Once everyone’s gone, Jackson and Mateo go off to take Sam on a walk while the rest of us crowd around an extra-large piece of leftover hummingbird cake in the main house’s kitchen. We do Miranda and Mateo the courtesy of splitting the last bottle of champagne they’d bought for the party so they don’t have to lug it home.
Miranda’s leaning against the counter, Audrey’s on the other side resting her body weight on her elbows. Ayanna and I are sitting side-by-side on the opposite side of the sink. I got cold earlier, so Jackson gave me his jacket. It’s warm and smells like him—smells like home—but it’s difficult to stuff my face with the sleeves flopping everywhere, so I roll them up.
“It was a great party,” I say. “Well done Miranda and Ayanna.”
Audrey claps, and I click my heels together since my hands are full.
“It was everything I wanted,” Miranda says with a dreamy sigh. “I’m so glad you all were here, and I can never thank you enough for letting us use the place.”
“To years and years of happy events here at Dandelion Gap,” Ayanna says.
“Here, here,” we all reply as we clink our glasses together to celebrate.
“Next up’ll be you and Jackson,” Ayanna playfully nudges me with her shoulder.
I sigh and take a long gulp from my glass. “Maybe.”
“I thought everything was going well with you two?” Audrey says. She sounds like she’s out of patience, like she’s just about done with us. I can’t really blame her. “What happened?”
“Nothing! Yet. We just haven’t talked about us, about what we’re going to do when we go back home. If we’re going to continue this…whatever it is.”
“What are you waiting for? Your flight leaves at ten tomorrow, Birdie.”
“I know!” I’m cursing my past self for assuming I’d want to get out of here ASAP and for also scheduling lunch with my agent. I can’t cancel it at this point, I have to be on that plane. “We said we were going to talk about it tonight after the party. Jackson seems to be hung up on something, and I haven’t wanted to bring it up because I’m afraid of what he’s going to tell me.”
Miranda takes the cake and champagne from me and places the plate and the glass on the counter. She takes my hands.
“Bird, we love you. It’s been a long, painful road to get back here. You two deserve happiness, and you’re right there. Please don’t run away again. If you try, we may be forced to take drastic measures.”
I smile at her fierceness. “I’m not. I’m going to come back down and stay with Ayanna and nag her about taking care of herself and not stressing out too much when this place opens.”
Miranda and Audrey’s eyes light up. “You are?” they ask in unison.
I nod. “Yeah, we worked it out earlier today. So, no running away, no matter what happens with Jackson. Promise.”
“Good,” Miranda replies. “Now go talk him. We’ll save you some cake.”
“No we won’t,” Audrey teases, licking her fork.
I’m about to tell her I might wind up needing it if things go wrong, but no. Better not jinx it.
I hop off of the counter. Avoidance has been nice while it lasted, but I can’t keep doing this forever.
“It’s gonna be fine,” Miranda says, squeezing my hand before I walk toward the door.
I wish I had her confidence. I’m gonna need it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I walk around almost the entire property looking for Jackson. He’s not in the main house, not by the lake, not at the gazebo, and the lights are out in his cabin. I’ve almost convinced myself that maybe we’re both looking for and missing each other, that maybe not being able to find him is fate’s way of telling me that now’s not the time to have this conversation. Not that we have any other time, since I’m leaving so early in the morning tomorrow.
With nowhere else to look and wondering if he took off without telling anyone, I make my way to the parking lot, where I spot shadows moving on the pavement behind Jackson’s pickup.
He and Mateo are sitting on either end of the truck’s folded-down tailgate, their legs dangling as they nurse a couple of beers.
I take a few deep breaths as my nerves set in, but it’s now or never. I shove my hands in the pockets of Jackson’s jacket, just so I have something to do with them other than fidget. Jackson and Mateo must be so involved in their conversation that they don’t hear me coming, and when I get within earshot, I’m pretty sure I catch Mateo saying my name. Along with…yes, I’m positive I heard married.
Eavesdropping is wrong, I know this. I’m a terrible person for even considering it, but I’m certain Mateo just asked Jackson if he thought we were going to get married. My feet are frozen in place, my body completely paralyzed in anticipation of the answer. I couldn’t possibly move in this moment.
“She’s the love of my life, man. I’ll never know anyone else like her.”
Warmth rushes through me, making my stomach flutter and the tips of my fingers tingle. My heart sets up permanent residence in my throat. I should say something. I should let them know that I’m right here. I should be a decent person and stop listening.
But I can’t.
“There’s a but,” Mateo says.
My heart packs its bags and takes a one-way trip, dropping lighting-fast all the way down to the ground. It’s subterranean.
Move, feet. Get the hell out of here, fast.
“I didn’t come here intending to start things up with her again. I hoped we could make some peace with the past, maybe be friends again. I hoped…I should’ve known I couldn’t stay away. I’m still so in love with her, but…she deserves better than a man who has random panic attacks while he’s doing something as simple as driving a fucking car. She deserves someone who can get out of bed on a rainy day.”
Jackson takes a long sip of his beer, then shakes his head with resignation. “It’s easy here. The hard stuff starts when we go home, and I don’t want to do that to her.”
