Chasing Fate

by Rachael Brownell

  The doors open on the second floor, delivering the father and daughter to their room. Once they close again, Jackson pushes me against the wall, his lips finding mine. They're cold and dry, but I don't care. Mine are in the same condition after being outside for the past two days. Just as his hands reach under my ass to lift me, the elevator dings, announcing our arrival on the sixth floor.

  Sliding down his body, I walk around Jackson and out of the elevator, shaking my hips as he watches. When I turn around to see why he's not behind me, I find him staring at his phone and the elevator doors slowly closing. Our eyes meet for a brief second, and then, he's gone. The numbers above the elevator slowly change until they stop on 1, returning Jackson to the lobby.

  I'm sure he'll be back up in a minute.

  He promised that things were under control at home.

  If he has to go, he has to go.

  I can't hold him hostage. I wouldn't.

  Something is going on. The look on his face gave him away. There was a look of shock and confusion on his face that I'm not sure I've seen before. Nothing seems to surprise him. It's like he's mentally prepared for any situation. That's a good thing. One day, he'll be thankful he was.

  Twenty minutes after I get back to the room, I hear Jackson come in. I'm in the bathroom, in the tub, soaking in warm water. Well, the water felt scalding hot when I first got in here because my body was so cold, but now it's just perfect.

  "Jessa," he calls.

  "In here."

  Pushing the bathroom door open farther, I see that Jackson is in pain. Not physical pain–emotional pain. Something terrible has happened, and he wasn't prepared to deal with it.

  Hopping out of the tub as fast as I can, I find Jackson in the living room with his head in his hands. Is he crying? I wouldn't judge him if he was, but that's not the case.

  Taking a seat next to him, I wrap an arm around his shoulder as far as I can and pull him into my body. I hold him for nearly an hour before I find the courage to ask. That's not true. I had the courage the second I saw his face. More than anything, I needed to figure out what I was going to say when I attempt to comfort him.

  "What is it, Jackson? What happened?" I whisper.

  "It's Nell."

  Who the hell is Nell? Did his parents have a dog? Is it his sister? A friend? I need more than just a name.

  "What happened to Nell?" I ask, pretending to know who he's talking about.

  "There was a car accident. She..."

  His voice trails off. Nell is a person. Good, that's a start.

  "I'm so sorry, Jackson. I wish there was something I could say to bring her back."

  Jackson shoots off the couch and begins pacing the room. I watch as his anger rises, his cheeks getting red, and he puffs out breaths. This may be worse than I thought. He's already going through the steps. What are they called? The five stages of grief, I think. He's passed denial and moved on to anger.

  Next up should be... bargaining.

  "Nell didn't deserve to die. She was a good person at one time. She was sweet, caring, and humble. She had a sexy side to her that only I could see. She may have been a bitch, but that doesn't mean she deserved to die for her sins. I wanted her to live with her mistake, to be reminded of it every day. She chose her path, changed our destiny. She needed to live with that. Dying is the easy way out."

  And now I know who Nell is. The ex. The one who slept with his best friend. This I was not prepared for. This I don't have an answer to. There is nothing I can say that will bring him any peace. I wish there were, but I'm not in the habit of defending assholes or bitches, so anything I say is going to be negative. For once, I think I'll shut up and not allow my mouth to get me in trouble.

  "Why wouldn't he call me sooner? Why did he wait this long? I haven't changed my number. I thought about it but never made the time. If something was wrong, she could have called. If she needed someone to talk to, I would have been there for her. She didn't have to go through it alone. He shouldn't have made her go through it alone."

  What is he talking about? If she was in a car accident, no one could have prevented that. No one could have seen that coming. That's why they call it an accident.

  "Jackson, slow down. I want to help you, but I have no idea what happened. Who called you?"

  My voice stops him dead in his tracks. He's looking at me as if he doesn't really see me. Walking over to the window and staring out, he finally answers, "Nate, the one who stole Nell from me."

