I don’t know.”
It was the most honest thing he’d said all night.
Then softer, he added, “But I do know I don’t deserve you, and I do know someone who does. And I owe it to you, and him, to keep you alive. Because you’ll have a good life with him. And because if you died, Beckett would die with you. I know that for a fact.”
The enormity of all Jack said hit me in the chest like a giant wave.
So he still wasn’t planning on sticking around? Did this mean he’d disappear in the night at the time he felt it was right? Or that he still intended to kill himself? Without me? And so to prepare, he was, what—giving me away to Beckett? Doing me some salvation favor?
“What is this, Jack?” I said, anger seeping into my voice. “This is you saying goodbye?”
Jack didn’t reply, and my indignation surged to the surface.
I couldn’t believe it.
I probably shouldn’t have been surprised; I’d known Jack long enough to have discovered one thing about him: he was a complete and total martyr. But this time, it was too much. I didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to attempt to rationalize with him about why he shouldn’t always brush his life away like an afterthought, didn’t want to try to convince him that he deserved happiness in his life too.
“I should have known,” I said. “I saw it—the way your face went blank when I pushed you from the helicopter. You hold people at a distance, so, so far from you. You push people away. You’re so used to doing it, you don’t even realize you’re doing it at all.”
I stopped my rant to actually look at him. “Have I ever even had your full trust, Jack? Have I? Even for a moment?”
I didn’t think I had. And, right now, it didn’t seem possible that I ever would.
I didn’t want any part of it or any part of him. At this point, I was done with both of the Adamson brothers. Some things were just too complicated.
I started fumbling with the bracelet, trying to get the clasp undone. The gash on my left hand protested in pain. But I didn’t want the bracelet on anymore. I felt guilty wearing it. It was their mom’s. I wouldn’t do her the dishonor of keeping it if my current feelings for her sons were nothing but distrust and ou
trage.
My hand struggled, trying to remove the bracelet with only one set of fingers and the wound on my palm.
I let out an exasperated cry. “Get off!”
“Sage.”
Jack speaking my name only made me struggle harder.
I didn’t want to be in this room with him right now.
I wanted the bracelet off, and I wanted to go take a hot shower and clear my head and leave all this behind.
“Sage,” Jack said again. “Just leave it on.”
“I don’t want it on!” My hands began to shake with my frustration. The clasp evaded my fingers and kept slipping from my grasp.
“Sage,” Jack said again calmly.
But I didn’t look up. I wouldn’t make eye contact; I wanted this bracelet off my wrist, and I wanted Jack out of my life.
And then, his hand was on my wrist, gently but firmly covering the bracelet. Something about the warm touch of his skin stilled everything inside of me.
“Stop,” he said softly.
“Let go of me.” I tugged my arm, weakly. We both knew it wasn’t enough to actually pull away from him, and maybe that was because I didn’t really want to.
Jack sensed this.
Without breaking eye contact, without breaking the hold on my wrist, he stepped in toward me.
My breath sped up at his close proximity, my anger seeping away.
“Please, stop,” he said again, a whisper now.
His eyes studied my face, tracking down the bridge of my nose, across my cheeks. His gaze moved lower, to my lips.
This time, I didn’t step into him for the kiss like I’d done on the island. It was Jack who took a half-step closer to me, our bodies inches apart. I felt the heat between us.
His free hand slid behind my neck. I hardly breathed, afraid to step away, afraid of what it meant if I didn’t.
Jack was chipping away at my heart. These moments never lasted; I knew it would end, because that’s who Jack was—he didn’t allow for anything more.
His hand released my wrist and his palm slid to press against mine. His fingers intertwined with mine, and I was truly lost. The connection felt different than when we touched on the island. No unexplainable pull, but this connection was just as intimate. I reveled in it—those few seconds where Jack’s walls were completely down. He caressed my neck as he leaned in. His head lowered toward mine, and our lips connected.
78
JACK
Please, stop.
The words I said to Sage rattled around in my brain, even while my lips were still pressed to hers. I wanted to get lost in those lips; I wanted to pull her closer, to pick up her slender frame and carry her over to that four-poster bed.
Please, stop.
Jack. Stop.
Jack. What are you doing? You can’t do this.
STOP!
I pulled back abruptly, mid-kiss. Sage didn’t look surprised, not this time, and I wondered what was going through her mind. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to kiss her for hours. If she knew how badly I wanted to ….
But I couldn’t let her see that—couldn’t let her see any of it. Because this could never happen again. I wouldn’t have the strength to stop myself again, and we were not meant to be.
We couldn’t be.
Not with Vasterias. Not with the possibilities, the risk.
Sage would be worse off with me. She’d grow to hate me once she saw the person I was inside.
I wanted to tell her so badly what she’d done for me, how she’d saved me, how she gave me hope that I could actually live, even if it were without her and Beckett.
Why couldn’t I tell her all of that? Why couldn’t I just say it?
The problem was, for a half-second, I’d let myself hope.
Maybe we could make it work. Maybe I could be with her.
That bracelet on her wrist had done me in. Against her olive skin, it sparkled in the soft light of the room, and I felt a deep lonesomeness, stemming from so many years ago.