Rage courses through my veins, white hot and burning. We might as well be back in that stupid, sterile hospital room where he broke my heart the first time. After everything we’ve been through, four years later, somehow we’re right back where we started.
Or ended, I guess.
Damn it.
I turn on my heels, ready to run away from this man who has my heart, who I’ve spent so much of my life loving. The instinct to flee is strong, like it always is when confronting Jackson is concerned. I wish I could go back to my cabin, pack up, and head home while pretending I hadn’t heard any of this. I wish I didn’t have to deal with it at all.
The thing is, running hasn’t worked out very well for me any of the times that I’ve done it. In fact, it’s arguably done more harm than good. If there’s a lesson that I’ve learned during my four years in self-imposed exile in New York, it’s that.
In my first attempt at actually applying that lesson to my real life, I decide to deal with this head-on, starting now. I blink away my tears, swallowing the ache. I can’t cry, not yet.
I take a couple of steps toward the truck and clear my throat. “Hey.”
Jackson and Mateo turn around, both looking a little startled. There’s an underlying panic in Jackson’s eyes. He knows I heard something, just not how much.
Mateo must sense an uncomfortable shift in the air, because he hops off the tailgate.
“Everyone’s in the kitchen polishing off some cake and the last of your champagne. They’ll probably need someone to tag in and take my place.” I try to be light and teasing, but my heart just isn’t in it. It’s too busy slowly breaking into pieces.
Mateo offers me an easy, sympathetic smile and goes along with it because he’s a good friend.
“I think I’m up for the challenge,” he says. He looks back at Jackson before he walks toward me, squeezing my arm in support as he walks past.
I stay put for a few seconds, trying to get my emotions under control so I can handle this the right
way. I’m so angry, so hurt, so confused.
When I’ve calmed myself to what I think is an acceptable level of anger, I take a few steps over to Jackson and stop right in front of him. He’s still sitting on the tailgate, his hands pressed against his thighs, his eyebrows scrunched together like he’s deep in thought. He’s so handsome in his crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His tie is loose around his neck. It’s a shame that such a good look will go to waste on what is likely going to wind up being a fight.
He drags his hand across his face, looking about ten years older than he did a minute ago.
“How much of that did you hear?” he asks warily.
“Enough. More than I should have,” I admit. I rub the back of my neck to loosen the knot of stress that’s taken up residence there. “I shouldn’t have eavesdropped. I heard my name and…it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”
Jackson doesn’t acknowledge my apology. “Can I explain?”
Even though I think he was pretty clear already, I nod.
“Bird,” he sighs. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, loving me. I don’t…I can’t ask you to do it.”
“Jesus, Jackson. You’re not asking, I’m offering. Do you think I can’t handle a panic attack? Some aches and pains?”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “That panic attack I had the other day?” He spits out the words like he can’t stand the sound of them. “Birdie, that was just a taste of what happens to me sometimes. Aches and pains? I wish. I’ve been feeling good lately, but that only lasts for so long before it all comes crashing down. Sometimes I can’t get out of bed. Sometimes the pain is so bad it feels like it’s all the way down in my bones. It hurts to breathe. I can’t even brush my fucking teeth those days.” His anger melts away as he looks at me, eyes pleading.
“So I’ll brush them for you. I’ll get out of bed when you can’t. I’ll hold your hand when it hurts, and I’ll get you what you need.”
He shakes his head. “Why aren’t you getting this? You’re making it much simpler than it is.”
“It’s exactly that simple. You’re the one who’s complicating it. I know what I’m getting into, but it’s not stopping me because that’s what love is. I love you, Jackson. Bad days and all!”
He lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s what you think now, because you haven’t seen a bad day. I nearly ruined a twenty-five year marriage, Birdie. What do you think I’ll wind up doing to us?”
Tears prick my eyes, and I finally let them fall. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. Again! Four years later and here we are, with you still making decisions for me like my feelings don’t even matter.”
He has the nerve to be incredulous, to act like he’s doing me a favor. “All I think about are your feelings! You think this is easy for me?”
My shoulders lift up in a helpless shrug. “Considering this is the second time you’ve done it, maybe it is.”
He hops off the tailgate, his shoes crunching on the gravel as he walks closer. He’s furious. “You don’t know what living with me is like sometimes.”
“I know what living without you is like,” I argue. “And it’s pretty fucking miserable. A bad day together would be better than our best days apart. For me, at least.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It is fair. I’m telling you that I love you, that I want to be with you no matter what, that I want to be the one you lean on when you’re hurting, and you’re telling me that I’m not enough. And it’s all because you’re afraid that I’ll be able to handle anything your body decides to throw at us, and that if things still don’t work out between us you won’t be able to blame it on the accident.”
“Fuck you, Birdie.” His eyes flash with anger. “So what if I’m scared? Acting like you have the high ground here is pretty rich considering you’re so terrified of letting people down that you worked yourself into a case of writer’s block so you have an excuse for not trying.”
