Chapter 27
7 hours until the wedding
As soon as Allison’s gone, the closet door opens and Jack emerges, tugging at the zipper on his pants. Last night’s wrinkled shirt hangs open, unbuttoned.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” I tell him.
There’s a long pause. Too long. A slow pain spreads over my body, dull and grating like a headache.
Finally, he says, “I should go.”
“You don’t have to leave right now,” I tell him. “You can stay.”
I want you to stay .
But he doesn’t answer, and I watch in silence as he slides his watch onto his wrist and buttons up his shirt.
“It’s better if I leave,” he says at last.
“Is it because of what Allison said?” I ask. “Because—”
He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “No, it’s not that.”
My limbs stiffen, blood turning heavy in my veins.
I want to believe nothing’s changed. That he just needs to get ready for the wedding. But I know that’s not true. I feel the shift in the air, like right before a storm.
He finishes buttoning his shirt then moves toward the door.
“So, I’ll see you later?” I ask, desperately hoping he’ll tell me what I want to hear. That he’ll be back. That this isn’t over.
He pauses, hand hovering over the doorknob. “I guess so.” But he doesn’t say it like, I can’t wait to make out with you later . More like we’ll have to see each other at the wedding.
It feels painfully final, and panic grabs my throat, stealing my breath as I grasp for something to say, something to make him stay. Something to change the course of this moment.
“Jack. Wait.”
He hesitates before turning back to face me.
“I know you don’t owe me anything, but can we at least talk?” My voice cracks against my will. “About us? About last night?”
He licks his lips, eyes trailing to the carpet. “I think I should just go.”
I step back, feeling like I’ve been sucker punched.
This is worse than the worst-case scenario I had played out in my head. At least in that I’d imagined a gradual distancing, a slow but painful fade into oblivion. But this rapid withdrawal is so much worse.
“So this is how this ends?” I ask. “We meet our expiration date and you walk out of here like nothing happened between us?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think we have a choice.”
I shake my head as though my body is physically rejecting what he’s saying. “What do you mean we don’t have a choice? Of course we have a choice. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“Come on, Ada.” There’s a grating pull in his voice that I feel all the way in the pit of my stomach. “Last night was fun. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”
Heavy pangs of frustration churn inside me. Despite everything he’s told me, I refuse to believe that last night, that the last few days, were simply nothing . Nothing more than sexual tension and meaningless flirtations. Maybe I believed that a few days ago. But not now. Not after last night. Or this morning. Not after he looked at me the way he did. Touched me the way he did. Not after everything.
“Jack, I get that you don’t do commitment and that you had your heart broken, but was all this really nothing to you?” I search his face, looking for some kind of indicator that he doesn’t mean what he said, that maybe I’ve misunderstood.
His entire face tightens. “Of course it wasn’t nothing—”
“Then why—”
He holds his hand up. “Ada, stop. ” I freeze and Jack lets out a heavy exhale. “I can’t be your fucking boyfriend.”
His words hit me somewhere in my gut and I wince.
It’s the same thing Allison said. But a million times worse coming out of Jack’s mouth. Like finally confronting the monster under the bed that you’ve known was there the whole time, but you didn’t want to admit it.
“Why are you so afraid of this thing between us?” I demand. “Would it really be so bad to at least explore it? To see where it goes?”
Veins pulse at his temples. “I can’t , Ada. I told you that.”
My heartbeat ratchets up, pulse slamming against my ribs.
“So last night was no different from the night we met? You were just trying to get in my pants? That was all?”
His mouth sets into a hard line. “That’s not what I meant. That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” I demand, hating the tug of desperation in my own voice. “Tell me. I can take it.”
For a beat he just looks at me, like he expects it to be obvious, then in a low voice he says, “Your sister’s right, Ada.”
I frown, unsure where my sister fits into this. “What are you talking about?”
“What she said, about my divorce fucking me up.”
I wince, remembering Allison’s callous words. “She just meant that you were torn up over the divorce—”
“No, it’s more than that.”
For a moment he stares ahead, gaze fixed on the wall, before he finally says, “I thought it was clear that I’m in a bad place right now. I mean, come on, I told my best friend not to marry the woman he loves. That doesn’t exactly scream emotionally stable , does it?”
“But—”
“As much as I wish I could forget about Lexi and my failed marriage and everything I did wrong, it’s still on my mind all the fucking time .” He pauses, tension coiling around his features. “So, no , I’m not boyfriend material. Not for you, not for anyone.”
My heart roars in my throat as I try to make sense of what he’s saying, to catalog it and reorganize it in a way that doesn’t make me feel like there’s a weight on my chest, growing heavier and heavier. But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. And the more it makes sense, the harder it is to breathe.
“I’m a mess, Ada,” he continues, hurt bleeding through his voice. “I’m good for a one-night stand, but that’s about it, okay?”
“But I’m a mess too.” I gesture to myself. “When you met me, I was sobbing in a hotel lobby, for crying out loud. I’m the poster child for a mess.”
The muscles in his jaw flex. “I just don’t think I can give you what you want, Ada.”
“And what do you think I want?”
“You want happily ever after and romance and certainty. You want what your mom and stepdad have. But I’m just getting out of a failed marriage. I’m not Mr. Right ,” he says, voice cracking like a whip on the last syllable. “And you can’t fix me, Ada.”
“I know that, I—”
“Do you, Ada?”
I take a step back, the bitter edge in his voice knocking me off-balance.
“Because it sort of seems like you want me to take the place of Carter, and I can’t do that. I can’t be the one for you.”
“I’m not asking you to!”
He shakes his head, tangled knots of frustration weaving across his expression. “What your sister said was true. Two days ago you wanted to get back with Carter, and now suddenly you want to be with me? Some guy you barely know whose life is a mess?” There’s an ache of weariness in his voice that catches me off guard. “You ended things with Carter because he couldn’t give you what you want, and good for you. But what makes you think that things with me would be any different? What makes you think I could give you what you want?”
“So is this about Carter or about me?”
“It’s about the fact that this ,” he says, gesturing between us, “can’t be anything. And that it’s not fair to either of us to pretend like this thing between us wasn’t doomed from the start.”
“ Doomed? ” I repeat, voice shaking, caught somewhere between anger and hurt. “If this was so doomed, then why did you sleep with me? Why did you kiss me?”
“You asked me to.”
“Seriously?” A humorless laugh escapes me. “You’re going to blame last night on me? You’re the one who came to my room, remember? I thought we both wanted it.”
“I did. I just…” But he doesn’t finish. Instead, he stands there, chest heaving, until finally he says, “It’s not that I don’t care about you, Ada. But I can’t.”
A heavy beat passes, dark eyes sweeping over me once more before he turns and moves toward the door.
I’d thought about this moment, anticipated it even, but now as it’s happening, I can’t help the hurt corroding the inside of my stomach. The painful realization that I’ve blown right past all my carefully constructed mental caution tape. That I’ve given my heart, my mind, my body to Jack without any assurances that I’d get anything in return. Just like I did with Carter.
The recognition of my own naiveté pours over me in heavy, suffocating streaks, snaking past the last shreds of hope guarding my heart.
Jack stops in front of the door. “Ada, I…” He swallows, and I hate the hopeful tug in my chest. “I’ll see you at the wedding.” Then he slips into the hall, letting the door shut with a tight thud behind him.
I stare at the door a full thirty seconds, waiting to see if he’ll come back, if he’ll tell me it was all a mistake, that he didn’t mean it. But he doesn’t, and I slowly sink to my knees, vision blurring behind a hot curtain of tears.