“Fair.”

“Come on in,” I say, motioning him forward. When he walks inside, I see that Sydney is peering over the couch at him.

“Long time, gas station boyfriend,” she says. “How’s the leg?”

“Still kind of broken,” he replies. “You?”

“Same.” She smiles at him and then grabs the bowl of popcorn and heads into her bedroom.

Annalise stays behind, studying us as I lead Jackson to the couch. She holds out her hand expectantly. Jackson sits down, taking a moment to look over her scars again, before placing the papers on her open palm.

“How are you, Annalise?” he asks kindly.

“Peachy.” She begins reading the papers, but then asks if she can take them into the bedroom with her. Since I don’t know enough about our tech to understand what they say, I tell her that’s fine.

When we’re alone, I offer Jackson something to drink or something to eat, but he turns down both options.

“How’d you get here?” I ask. “I thought you flew to Connecticut.”

“I did. I have a rental car.” Jackson leans forward, resting his elbow on his uninjured leg. “Mena,” he starts. “I saw someone today, someone … someone I thought might be following me.”

“What?” I ask. “Who?”

“A girl,” he says, brow furrowed. “One of your friends, I think. The one who … The one who died.”

A cold realization slides over me. “You saw Lennon Rose,” I murmur.

His eyes widen, showing a small hint of betrayal. “You knew she was alive?” he asks. “You didn’t think to mention that? I looked for her, remember?”

“Yes,” I say. “But I didn’t know she was alive. Not until the other day.”

Jackson nods, easing back into the sofa. “Well, where has she been?” he asks. “If I’m remembering correctly, she didn’t even have her shoes.”

“She was with an investor. With … an author. It’s honestly hard to explain right now,” I say, a bit tired from my day.

“Okay, cool,” Jackson says. “I’ll keep stumbling haphazardly onto information and bring it to drop at your feet so that you can not explain it to me.” He’s half joking, and it earns him a smile.

“Appreciate that,” I say. He sniffs a laugh.

“So … ,” I start with a bit of worry. “How’s Quentin?” I ask. “Does he hate me now?”

Jackson’s expression falters. “Of course he doesn’t hate you,” he says, like the question is out of line. “He was angry, confused, and ultimately, worried about you. All of you. I told you he was a good guy.”

“I know he is,” I say. “But I still figured … There’s only so much a person can take. And maybe helping artificial girls was his breaking point.”

“Naw.” Jackson waves his hand. “He can take a lot.”

The room is quiet around us, the house falling into slumber. I get up to sit next to Jackson on the couch. He rests his arm on the back of the sofa and leans his head on it as he gazes at me.

“I had a lot of things I was going to say to you,” he says, the small smile still tugging at his lips. “But I forgot everything the moment I saw you.”

“That’s probably good for me.”

“Definitely better for you. Shitty for me because I’m sure I’ll overanalyze it all when I get home.”

“Home?” I ask. “Where’s that?”

“Oh, God,” he says, widening his eyes. “Literally the sketchiest motel I’ve ever seen. So, you know, if you want to get murdered this weekend, stop by.”

“I’ll put it on my list.”

We fall quiet again, and I can sense that Jackson wants to reach out, his fingers so close to touching my hair. But he doesn’t.

“This might not be what you want to hear,” he says. “But after you talk to your hacker friend, if everything checks out …” He swallows hard. “You can stop. You don’t have to do this. Fight all of this. You don’t have to save the world, Mena. I wouldn’t think less of you if you took off to live a quiet life somewhere. I’d come visit.” He smiles. “I just wanted you to know that it was an option.”

Jackson would be relieved if I made a choice like that. But I would never abandon my girls. Not the ones here or back at Innovations. And I know he knows that, because he sighs loudly.

“I should go,” he says. “It’s been a really long day.”

I don’t want him to leave, but I don’t stop him as he grabs his crutches and pulls himself up. I follow behind him to the door. He pauses there and turns back to me.

“You can come by again,” I offer. “Or to a game.”

“I hate sports, but I guess I could manage to sit through it if you were to explain the rules to me.”

I laugh. “Sure. I’ll be making them up as I go along, though.”

“Perfect.”

Jackson reaches for the door handle, but I have sudden desperation. A loneliness that bubbles over so intensely, my voice actually cracks when I say his name. Jackson looks back, alarmed.

“I really am sorry,” I say to him. For a second, I think of Rosemarie telling me never to apologize. But I see how selfish that line of thinking can be. I care about Jackson. When I hurt him, I should tell him I’m sorry. I should tell him until he believes it.

He shakes his head no, but I take a step closer to him. His lips part slightly, startled.

“Can I … Will you hug me?” I ask him. I think about us lying together that night of our escape and how he was going to say something to me. I’ll never know what.

He opens his arms. “Are you kidding? Come here.”

I step into him and put my head on his chest as he wraps himself around me. He moves to bury his face in my hair, his breath warm on my neck. His hug doesn’t dominate me; it’s desperate for me.

“Promise you’ll tell me before you run away next time,” he whispers. “Give me a chance to survive it.”

I close my eyes, knowing I wounded him deeply. Knowing I can’t promise that I won’t do it again. I run my fingers along the back of his neck, holding him a few seconds longer than a hug should last.

But when I straighten, staring up at him, I smile and nod, telling him that I’ll put it in writing.

Jackson reaches to brush his hand over my hair playfully. Lovingly.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says. He maneuvers around the door, and I lock it behind him, waiting there an extra second as my heart pounds away.

After I clean up the living room, I walk to my bedroom and lock the door as usual. I start to undress, but when I catch my reflection in the mirror, the happiness I had fades away.

I stand there in my bra, red scratches still visible on my neck despite the graft. Seeing them there is like seeing the entire incident again. The violence.

Girls don’t say no to me.

My breath catches on a cry, and I quickly sit on the edge of my bed, rocking softly. I stare at my door, at the lock. The light isn’t even off, but I can see him.

I see Guardian Bose waiting there, his silhouette in the doorway of my room. And then he’s Garrett, smiling and sounding out my name.