“Ugh! Where the hell is my black dress?” I yell out my bedroom door. Ashton is sitting on the couch laughing at something on TV.
“Stressed much?” she replies from the other room.
“I need your help! Get your ass off the couch!” I say in my pouty voice and stomp my feet like a twelve-year-old. I need her to calm me down and pack for me. It’s been four days since I last saw Jackson. I’ve gotten almost nothing accomplished because every time I sit to start something, I find myself daydreaming of his face or imagining his lips leaning down to kiss me. Lost in yet another fantasy of Jackson, I sigh and hear Ashton laugh again, only this time she’s in my doorway, staring at me.
“Lost in Jacksonland again, are we?” She snorts and heads into my room. “You got it bad.”
“Shut up. I do not!”
“Really?” Ashton tilts her head up and taps her finger on her chin as if she’s debating something. “Well if that’s true, then where’s his business card? I could always call him since I’m single.” She shrugs, gauging my reaction.
I glare at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Hmmm. You said he’s hot though, right?” She grins before continuing, “I really would like to see for myself. Who knows? Maybe we’ll hit it off.”
“You’re so full of shit. You wouldn’t do that to me.” I turn and look in my drawer for the damn black dress that’s not in my closet.
“If you’re not interested, why should it matter?” In the mirror I see her raise an eyebrow, goading me.
“I’m not interested, but that doesn’t mean I want him hanging around here.” I know she’ll never buy it, but that’s all I’ve got.
“I’ll make sure not to bring him around. I know he’s your client and all.” I turn and look at her smiling face. She’s waiting for me to either have an epic tantrum or call her on it.
Fine. Two can play at this game. “The card is on the dresser,” I walk over to the card Jackson placed in my hand last week. “Go ahead and give him a call. I’ll be right here.” I hold it out to Ashton, willing her to take it, hoping she doesn’t.
She grabs the card and reaches for the phone. She types the numbers and smiles the whole time as I gape at her. I can’t believe she’s calling him. I know what I said, but I never thought she’d actually do it. She knows me better than that. I’m about to say something when I look closer and realize she has my phone in her hand. I leap over the pile of clothes on the floor and lunge for the phone. She falls back on the bed, laughing hysterically as I claw my way up and rip it out of her hand. “You bitch!” I try to contain my laughter as I scroll through the call log to see if she dialed. “I’m gonna kill you! Thank God you didn’t freaking call him!”
“Nope, I wouldn’t call him. That would be sooo embarrassing.” She stands and heads into my closet.
Just as I’m about to go back to packing, my phone vibrates in my hand. I look down and open the text message from a number I don’t recognize.
Unknown: Can’t wait to see you either.
Dread seeps through my veins as I grab the business card and check the number. Sure enough, it’s Jackson. She’s dead!
“Ashton! You’ve got to be kidding me! You texted him?” I exclaim.
She peeks her head out from the closet, smiling. “I said I didn’t call him. Never said anything about other forms of communication.” She giggles and goes back into the closet.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. Okay, I can handle this. I won’t respond, and I’ll play it off when I see him—although, I might be in a jail cell instead of meeting Jackson tomorrow. I think a judge would understand why I had to murder my best friend. I sink onto my bed and put my pillow over my head, groaning.
Ashton comes over and nudges my leg. I pull the pillow down and glare at her in response. “You’re being a drama queen. Look at the message I sent him before you get all stabby.” She starts folding clothes and putting them in my suitcase.
I look at the outgoing text message.
Me: Ready for the trip. See you at 8.
Whatever. She should have never sent him a damn text message. Now he probably thinks I sit around thinking about him. He wouldn’t be far off in that assumption, but I don’t exactly want him to know that. Damn Ashton and her stupid interfering. I look over to find her rummaging through my underwear drawer. I snap at her, “What the hell are you doing in there?” I rush over to close the drawer.
“If you’re getting naked, you need proper panties.” She smiles mischievously.
“There will be no naked!” I sigh and grab out a few pairs of underwear.
“Sure, Cat. Keep telling yourself that. This guy wants in your pants and you can’t even try to tell me you’re not dying to get in his. So embrace your inner temptress, get some cute panties, and get on it … or under it.” She winks and runs out of my room before I can throw something at her.
Not even ten seconds later she pops her head in my room, giggling. “Oh, your black dress is in the bag. You can thank me later,” she says. Then she runs out again.
Sure enough, I look in the suitcase and find my black dress along with one of my negligées. Ashton!
