33. Jackson
Jackson
T he only sound in my office was that of my incessantly tapping foot as I stared at the three screens in front of me, filled corner to corner with coding software and programs. Through the glass wall on the opposite side of the room, the snow fell silently, a gentle blanket on top of the massive piles outside.
The floodlight bore down on the driveway, and the two armed security officers by the gate. It was enough for now.
I’d barely had a moment to actually focus on work for the last few weeks.
Every ounce of energy had gone into the threat against Mandy, and every leftover drop had trickled into making sure the campus was ready for rollout in three weeks.
And because of that, I’d fallen seriously behind, my work for Infinius building up to an overwhelming amount.
It felt good to shut off from the world overnight after everything that happened.
I’d needed it, craved it, and although a part of me still screamed from the back of my head and longed for Mandy, it was comforting to focus on the one thing I knew I was good at.
The thing I knew I could do, could fix. It was like a breath of fresh air after being on a plane for too long.
Not exactly a saving grace, but enough to keep me going.
The growl from my stomach pulled me out of my thoughts.
I stood from the desk, stretching my arms over my head. I’d been sitting here for hours at this point, long enough for the sun to go down and rear its angry head again in the early hours. I wasn’t sure exactly what time it was, but somewhere had to be serving breakfast by now.
I grabbed my phone from where it rested face-down on my desk.
I must have been insane to think that maybe, just maybe, my screen would be littered with texts from her, but it hurt regardless to see nothing but a handful of notifications from my emails and a reminder of the imminence of our grand opening.
My fingers ached as I gripped my phone, almost willing Mandy to text me, call me, scream at me if she wanted.
The blisters on my knuckles had stopped burning hours ago, and maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping through my system or the countless cups of coffee I’d drank overnight, but the pain was rearing its angry head again.
Part of me wanted to set it down, go back to work, and try to drown it out.
Overriding government systems was insanely difficult but not impossible .
I could crack it eventually if I had enough willpower, enough steam, but my stomach was growling and my chest ached from finally allowing myself to think about her for more than two seconds.
There was only so much grace she’d give me. I knew that too well, knew it deep in my bones, knew it in that stupid ache in my chest and the knot in my throat.
Fuck it. I knew she was avoiding me. It was evident from her lack of responses last night. But that didn’t mean that I couldn’t try.
I pressed the little picture of her on my screen and tapped call for what felt like the millionth time since I drove off last night.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
The person you are trying to reach is not avail ? —
Gritting my teeth, I ended the call and flipped across to our texts instead.
The ones I’d sent last night still sat there, a horrible, gut-punching reminder that I was barely able to contain my feelings for her even when they put her in danger.
I didn’t want to have to keep looking at them, didn’t want to see how desperate my I’m sorry ’s read.
I lifted the phone closer to my mouth and hit the little microphone.
“Princess. Please.”
Delete. Start again.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re mad. I know I don’t deserve an ounce of grace right now, but I swear, I did everything I fucking could to get to you as quickly as possible.”
Liar. You could have left earlier. You could have walked away from him.
Delete.
“I’m a piece of shit. I get it.”
Delete.
“Please, just talk to me. I know I don’t deserve it, but please, Mandy, I’ll take you screaming at me over silence.”
Send.
Keep going.
I leaned forward onto my desk, my mind racing. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do anything. Just don’t block me out. I can’t — I can’t handle another ten years.”
Send.
“I love you. I love you so fucking much and I know I’m screwing everything up.
I know. I just… I wish I could tell you everything.
I wish I could tell you how I’m doing all of this for you, how I can’t get a moment’s sleep because I’m spending every goddamn second trying to figure this out.
I wish I could tell you that I’m worried things are bad again, that I have cause to believe you’re under threat by the same people who were so horrible that I had to hide.
I wish I could tell you that I love you more than you will ever fucking know. I wish…”
My fingers dug into the wood, scratching the varnish and veins.
“I wish we’d have had what you imagined for us, back at the wedding.