  "What did he say?"

  "Nell died last week. She drove her car into a tree."

  There is no sensitive way to ask, but I'm going to try. "She was in an accident, right?"

  "She wasn't wearing a seatbelt and hit the tree going almost fifty miles an hour. Nell always wore her seat belt, insisted that everyone did. Her little brother was thrown from a friend’s car and almost died when he was younger. She knew what she was doing, Jessa. She knew."

  Damn. That's not what I wanted to hear. The way his voice was shaking, I'm sure he didn't want to say the words out loud.

  Attempting to skip over the rest of their conversation, I get straight to the point. "When does your flight leave?"

  Swiftly turning, Jackson and I make eye contact. The pain he's feeling is still present, but I also see the fear. Fear of what?

  "Why would I leave, Jessa? Do you not want me here anymore?"

  "Of course, I want you here, Jackson. I also know you need time to grieve, and part of that process is burying Nell. You need to go home and be with your family and friends. I get that. I understand. If it were Jeff, I would be on the first flight out of here." Did I really just say that? God, I hope nothing happens to him. I never want to face his family again.

  "That would have been nice," he scoffs. "Nate called to tell me they buried her yesterday."

  Are you fucking kidding me? Not only had this man stolen Jackson's girlfriend, but now he'd stolen his right to see her be buried, to grieve properly. I'll kill that bastard if I ever meet him. I can't believe Jackson used to be friends with someone like that. Then again, I dated Jeff, and he was the picture of perfection until I caught him in the act with another woman.

  Chapter 9

  Needing space to himself, understandably, Jackson excuses himself, claiming he's going for a walk to clear his head. If I were him, I would have headed straight to the bar. Either way, his problems aren't going to be solved. His anger may dissipate over time, but not anytime soon.

  Nate should be ashamed of himself. No matter how their friendship ended, whose fault it was, or why, he should have called sooner. He should have tried harder to get in touch with him. He owed him at least that.

  I pace the length of the living room while Jackson's gone. After an hour, I decide to go looking for him when my calls go unanswered. I have no idea where he might be and no idea how I'm going to find him, but I have to at least try.

  When I open the door, I'm surprised to find Jackson sitting against the wall next to the elevator.

  "Why are you sitting out here?" I ask, taking a seat next to him.

  "I don't know," he says. "I stopped and bought you a coffee."

  Picking up the cup, he hands it to me. It's cold to the touch. How long have we been separated by only a wall, both of us miserable? How am I going to show him that I'm here for him? I need to prove to him that I want to help, that I care.

  "Jackson, why don't we go inside? Maybe talking about her will help."

  "That's not it, Jessa. Yes, I'm upset that she died. I'm pissed that Nate didn't reach me sooner. I wish I had been able to say goodbye to her before they buried her. None of that is what's really bothering me."

  "What is it, then?"

  Rubbing his hands down the front of his pants, he doesn't respond right away. I wait patiently, wondering what is on his mind that has him so upset.

  "I'm not sad," he finally admits.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm not sad. She died. I should be sad. I should feel
sorry for her, for her family, but I don't. I'm a horrible person. I tried to cry, to let everything out, but I could even force one tear to appear. I'm not happy she's gone, but I'm not sad either. Does that make sense?"

  In a way, it does. She shattered him to pieces. His heart is protecting him from allowing the memory of her to shatter him again.

  "Yeah."

  "So what do I do now? I feel like I should call, send my condolences or something, but I don't really want to. I want to leave that part of my past in the past."

  "Then, do it," I say. Standing, I extend my hand to help him up, but he just stares at it. "Life is too short to waste worrying about the little things, Jackson. Look around you. Look where we are. This is a once in a lifetime moment. We need to cherish it. So, get your ass up off the floor. We're not wasting any more time thinking about the people who don't care about us. This is about me and you now. Only us."

  Finally taking my hand, Jackson stands and pulls me into his arms.