My suitcase is bouncing noisily down the foyer stairs at our apartment complex. I’m exhausted and crabby after being completely unhappy with pretty much anything I had in my closet. Since I have absolutely no idea what we’re going to be doing in Virginia, I packed for any scenario. Trying to pick the perfect travel clothes for today, I went for comfortable and cute. I’m wearing a black and white sundress with my black flats. I don’t know why I thought a dress would be a good option for being on a plane and going through security, but it doesn’t matter now. I’m ten minutes late and don’t have time to change. As I make my way outside, my eyes widen in surprise. Jackson is in front of my building, leaning against the door of a black town car sedan and smiling at my reaction.
He walks forward, takes the handle of my bag, and leans toward me, handing me a cup of coffee. “Good morning, Catherine. You look happy to see me.”
I groan and roll my eyes, taking the coffee out of his hand. He lets out a deep chuckle at my reaction and hands my bag to the driver.
“Good morning, Jackson.” I turn and walk to the other side of the car, open the door, and whisper under my breath, “Yeah, oh so happy.” I hear him exhale in a short burst, almost like he’s laughing. I look back to see him smiling from ear to ear. Of course he heard me.
He slides his big body into the seat next to me, taking over all the space in the car. We’re close. So close that his warmth radiates into me and his cologne fills my nose. He leans down, reaching for something in his bag, and his fingers brush the bare skin of my leg. Tingles shoot up my thighs at the contact. It’s too much for me.
I scoot over a little more toward the window. Even though I’d love nothing more than to sit on his lap, I try to avoid touching him. My walls are going to come crumbling down really fast if I don’t keep some distance. I look out the window and sip my coffee. Smiling, I glance at him, surprised that he somehow managed to make it the way I like it. I was prepared for it to be black, not light and sweet.
“How did you know?” I lift the cup.
“I have my ways.” He grins and turns his attention to the file folder on his lap.
I’m sure he does. I smile reply, “Well, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He doesn’t glance up and I’m a little disappointed. He has this uncanny way of knowing my thoughts—maybe he’s trying to keep his distance so I’m not uncomfortable?
I grab my iPhone and go through my alerts. We have about a thirty-minute drive to the airport.
I notice the voicemail that I’ve been avoiding—my mother’s. She’s called eight times, but I keep putting off returning the call. She frustrates me, and lately I don’t have the patience to deal with it. I glance at Jackson. He’s engrossed in whatever he’s reading, so I decide to listen to it.
“Hello, Catherine. It’s Mom. I hope all is well.” She pauses and I can almost hear her bristle. Her voice is filled with frustration. “I’ve tried to call you about ten times now, but I guess you’re ignoring me again. I’m not sure how to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it.” She lets out a deep sigh and goes on, softer now. “I got a letter from a lawyer. They sent notice that your presence is required next week at their office. They need you to—” Another long pause. “—settle your father’s estate. He passed away a week ago.” She sounds sad, and I can hear her taking short breaths as if she’s crying. “You were listed as his beneficiary and this was your last known address. I’m so sorry, sweetie. Please call me. I love you.” The line goes dead.
I drop the phone in my lap. The emotions swarming inside of me are jumbled, all over the place. I haven’t spoken to my father in almost twenty years. I don’t know why I feel sad. I hate him. He walked away. He deserted me—never called, never cared—so why do I feel like I’m going to cry? What do I do now? I’m supposed to go through his affairs, settle his estate—I don’t even know where the hell he’s lived all this time. I drop my head in my hands and struggle to catch my breath. I’m so angry. I moved on. I forgot about him. I got over the fact that I wouldn’t have someone to walk me down the aisle or dance with me at my wedding. I don’t need him or want any part of him, so why do I feel such utter despair? The tightness in my chest has me gasping for air, shaking. I roll down the window frantically—I need air.
Jackson places his hand on my arm and I snap my head up. I kind of forgot about him there beside me. He’s staring at me. He squeezes my arm and his eyes soften as if he can sense my panic. “Are you okay?” His voice is concerned.
I shake my head subtly up and down. I don’t think I can speak. I avert my eyes, looking at my hands grasped tightly in my lap.
“Catherine,” he says softly, looking alarmed by whatever emotions are showing on my face. He reaches for my hand and places his gently over mine. I can’t look at him. I need to keep it together. I should have never listened to that damn voicemail. Who tells someone their parent died on a voicemail? Another way my mother and her selfish ways come to light. She could’ve called again, could’ve called Taylor—anything other than leave a voicemail.
I need to explain this to him. I have to say something. I look over and whisper, “My father died.”
His eyes widen in shock before changing to sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and his sincerity breaks my carefully constructed wall.
“It’s fine. I mean, we weren’t close. I just—” My chin begins to tremble. I can’t speak anymore.