That I’d asked you to marry me when I wanted to, that we’d fucked off into the national park with just the people you wanted and married you in that goddamn all-black tux and you in whatever color you wanted, that we’d rented a chateau, that we’d had a bonfire, that we’d celebrated you and me the way you imagined it. ”
Even without her on the other end, I could feel it all slipping through my fingers. Why did this have to hurt so much?
“And I wish we’d had two dogs and cat and kids and a house full of a shit ton of pinball machines, wish we spent Christmases with your mom and New Years with my parents, wish you had a fucking garden full of dead plants that I could replace, wish we had a life that we wanted .
If I had a time machine… shit, I’d make everything happen the way you wanted.
I’d take away every second of suffering that I could and replant each one with happy memories and us . ”
My nail chipped and splintered, and I hissed from the pain.
“But more than fucking anything, princess, I wish I could just tell you all of this. I wish I could lay everything out there for you. But I can’t, at least not yet. So… I’m sorry. And I love you. I love you more than I can ever put into words.”
My thumb hesitated over the send button, too many thoughts and emotions racing through my brain. I could do it. I could send it, clue her in, let her know.
But I couldn’t. She wouldn’t care about the risk to herself, and I knew that too well.
Delete.
Collapsing back into my chair, breakfast no longer sounded like a good idea despite the growling of my stomach. The thought of it made me feel sick, like I’d end up throwing up all over my desk and computers and ruining everything even more than I already had.
I stared at my phone, almost contemplating replaying the two voice notes I’d sent just to hear how positively desperate I sounded and cringe at myself, but for a brief second, almost so quickly I didn’t see it, the little typing bubble appeared from her end before disappearing again.
I shot her another text, too quick, too rash.
Me: Let me explain what happened last night. I’m sure you’ve already heard, but please.
The bubble reappeared for a moment before vanishing.
Me: I don’t want to do this over text. Let me come over. I can explain everything, princess. Just let me see you.
The bubble returned and stayed, and each passing second felt like an hour, like my racing heart was about to beat its way out of my chest and flop onto the desk.
Mandy: Are we still on for the networking event this morning?
I blinked at the screen, my mind caught between elation from a response and absolute horror that she was focusing entirely on that.
Me: Uh, yeah, I’ll be there.
Mandy: Okay. If you say so.
Me: Mandy. Come on.
The seconds ticked by again, pushing the acid up my esophagus.
Mandy: See you in a bit.
————
I didn’t bother with trying to fit in a quick nap.
I’d hopped from the home office to the shower, from the shower to the kitchen, barely stomached my breakfast, got my shit together, and headed out early.
I didn’t want to risk missing another thing — not when she was already upset with me, not when I didn’t want to fuck this up any further.
I’d been distant, yes, but if I ended this it would be because I had to, not because I’d fucked up.
The event was in Denver this time, close to home. Mandy had insisted on driving herself instead of riding with me, and although it grated on me, I would overlook it for her. Stubborn and independent.
I pushed my way through the doors on the other side of check-in, my eyes scanning the crowd of the main room. It wasn’t too packed yet. These things rarely were this early in the morning, and if she wasn’t here yet, I was more than willing to wait.
It didn’t take long.
Less than thirty minutes later, as I sipped a cup of black coffee and one of the spare seats in the room, Mandy came through the doors. Her wild hair was up in a bun, her wool jacket covering the slacks and button-up shirt she wore. Boots on the bottom.
Not dressing for me, then.
Her sullen eyes met mine, barely-covered dark circles beneath them. She huffed out a breath before looking away, bee-lining for the coffee cart.
I have to talk to her.
I lifted myself up out of the chair, pushing through the growing crowd of people until I stood behind her as she ordered her coffee.
I knew she could feel my presence — could see the way she stiffened from the heat of my body, the way her breath shallowed as the man behind the cart told her the total.
I tapped my phone on the card reader before she could protest.
“Is that necessary?” She hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the side and out of the line. “I’m perfectly capable of buying my own coffee.”
“I know that. I was just trying to be nice.”
“It’s rude either way. I don’t need you throwing your money at me,” she snapped. She threw a quick thank-you to the man as he handed over her coffee.
“I wasn’t trying to be rude.”