I remembered an image of my mom wearing that bracelet, too. She stood in the kitchen, chopping apples for Beckett and me. She turned to hand us our bowls, she smiled at us, and the bracelet sparkled in the sunlight coming through the kitchen window. In that moment, I felt her unconditional love.
And sitting there in that hotel room chair, the lonesomeness for that feeling hit me full force. I missed her unconditional love. The emotion nearly took my breath away.
And then, there was Sage, standing in front of me, wearing that golden bracelet. The girl who, aside from Beckett and Caesar, was probably the next closest human being I’d ever felt that type of love from. On the island, she just kept coming back, again and again, to break down my walls. Not giving up on me, not letting me go, staying vulnerable even when I gave her nothing in return ….
And that’s why I reached for her.
I didn’t know how to say that she’d saved me … she saved me from having to die, saved me from myself.
I just wanted for time to stop. I didn’t want the moment to go away.
And then I was kissing her, without even thinking. Maybe that was my problem.
I wasn’t thinking.
After I pulled away, Sage retreated into the bathroom, closing the door behind her without looking back.
I sighed, slumping down into the chair. I rubbed my face to try to focus my thoughts.
Why did I do things that hurt people? In ways I never intended?
I know Mom wouldn’t be proud of all I’d become.
But I vowed to myself.
I would make it up to Mom. I would make her proud. I would do right by my brother and by Sage.
You will not touch her anymore. You will not lead her on. You will not give into your feelings or desires. No more. She deserves better.
I kneaded the back of my neck. I needed to cool down.
At the phone in the corner, I dialed 0.
A chipper voice answered, surprising, seeing as it was the middle of the night.
“Room service,” the voice said.
“Yes, could you please send up a bucket of ice to room 712?”
79
SAGE
I tried to let the hot water wash away the confusion from our kiss. I tried to piece together the rational possibilities why Jack and I always ended up like this—frustrated, silent, disconnected, not communicating. I couldn’t come up with all the reasons, and I wondered if they ran too deep to understand.
I found two large Band-Aids for my palm in the bathroom cabinet.
After my shower, Jack and I didn’t talk much. He seemed distant, distracted.
I was fine with that.
The television played. Jack drank a glass of ice water in the corner. I dozed on the bed, covered up with a small blanket on top of the comforter.
Later, Jack’s pacing woke me up.
That’s when I realized it was 5:00 am.
“Did you sleep?” I said to Jack.
He shook his head.
“Beckett’s not responding. He should have been here thirty minutes ago.”
I could tell Jack didn’t want to talk about it. So I stayed silent and watched a reality TV show rerun, rubbing absently at my stinging leg while I watched. Jack sat on the desk, leaning against the wall, legs dangling off the side, staring at his phone.
Ten more minutes passed. No Beckett.
Twenty minutes. No Beckett.
Thirty minutes. No Beckett.
Another half hour passed. No Beckett.
I pretended I was only getting anxious for Beckett’s safety, but a tiny seed of something else started forming in the pit of my stomach.
Doubt.
Jack hopped from the desk, talking to himself. “He won’t respond to my texts. Where is he?”
From his coat hanging on the chair by the door, Jack pulled out a packet of gum from his coat pocket and brought it back to the desk. He offered me a stick. I shook my head.
Jack looked at his phone for the eight
y-ninth time. The seed in the pit of my stomach grew a little bigger. I sighed, not wanting to bring it up, but knowing I had to.
I sat up on the bed, lifting away from the pillows. “I’m just gonna put this out there, okay. Don’t take offense. I’m just exploring the options …. Are we sure Beckett is on our side?”
Jack set his phone down slowly.
“Why would you even say that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because Sven mentioned it as a possibility, and then I watched Beckett fake his way through the gala, and maybe because for three years I thought I knew Beck, but it turns out his life was a complete lie. And now, he’s supposed to be here, but he’s not.”
Jack lowered himself into the desk chair, spinning the packet of gum in his hands, shaking his head at me.
“You can’t let them do this to you. It’s exactly what my dad tries to do with Beckett and me. Separate allies, make us doubt our own loyalties to divide the group and make us weaker.”
Jack carefully placed his pack of gum on the corner of the desk.
“What did Sven say to you?”
“Just that Beckett might be working with your dad.”
“It’s a lie.”
“But Sven’s on our side, right? He’s working with my dad? So why would he say it?”
“And what about Beckett’s actions? Do those mean nothing? He rescued your dog. He wanted to give your our mom’s jewelry. Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to sway me.”
“Unbelievable.” Jack stood up. The desk chair rammed into the wall behind him.
“What if you’re blinded?” I cried. “Think about that! If Beckett’s not who he says he is, then he can’t be your scapegoat. Then you have no one to pass me off to, and the danger is you might have to actually feel something for once!”
“Don’t make this about me. This is about you. What about Beckett getting you out of the mansion? Why would he have done that? If Beckett’s on my dad’s side, why didn’t he just run off to his daddy with you when he had the chance?”
“I don’t know, okay? It’s just something to think about. Stop talking!”
The Golden Order Page 20