My heart is aching. All these years, all this time—it’s all over and I’ll never get the answers I so desperately needed. Why did he really leave me? Tears blur my vision. I close my eyes and try to hang on to the anger I had moments ago.
Jackson must sense I’m about to fall apart because he leans in, puts his arm around me, and pulls me to his side. I try to resist, but he’s stronger and grips tighter. Not wanting to fight him, I give in, allowing myself this one moment to accept the comfort he’s offering. His warmth cocoons me as I curl into his chest and slip my arm around his stomach. He holds me so snug, keeping me together while my mind spins. He does nothing to move me, just tenderly strokes the side of my arm. My heart is pounding and my breathing is shallow, both from the whirlwind of emotions and his closeness. I start to pull away, trying to put some distance between us, but Jackson refuses to relax his hold on me. I have to admit I feel so small and safe in his embrace. Closing my eyes, I lose myself in his touch. I want to cry, but the tears won’t come. I focus on the steady sound of his heartbeat. So sure, so strong. The thrumming anchors me and keeps me from falling apart. We stay like this the rest of the car ride, neither of us speaking as I try to understand the numbness I’m feeling.
When we arrive at the airport, Jackson shifts slightly and I sit up. I look out the window and realize we’re at Teterboro, which means we’re flying on a private jet. I turn to look at Jackson, confused and embarrassed, when he puts his hand on my cheek, softly cradling it. “Are you going to be okay? We can cancel the trip if you need to.”
“No!” I say loudly and he startles, dropping his hand from my face.
“I’m serious. You need to deal with—” His brows draw together before he runs his hands down his face.
“No, it’s fine.” I don’t want to deal with any of it. I’m not going to run to take care of a man who never cared enough to take care of me. I take a deep breath and move my hand, placing it tentatively on his. “Please, I don’t want to reschedule the trip. I promise, I’m really okay.”
He stays quiet for a minute. I’m praying he believes me. Jackson pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. He blows out a long breath, exits the car, and walks over to speak to the driver. My heart can’t take this pain. I hang my head, creating a veil with my dark brown hair so he can’t see me falling apart. I need this trip. I want to escape and not go back and have to deal with my dead father who abandoned me. I put him and all the shit he did to me in a box—then I took his box and shoved it away. I have no desire to dust it off and open it again.
I hear my car door open and look up. Jackson is standing there, hand extended, with a sad smile on his face. He tilts his head toward the runway and says, “Come on, we’ve got a plane to catch.”
I place my hand in his and allow him to help me from the car. “Thank you, Jackson.” My eyes are soft and my voice is full of emotion. I remove my hand after giving his a small squeeze and head toward the trunk to collect my bag. Jackson walks silently behind me. I’ve probably scared him with my almost breakdown.
We both reach for my bag’s handle at the same time. I giggle as he swats my hand away. I look over at him. His eyes are bright and glossy and his mouth is in a half grin. “I love your laugh.”
The way he says it makes my heart feel lighter. “Thanks,” I murmur and look away.
Jackson clears his throat and says, “Now, let’s head to Virginia.” His smile grows as he tilts his head to the side. “You know where that is, right?” He winks and grabs my bag. There’s the smug bastard I know.
“Yes, I knew where it was before too.” I smile, thankful for the change in topic.
“Sure you did.”
“You know I have a master’s degree, right? I’m pretty sure I had a class or two where we discussed the fifty states.” I huff, pretending to be irritated with him. In reality, I’m silently awed by how quickly he brought me back.
“Hey, it’s not my fault you were confused the first time.”
“Gah!” I throw my hands up in mock frustration.
Jackson stops at the bottom steps of the plane, shifting his weight back and forth. My eyes dart between the contemplative look on his face and the plane—I hope he’s not going to cancel. As if sensing my distress, he places both hands on my shoulders and waits for me to look at him. Our eyes meet and I can’t look away. My breathing stops. My heart accelerates. His eyes are clouded with emotion. For me? For my loss? I can’t tell. He looks sad, and it rocks me to my core. Slowly, he pulls me toward him and wraps his arms around me. I return his embrace as he rubs my back. We stand there in each other’s arms, giving and receiving comfort from one another. My news was unexpected and so was Jackson’s response, but I don’t mind it.
I clear my throat and I swear I feel Jackson kiss the top of my head, but it’s so light I can’t be sure. We break apart and I smile. He reaches for my face but drops his hand before touching me, frowning as his eyes empty of all the emotion present just seconds before. Without a word, he turns and ascends the stairs to the plane. I take a deep breath and follow, praying I can keep it together and remain professional. The lines are blurring, so I need to redraw them and stay on the appropriate side.