  "Thank you. I guess I needed a little tough love to pull me out of that funk."

  Love. Did he say, love? Tough love, but the word love was still there. Does he think I'm in love with him? Am I? I mean, he's great. I'm happy he's on this trip with me. I enjoy his company, but do I love him? I can't. Falling in love with him would be a horrible idea. For both of us.

  We need space from each other I think. If he falls in love with me I'll only hurt him, like Nell did, maybe worse. I could never forgive myself if I left him shattered. Not that I have a choice. I have to leave him eventually.

  Pushing against his chest, I hold Jackson at arm’s length and force a smile. His forehead wrinkles in confusion but, thankfully, he doesn't ask. I know he's falling in love with me, he has been. He straight up told me and, looking back on it, I should have been more careful. The way I act around him, how close I let him get to me, only feeds into that love.

  I'm not a bad person. Jackson is a great catch. He's not the problem, I am. My problem is that everything with him feels so natural I can't help but let things keep happening. I need to be more mindful of how I act, what I say, and what I do. Sounds easy, but it's going to be harder than I can even imagine.

  "Dinner," he suggests, nodding toward the elevator.

  Alcohol, I think to myself. "Sure."

  The restaurant downstairs is as gorgeous as I expected it would be. The menu is in French and, thankfully, English. I'm able to order my own meal tonight with confidence.

  As I predicted, dinner is quiet. Jackson is still inside his own head even though he claims to be dealing with everything fine. There's really nothing more I can do or say to change his feelings about the situation. He has to work through this on his own until he can make peace with everything. He knows I'm here if he wants to talk more. I've said it more than once now.

  After we polish off dessert and a bottle of wine, we make a pit stop at our room for our coats before we head out for a nightcap and walk around town. The city looks different at night, even more beautiful if that's possible. Everything is illuminated, including the Eiffel Tower, which we're currently walking toward for the second time today.

  Jackson takes my hand as we cross the street and, against my better judgment, I let him. I need to decide where this is headed sooner rather than later. The longer I string him along, the more it will hurt when we part ways. I can't tell him that. The fact alone that I already know we have to split will hurt him. The last thing I want to do is cause him any more pain, especially today.

  So I let him hold my hand. If it comforts him, I'll go along with it. Tomorrow is a new day, one where I have to find a way to lay down some ground rules. Rules that will hopefully keep him from becoming more attached than he already is. At the same time, I hope those rules don't send him running. I'm enjoying his company on this journey, and I'd hate for the fun to end.

  "What's on your mind? You keep scrunching up your nose," he explains, pulling me to a stop.

  "Nothing. Just thinking about some things," I say, avoiding answering his question the best I can.

  "I don't buy that for one second. I've seen this look before. Something is obviously bothering you. Is it the Nell thing? I'm sorry if it is. I never meant to bring up my past on this trip. In fact, I was trying to avoid it as much as possible."

  "No. It's not your fault that your past just came crashing down around you. I could never blame you for that. I feel bad that it did. It's horrible what happened to her and how Nate handled it."

  "Then what, Jessa?"

  "Can we talk about it later?" I ask, diverting my attention away from him. I don't have the heart to say anything today. It doesn't feel right. There is a time and place for everything. Now is not the time nor the place.

  "We can, but I think it would be better to get things off your chest now. I'm sure whatever this is will continue to nag at you until you do."

  "It will, but I don't want to talk about it yet. Maybe tomorrow."

  "Fine, but I hope you realize that I won't forget about it." When I don't respond, he continues. "Where do you want to go?"

  "Wherever. Let's just keep walking."

  "Are you cold?"

  "A little, but I'm fine. If you're cold, we can head back."

  "I'm good right now. Why don't we find somewhere to get a drink?" he suggests. "Maybe I can get you to talk then."

  Note to self: don't drink too much.

