39 heard everything
By Tuesday night, I've spent almost the entire day trying to talk myself out of this conversation.
Which is ironic considering I'm the one who decided it needed to happen in the first place.
But now I'm standing outside my dorm room with my hand frozen around the doorknob while my heart tries to physically escape through my ribs, and suddenly avoidance feels like a deeply attractive lifestyle choice.
I could still leave.
Technically.
I could go sit in Nola and Peyton's dorm for another three hours pretending I'm emotionally stable while Peyton throws popcorn at people and Nola giggles at her phone every six seconds.
Instead, I open the door.
The room is dim except for Jackson's desk lamp. He's sitting at his desk in sweatpants and a gray Bears hoodie with one earbud in, typing something on his laptop.
For a second, everything feels painfully normal.
Then he looks up and immediately pauses.
Probably because I've been acting weird around him for over a month and now I'm suddenly standing in the doorway looking like I'm about to announce a death in the family.
"Hey," he says carefully.
"Hey."
The silence afterward stretches just long enough to become uncomfortable.
Jackson pulls his earbud out slowly. "You okay?"
No.
Absolutely not.
I close the door behind me anyway. "Can we talk?"
Something in his expression shifts immediately at that.
Concern.
Nervousness.
Maybe both.
"Yeah," he says slowly. "Obviously."
I nod once, then immediately forget every coherent thought I had prepared beforehand.
This is why texting should legally replace human interaction.
Jackson waits a second before standing from his desk completely, giving me his full attention in a way that somehow makes this worse. "You're scaring me a little, Coleman."
"I heard your phone call."
The words leave my mouth so fast they almost trip over each other.
Jackson freezes.
Actually freezes.
Not metaphorically.
His entire body goes completely still like somebody hit pause on him mid-breath. And then, horrifyingly, color starts climbing up his neck.
"Oh my God," he says blankly.
"I wasn't trying to listen," I rush out immediately. "You woke me up and I just- I heard it before I realized what was happening and then it felt too late to interrupt and-"
"Jesus Christ."
"I'm sorry."
"No, no." He rubs a hand over his face quickly. "Don't apologize. I just-"
He cuts himself off halfway through the sentence, looking genuinely horrified.
Which honestly isn't helping my rapidly deteriorating mental state.
The room goes painfully quiet.
Jackson stares at the floor for a second like he's trying to figure out how much damage control is humanly possible here.
Then eventually he lets out a slow breath and looks back at me. "You heard all of it?"
I nod once.
His jaw tightens briefly. Then, quieter, "Yeah."
Another pause. "I meant it."
My heart genuinely stutters.
Even though I already knew.
Even though I literally heard him say it himself.
Hearing him admit it directly to me feels entirely different somehow.
Jackson must see something happen in my expression because his own softens immediately afterward.
"I wasn't saying it because I thought anyone would hear me," he says quietly. "I wasn't trying to manipulate you or anything."
"I know."
"And I know I probably don't deserve for that to matter right now but-" He exhales sharply. "It's true."
The honesty in his voice almost hurts worse than the confusion did.
Because this would all be easier if he didn't mean it.
If he was just another asshole saying things he didn't actually feel.
But Jackson looks terrified standing in front of me right now.
Terrified and sincere and exhausted.
And I hate how much I still love him for it.
Neither of us says anything for a few seconds.
Then finally Jackson speaks again. "I'm sorry."
Simple.
No excuses attached to it this time.
No deflecting.
No sarcasm.
Just honest.
"I know I fucked everything up," he says quietly. "I know I hurt you."
I look down at the floor for a second because hearing him say it out loud makes something tighten painfully in my chest. "You did."
"I know."
"And the worst part is," I admit before I can stop myself, "I never knew what version of you I was gonna get."
Jackson goes still again.
So I keep going.
"Some days you acted like you wanted me around constantly and then the second things got too real, you'd freak out and push me away again." My throat tightens slightly. "It got exhausting, Jackson."
His face actually falls hearing that.
Not defensive.
Not irritated.
Just guilty.
"I know," he says again, quieter this time.
I cross my arms mostly so he can't see my hands shaking. "I stopped trusting you."
That one visibly hits him harder than the rest.
Jackson looks down immediately, jaw clenching once. "I deserved that."
And weirdly enough?
That's the first moment where this conversation actually starts feeling different.
Because normally Jackson would joke.
Or dodge.
Or get defensive enough to start an argument just so he didn't have to sit inside the uncomfortable parts.
Now he just listens, like he finally understands this isn't something he can outrun.
"I don't know why I do that," he says after a long silence. "The second I start actually caring about someone, my brain immediately acts like that's some kind of threat."
I stay quiet.
Jackson leans back against his desk slightly, looking exhausted.
"My parents love each other," he says suddenly. "Like disgustingly. My sister too. Everybody in my family just..." He shakes his head once. "Falls hard and stays that way."
I blink at him, confused where this is going.
"And that terrifies you?" I ask softly.
"Yeah."
The answer comes instantly, too instantly.
Jackson laughs once, humorless. "Because needing somebody that much sounds awful."
"But you already do."
The words slip out before I can stop them. Jackson looks at me immediately after that.
And there it is again.
That unbearable honesty between us now.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I know."
The room falls silent again, softer this time.
Not fixed.
Definitely not fixed.
But softer.
I can feel myself wanting to step closer to him and hating myself for it simultaneously.
Because I still don't fully know how to trust this.
How to trust him.
Jackson studies my face carefully before speaking again. "I know I can't just magically fix this overnight."
Good.
Because if he said something stupidly romantic right now I might actually throw a lamp at him.
"But I want to," he says anyway. "Fix it, I mean."
I swallow hard.
Part of me wants to let him.
The other part still remembers crying in the bathroom after he told me to get in line.
"I don't know if I'm ready for everything to just go back to normal," I admit quietly.
Jackson nods immediately. "I know."
"And I'm still angry at you sometimes."
"You should be."
"And Logan still hates you."
That almost makes him smile faintly. "Yeah, I picked up on that."
Despite myself, I huff out a tiny laugh.
Jackson's expression softens instantly hearing it.
Like he missed that sound.
Which makes my chest ache all over again.
Neither of us moves.
The tension between us feels completely different now than it did a week ago.
Still intense.
Still dangerous.
But no longer sharp enough to cut.
Finally, Jackson looks at me carefully and says, quieter this time, "Can I at least try?"
And honestly?
That question scares me more than anything else he's said tonight.