Chapter Twenty-Six Jack
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jack
It’s been five minutes since I heard her hang up with Noah. At first, I thought maybe she had to go to the bathroom or something, so I’ve been lying in her bed staring at the ceiling wondering how I’m so lucky to be here. Tonight has been a dream. And at the same time, it feels like a fulfilled prophecy. All I’ve been able to think this entire night while holding her and touching her is that I love her. I am so in love with Emily Walker. She knows who I am now—no more secrets—and she still chose me.
I scrape my hands over my face, smiling behind my palms because I am so terrifyingly happy. Finally, I go meet her in the kitchen to see what’s holding her up.
“Everything okay with—” I stop short at the sight of her.
She’s staring down at her laptop with a devastated expression. Absolutely gutted at whatever she’s looking at. Instinctively, I know that whatever this is, it’s about to change the course of our night.
“You okay?” I ask, cautiously walking toward her.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t seem to be breathing as much as she should be. When I get to her side, I lay my hand across her lower back and glance over her shoulder to what she’s reading. It’s an email. It’s…
Oh shit. It’s an email from Colette Menton. And from the looks of it, it’s not a good one.
I scan the email quickly, reading it and then rereading it because I almost can’t believe what she’s saying. In one short email she has completely dashed Emily’s hopes for this book. I’ve read a lot of blunt and honest feedback about my stories, but this…this is tough. She doesn’t pull any punches and finds things with the story that, in my opinion, are too critical.
I disagree with her on nearly all fronts.
The email starts nice enough, saying she has to pass on the project because, sadly, it didn’t speak to her like she hoped. I wish she’d stopped there. She goes on to say that because Emily is a good friend of such a successful writer as AJ Ranger, she will give her some feedback that might help her in future submissions. ( Super. So glad she brought me into this. ) Colette matter-of-factly lists each potential issue with the story. She states that the characters lack any depth. The romance, she claims, is flat and dry as burned toast. The sentence structures are amateurish. The concept, apparently, is a winner, but the overall story needs more work than Colette is ready to sign on for at this time. She wishes Emily luck, but suggests she pause and learn more about character development before proceeding with more submissions. Asshole.
This is bad.
Colette is a top-of-the-industry agent—and maybe this is my fault, but I really wish this weren’t Emily’s first experience with a rejection. There is no reason for an email this blunt, and it leads me to believe that it’s good Emily isn’t going to sign with her. Emily is tough, but she takes criticism very personally. I’ll never forget the year she called out a mom for pulling her daughter out of school too many days for seemingly no reason, and the mom lashed back by attacking Emily’s teaching style and overall personality. Emily took it on the chin, but I walked by her classroom after school and heard her crying, alone at her desk. I couldn’t go and comfort her. Not only was I with Zoe, but Emily wouldn’t have wanted me to see her like that. So I found Madison in the parking lot about to go home and told her I thought Emily needed help carrying something out. I don’t know if Madison comforted her that day, but I like to hope so.
But tonight, I’m here.
“Emily, I know this probably hurts, but just because Colette says it doesn’t make it true.” I put my arm around her to pull her into my chest, but she immediately shrugs me off and steps out of reach. My muscles tense with alarm.
She doesn’t meet my eye as she says, “Colette thinks my book is”—her voice cracks—“ garbage. ”
“And she’s wrong. Colette never should have said all—”
“ No, Jack, ” Emily snaps, finally meeting my eyes. “I never should have sent it in the first place.” She’s in her head, not listening to a word I’m saying. It’s clear Emily has grabbed on to these words from Colette like they’re the next ten commandments beamed down from God himself. It’s bullshit. I hate it. I hate Colette for sending this to Emily. And I hate that I was the one to encourage her to do it—especially when she had apprehension. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I should have let her listen to her gut.
And now I feel like she’s slipping from me while standing right there.
I take a step forward. “Hey. Please hear me. I don’t know what the hell that woman’s problem is, but I’ve read your book. And it’s incredible. Don’t lose hope because of this one rejection.”
Her eyes dart away and back to me, fury blazing hot. “It’s clearly not incredible. It’s junk. And maybe you were just horny enough for me that you overlooked serious issues and had me submit a terrible book to the best agent out there.”
I flinch against her words. “Don’t do that. Don’t diminish my opinion just because I also have feelings for you. That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is that you rushed me to send it out before it was ready!”
“I thought it was ready, Emily. I really thought it was great. I still do! And this…this feedback, as shitty as it is, is a part of the job. Sometimes they’re right. And sometimes they’re just people having bad days and taking it out on your work. Just like you’re doing to me right now. Take some space from this and tomorrow, decide what you actually agree with and what—”
“How many rejections did you get when you submitted to agents?” Her hands are balled up at her sides and I hate it.
“You said you were done meeting me in the arena.”
Her hands are curled so tight I can see the whites of her knuckles. “This isn’t me competing with you. It’s me not wanting to receive comfort and advice from a successful author when he might not have ever experienced this in the first place.”
I sigh, knowing my answer isn’t going to help. “None.”
“And how many editors turned you down after you and your agent pitched?”