  I'm a talker when I'm drunk. In fact, I'm a horrible drunk. If I don't get angry about something stupid, I get giddy and chatty. I'd prefer not to be either of those things tonight. Chatty will end up ruining the good thing we have going on far sooner than I would like. Angry is an emotion that I try to avoid. Combine it with chatty and I might confess what this trip is really about and I'm not ready to talk about that yet. With anyone. Especially Jackson.

  He waits for me to finish my second drink before he starts his inquisition. At first, his questions are lighthearted. He asks me more about myself, my family, and my son. I answer willingly, hoping he won't change the subject. When he does, I realize that I've sucked down two more drinks twice as quickly as the first ones. My head is feeling a little heavy and my lips a little loose.

  "Are you drunk already?" he asks, looking deep into my eyes.

  "No," I reply defensively. "I may be a little tipsy, though. No more drinks for me."

  "Hmmm."

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  "Liar," I exclaim louder than necessary. He's sitting next to me in the booth. He can probably hear a whisper clear as day we're so close to each other right now.

  Placing his hand on my inner thigh, Jackson causes me to jump slightly. "Calm down, love. I was just thinking about the things I plan to do to you when we get back to the room."

  Closing my eyes, I imagine a few ideas of my own, causing a shiver to run up my spine. When I open my eyes, Jackson is still staring at me as if he's trying to decide whether or not to kiss me. Breaking eye contact, I reach for my glass to find its contents have been drained. When I reach for Jackson's, I find his empty as well.

  "Are you drunk?" I ask, noticing that he has three empty glasses sitting in front of him.

  "Not even close, Jessa. One of us has to be sober enough to find our way back."

  "Good. I'm not sure I could navigate the way right now if I tried."

  "Don't' worry about it. I'm here. I've got you."

  And there is the problem. He's got me, but what about when he's not here anymore. Who will I have then?

  "Wanna tell me what you were stressing over earlier?"

  "I–" Stopping myself before I can reply, I press my lips together to keep them from opening on their own. My guard is down, but not completely gone.

  "Jessa, you know you can tell me anything, right?"

  "I know, and I will, just not tonight."

  "Well," he says, sliding out of the booth and extending is hand to me, "you leave me no choice, then. Let's go."

  "No choice about what?"

&nbs
p; "You'll see."

  Pushing through the door, I almost fall over in a fit of laughter. Jackson decided to carry me back to the hotel, claiming that it would be faster since I was walking slowly. He finally put me down when we got off the elevator. At first, I was protesting, trying to convince him to put me down. He wasn't giving in.

  When we arrived down in the lobby, the doorman's comment sent me into a fit of laughter. I haven't been able to stop laughing since.

  "Afraid she would get away, sir?" he asked as he held the door open for Jackson.

  "Something like that," Jackson replied, almost dropping me when my body started to convulse as I tried to contain my giggles.

  Flopping onto the couch, I roll over to stare up at the ceiling, knowing that Jackson's face will come into view if I wait long enough. He headed toward the bedroom as soon as we came in. I'm not sure what he's up to, but I'm afraid I'll like it. I don't want to like it. In fact, I'd be happier if I thought I would dislike it.

  That's not who Jackson is, though. He wants to make others happy. I swear he's on a mission to make me happy sometimes, and he's successful. He always finds a way to make me smile, no matter how unhappy I might be. It's only making things harder for me. The more I'm around him, the more I realize that there's no real way to distance myself from him emotionally. My heart wants his. If it's a battle between heart and mind, my heart wins every time. Maybe I need to stop fighting it.

  A pink envelope floats down onto my chest as if it's fallen from the heavens. I know that's not where it came from, but in a way, it has. Amber's words always seem to magically make things right. It's as if she's watching over me from above and knows what I need to hear. I guess that's what best friends are for, right? Taking care of each other. Knowing what the other person needs before they need it. It's almost like a marriage, only better.

  "Why did you give me number eight?" I ask, knowing he's somewhere within earshot. I can almost feel his gaze on me even though I can't see him.

  "I'm following directions."

  "Why didn't she just put them in order?"