One of the worst things about loving someone is opening yourself up, showing them all the vulnerabilities you hide away from the world and trusting them to be careful with that knowledge. It gives them ammunition that you hope they never use, because the people you love always know which wounds to pick at, how to hit you exactly where it hurts.
Jackson’s accusation stings, steals the breath out of me. The blow cracks me open and—for better or worse—sends all the thoughts I’ve kept hidden inside flying out. They’re razor sharp, ready to wound.
“Moving to New York scared me shitless, but I did it anyway. I built a life there for myself. I worked on my book, and when countless people told me no, I still kept going. Putting myself out there—wide open for people’s judgment—was terrifying, but I did it anyway. I took that step, and yeah…maybe I’m scared to take the next one, but I’m going to do it anyway, because that’s what I’ve always done.
“Your whole life stopped when we had that accident, Jackson. You hold it up like a shield to hide behind so you don’t have to put yourself out there. You can’t finish school because of the accident, you’re stuck in a job you hate because of the accident, you can’t be with me because of the accident.
“If you don’t want to be with me, just say so. Stop making excuses because you’re too scared to try. I was terrified of telling you that I’m still in love with you, because I know from experience that things with you can change in an instant.
“It’s happening right now! Again! I know you’re scared, but me? I’m not scared anymore. I’m in love with you. It’s never stopped, it’s never gone away, but…Jackson, I can’t keep hanging on. I know what I want, and I’m willing to fight for it.”
Jackson’s lips are pressed together, his whole body tense. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but I have to get the rest of this out.
“You’re not willing to fight for anything. You’re going to go back to DC and keep pretending like your life ended that night on the side of the road.”
I step forward and cup his face, letting my thumbs graze across his stubble. I want to remember the way it feels holding him like this. I want to remember the rich honey color of his eyes. The softness of his lips.
“I’m going to go back to New York, and I’ll beat this writer’s block. I’ll keep writing, because I know my dreams are worth fighting for.” I give him a kiss that lingers like a long goodbye. “I just wish you thought yours were.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The bed in my cabin is like a warm little cocoon; it’s the perfect place for me to cry my eyes out after an emotionally intense and draining night. After I get it all out, I’m left feeling limp and exhausted. Once my breathing slows to normal, I plop my arm dramatically on the pillow above my head, like a Victorian woman falling onto a fainting couch.
My limbs are heavy, my eyes are sandy and tired, and my skin feels warm and splotchy. After a few minutes of really psyching myself up for it, I peel myself off the bed and shuffle into the bathroom. I flip on the switch and squint against the too-bright light. Without looking at myself in the mirror, I turn on the faucet and hold my hands under the cool water. I splash some of it on my face, hoping it will soothe my aching skin.
When I open my eyes? Yikes.
I look terrible, like a living nightmare. My eyes are bloodshot. A gruesome trail of mascara is left behind, like little black spindly fingers gripping at my cheeks. Despite how terrible I look, that unruly curl I had trouble with earlier is somehow still firmly in place.
At least I had a win tonight, even if it is a minuscule one.
I grab a remover wipe from beside the sink and gently wipe away the remnants of my makeup. After, I look better, but still terrible. Like a piece of me is missing.
I guess it is; it’s somewhere in the cabin next door, terrified to move on with his life.
My mind starts racing. Should I go over and apologize? Am I even sorry for what I said? Everything I told him was true, but maybe I could’ve been
nicer about it. Maybe it would’ve been better if I hadn’t laid four years of hurt and anger at his feet in a two-minute speech when emotions were running high for both of us.
I start pacing, second-guessing everything I’ve done tonight. On my tenth circuit around the cabin, my feet lead me to the front door. I open it and step outside into the cool night air. It’s late, well past midnight, and the entire B&B is calm. Crickets are chirping, the moon reflects off the still surface of the lake.
Maybe I should go over and talk to Jackson.
Maybe I should let things rest for a little while, give us both a chance to cool down a little. Maybe going over there now would make things better. Maybe it would make them worse.
I’m stuck in a never-ending loop of maybes.
The light is on in his cabin. I put my hand on the screen door, but I don’t open it. I can’t make up my mind. Go? Stay?
The floorboards creek when I shift my weight every time I change my mind. I lean toward the screen door. Creak. I turn to go back inside. Creak.
I finally decide to just do it, but Jackson’s light turns off the second I open the door and the decision is made for me.
I’ll wait. Things will be better in the morning.
Once I’m back inside, I’m wired and wide awake. Sleep isn’t going to come for me anytime soon, so I sit down on the bed, pull out my laptop, and start typing.
* * *
Of course Ayanna is already up and working.
She’s chipper this morning, sitting at her desk with her spreadsheets open and a cup of coffee in her hand. Her face falls when she sees me, probably because I look like a complete wreck as I drag my suitcase in behind me. I’m wearing my comfy travel clothes, and I didn’t even bother with my hair. It’s in a kind of stiff and sticky second-day hairspray bun on the top of my head.
I cried for a pretty good portion of the night and then stayed awake for the other part, so I know I look haggard, which definitely isn’t helped by the fact that I’m not wearing makeup.
Stay With Me Page 14