Forty-Two
UNDER THE CHANDELIER, HE PULLS ME INTO HIS ARMS.
I’ve fought the menace of memory in every corner of the house, the painful reminders of everything I lost. Yet, on the grounds where I grew up, in Jackson’s arms, this is the first time today I’ve felt like I’m home. We spin, his gentle grip guiding me while he caresses, his practiced athleticism capturing the grace of a guy who is exactly where he wants to be.
With me.
I fight the feeling. I fight it hard.
It doesn’t help when Jackson starts softly singing along to the song in my ear. I’m pulled, shaken from here to headphones shared on the steps of East Coventry High, or drives home when he would sing out loudly to whatever pop song was on the radio. With Jackson whispering lyrics in my ear, I smile despite myself.
And, surprising even me, I speak.
“I didn’t mean it. What I said earlier.”
Jackson stops singing. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”
“When…” I swallow. I hate how Jackson hurt me. How he deceived me.
Still—while maybe I’m just weakening in his embrace, right now I feel like I shouldn’t write off every day and every way he was good to me. Which means not lying the way he did.
I make the leap. “When I said we didn’t really love each other,” I clarify. “It wasn’t true. Not for me.”
Jackson doesn’t dare speak. The moment stretches, suspended like the chandelier over us.
“I loved you,” I finish. “So much.”
He stops swaying. Withdrawing, he looks straight into my eyes.
We stay motionless, surrounded on the crowded dance floor. No plan, it occurs to me, have I ever inscribed in my head the way I did with Jackson’s every feature. The precise swirl in his chocolate-colored eyes. The fraught line of his mouth.
“I still love you, Olivia,” he pronounces with unwavering conviction. “I didn’t cheat on you. I swear. Why can’t you believe me?”
I look to the side, evading his earnest sincerity—and my gaze lands on my father dancing with Maureen. Maureen, who’s wearing the necklace I was promised was mine. My father, who not long ago pretended I wasn’t someone he threw away, toasting me in front of his friends with words I would have given everything for him to have meant.
I know how dangerous it is, accepting the assurances of people you love just because you want to. What are pretty words, no matter how much I need to hear them, in the end? Nothing but weapons aimed at my heart.
“You could never deserve someone cheating on you,” Jackson says, holding me close. “No one does, but you… I would never do that to you.”
He has no idea how much his words break me. Wasn’t that my deepest fear? That I somehow deserved deception because I’m not good inside? That Jackson cheating on me was just an… evening of the scales?
“That’s not true,” I say, my voice warbling with tears.
“Olivia.” He strokes my face, his features twisted with pain for me. “Olivia, no. You deserve to be cherished.”
I look into his eyes, wanting to believe him. My mom didn’t deserve to be cheated on. I know that above all else. Maybe… I take a breath. Maybe I didn’t, either.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait until you believe me,” Jackson goes on. “I’ll wait forever.”
Forever. Forever.The syllables pound in my ears. Poem, promise, or prison sentence?
As if I’m determining escape routes or planning new phases, I fight my raging heart rate, forcing myself to evaluate his offer emotionlessly. Okay, not emotionlessly. Rationally. I can manage rationally. He would wait forever? Obviously hyperbolic, yet… Is there an amount of time after which I could forgive him? Trust him, even?
I’m not sure.
Part of me really wants to find out, though.
If we had forever—
I’m opening my mouth to reply when my eyes land on the security officers posted in a corner of the tent. When my dance with Jackson last directed my eyeline their way, they were alone, stern in their complacency. Now they’re not. The man with them is—
Mitchum Webber.
If we had forever…
Embarrassment rages under my flash-fire panic. Foolish. Why even wonder if I could eventually forgive Jackson? I never have enough time. Not enough in this house. Now, not enough in this heist.
How could I have forgotten the time?In the arms holding me, I have my answer. Jackson distracted me. No—I distracted myself with Jackson. In the day’s critical minutes, I let heart-aching hypotheticals and hopes suspended under the chandelier divert me from the harshest of realities.
Three hours have passed. Mitchum is about to report the safe was opened.
Time is up.