Chapter 24 #2
“I’ve tried,” she said at last, voice low. “To love him, I mean. It would make everything simpler. Safer. Felix is kind. Steady. He sees me as someone worth saving.” She let out a bitter breath. “But it’s hard to love someone who’s in love with a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore.”
Jack didn’t speak. He knew what it meant to feel like a ghost in your own life.
“Sometimes I think he’s in love with the idea of being a hero. He wants to swoop in, fix everything. Save the girl.” Her voice caught on the last word. “But I’m not that girl. I never was. And I’m tired of pretending I might be, just to make him feel like the world still makes sense.”
Jack didn’t know what unsettled him more—how much of himself he heard in her words, or the quiet ache in her voice when she said she was tired of pretending.
He understood that kind of exhaustion. The kind that didn’t come from running or fighting but from trying to live up to who people needed you to be—even after you stopped believing you could be that person.
His jaw clenched. She hadn’t completely denied that she’d been stringing Felix along either.
“So does Felix know he’s on a fool’s errand?”
Then she moistened her lips, almost nervously. “I’ve told him I don’t love him. But that hasn’t stopped him from holding on to hope.”
“And … he’s useful to you right now, so maybe it’s convenient to let him go on hoping?” He winced at his own words but didn’t take them back.
She turned her face toward the sky, scooting away from him some. “You really do think the worst of me, don’t you, Jack Darby?”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Don’t take it personally. I think the worst of everyone.”
“Why?” The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Who hurt you so badly? Clearly something drove you to be a cynic and lose your faith in people. Your sister?”
Jack felt his chest tighten.
Alice? Yes. She’d hurt him.
And so had Kit. Kit’s words came back to him—quiet, sharp, final. “The timing between us is never right. Maybe it’s the universe trying to tell us we’re not right for each other, Jack.”
He’d tried to forget the way Kit looked at him that day. Not sad. Just … so certain.
And Ginger and Noah—hearing them whisper behind closed doors, knowing he’d already been replaced.
Of all of them, Noah came the closest to being blameless.
Noah had loved his wife. Wanted her back.
Jack couldn’t fault his friend for that.
But … that hadn’t made it any easier. Their friendship had been tested by fire and barely survived.
Prescott’s hand on his shoulder. A smile like a razor.
“You’re smarter than your father ever was. Maybe you’ll survive.”
Jack had been seventeen. Na?ve. And Prescott had used him like a pawn before he ever knew the rules.
A better question would be: Who hadn’t found him wanting?
The names didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that every time Jack had reached out, someone had pulled away.
That’s why he didn’t reach out anymore.
And if Ruby thought she could fix that, well … she was more na?ve than he realized.
He bristled, the weight of his thoughts making him feel as though his skin were crawling.
“I thought you were tired,” he said, his voice more strained than he’d anticipated.
“You should sleep while you can, Ruby. We can’t afford to rest for too long—and not just because I’m hoping we can find a way to Rutbah.
Once that sun is climbing in the sky, we’ll be in a race against the clock for water. ”
Jack shifted slightly, and Ruby’s knee brushed his. She didn’t move away.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“You warm?” he asked.
“Getting there.”
“You’re not as bony as I expected.”
Ruby let out a quiet laugh, and as she tilted her head, her temple brushed his.
She didn’t move. Neither did he.
The warmth of her skin lingered like the last ember of a dying fire—too subtle to ignite, too stubborn to fade.
“You want to know what I think?” she said.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me—whether or not I actually want to know.”
The corners of her mouth twitched in a smile. “I think somewhere, deep down, you’re just a hopeless romantic who’s a lot nicer than he’s been pretending to be. You wouldn’t be doing all this for your sister if you weren’t.”
Jack smirked. “Sounds like another way of saying I need to keep practicing my poker face.” He leaned closer, his tired eyes burning now. “Maybe you should give me some acting lessons.”
Ruby tilted her head against his, the contact surprisingly comfortable. “You don’t need acting lessons. At least, not from me. You’re a good man, Jack Darby. Maybe someday you’ll remember that again.”
She reached out, eyes closed, almost absently, and rested her hand on his arm. Within a few moments, her breathing deepened. Sleep had gripped her at last.
He released a tight breath, then relaxed, but just slightly.
He didn’t know what surprised him more: how comfortable he was with her touch or the fact that he didn’t want to pull away.
He told himself it was exhaustion. That tomorrow, in the light of day, he’d remember why he didn’t get close to people anymore.
But tonight he let it be what it was: warmth.
A gust of wind scattered sand across the blanket, gritty and unwelcome. Jack brushed it off.
Just like we keep brushing off the truth. But the wind always comes back.
The stars were brilliant tonight—too brilliant, as if they were shining too much light on everything he wanted to keep hidden.
The last decade had taught him one thing: it was easier not to be seen. Easier to pretend the world wasn’t still turning while everything inside him had stopped.