I sink my teeth into my lip until it hurts and look away. “None. The book went to auction.”
Emily blinks back fast and furious tears. “Exactly. You don’t know what this feels like—so don’t pretend you do.”
I want to argue, but she’s right. I don’t know what it’s like. My experience was rare. I had agents clawing to win me as their client, and that’s an entirely different situation than this. “Okay, you’re right. Then tell me how it feels. Don’t push me away. Let me help.”
“No,” she says, voice shaking, eyes drifting away from me again. She’s erecting a wall directly between us. “You have helped enough. I am done with it. I’m not submitting this again to anyone. It was stupid to do it to begin with. Clearly, I’m not made to be a writer.”
“Emily…”
She’s going for her laptop.
With a tense voice, I ask, “What are you doing?”
“Deleting it. Sending it to the garbage where it belongs.”
Before she can click a single button, I shut her laptop. Her eyes rise to mine, flaming.
“Take it out on me. All your anger. All your humiliation. Take it out on me because I can stand it. But I’ll be damned before I let you wreck something that you’ve worked so hard for. Something that you deserve. Something you love.”
“Maybe I don’t love it! Maybe it was just a nice distraction for a while but now I’m at the end of the road with it!” I refuse to read into that as a double meaning, even though I feel like she meant it to be one.
“That is absolute bullshit, and you know it. This was making you happy. Going for a dream of your own ignited a spark in you that you liked. And writing…you found a home in it. I know you did. I saw it in you.”
“Jack…” she says in a clipped tone, tears building in her eyes. “Just…can you go? I don’t…I don’t want to take it out on you. And I don’t want to be around anyone right now. Certainly not AJ Ranger.”
I grimace. “I can’t leave until you promise you’re not going to delete your book.”
She’s staring a hole through the laptop. “It’s none of your business. My decisions are my own.”
“Dammit, Emily, they don’t have to be, though! Just talk to me. Tell me exactly what hurts. Let me be here for you,” I say, my voice pleading now.
She’s fed up. Her thighs are flexed like she’s trying to grind the pain away under her heels. “I want to be alone, Jack. I want to deal with this in my own way like I always do.”
I bend to catch her gaze. Something inside is warning me to stop—but I don’t because now I know what it’s like to have Emily in my arms, to be on the receiving end of her glowing smiles, to be someone she wants to talk to, and I can’t lose her. I won’t. “Do you actually want to be alone? Or are you just uncomfortable with someone seeing you in a moment of vulnerability?”
Her eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t hide yourself away because this is hard and new and hurts.”
She scoffs. “I don’t think a man in your position gets to offer that kind of advice.”
My head kicks back. “And what position is that?”
Emily’s voice lowers. “Jack. For years you have hidden your entire incredible writing career because you’re afraid of what’s going to happen if you step into the spotlight. You only told me tonight, years after knowing me, because you were finally comfortable and ready, but you’re demanding vulnerability from me when it best suits you. That’s. Not. Fair. ”
Silence falls for three beats after her words. And dammit, she’s right.
“What are we doing right now, Emily?”
She laughs a harsh laugh. “I don’t know. I have too many feelings at the moment, and I just want to be alone to process them.”
“Is this how it’s going to be? Because I thought we were becoming more to each other.”
“And I thought you agreed we can take it slow.”
The world is spiraling around me. Every word I think comes out. “Maybe we should have stopped to discuss what slow meant. Because it seems like what you want is friends with benefits. And I can’t do that. I need more.” It’s true—but I regret saying it immediately. Now is not the time. I know this, and yet I can’t bring myself to stop pushing.
She takes in a huge breath, and then it trembles out. I have no idea how the night ended up this way.
“Jack,” she says, anger mixed with sensitivity. “I don’t think we should discuss it tonight. It’s best you leave and that we take time separately to figure out what we want.”
I stare at her, feeling the space between us grow and grow and grow. This is what I’ve always wanted to avoid by getting close to people. It’s why I never opened up to Zoe. Because then there was potential to feel this same ugly feeling that would attach itself to me as a kid when I’d watch my dad shut the door on me.
I feel sick watching Emily walk to the door and put her hand on the knob. But she doesn’t open it yet. When I walk to her, expecting her to let us leave this without another word, she looks up at me. The fire in her eyes is gone, and my chest loosens a little. “I’m angry right now—but not at you. I’m hurting, and…I don’t know how to deal with it yet. If you stay, I will say more hurtful things I’ll regret later, and I refuse to do that to you.” She reaches out, takes my hand, and squeezes it. “We need to take a breather because it’s a new situation for us both. It’s not goodbye. It’s reevaluating. Agreed? ”
Some of my tension subsides. “Thank you for that.” I squeeze her hand in return. “But if you decide you need me later, I’ll be here in seconds.”
I open the door to leave, but standing on the other side, key in hand and bags beside her, is Madison. Her tearstained face smiles weakly at us.
“ Honey, I’m home, ” she says in a singsong tone that doesn’t match her tears.
Emily doesn’t even wait to ask questions. She nearly barrels through me to get to her sister, where, despite the fact that her own world is falling apart, she wraps Madison in a hug.