Twenty
Jack
Asia was actually smiling, loose in the shoulders, shifting in her new boots to test the fit.
I’d almost let myself fall into her good feeling.
Then that voice slid into my ears.
Slick.
Amused.
Like he told a joke and I was the fucking punchline.
Then it came again, almost gleeful now. “Like I said, I hate to cut in here, but put those weapons down. Now .”
Every muscle in my body snapped tight, but I didn’t react.
Just cataloged the danger.
Made a plan.
There were at least two more downstairs. A couple more upstairs, too.
They were here the whole time.
Under the fucking beds.
Beds I’d forgotten to check under because I was too fucking stupid to live.
God, I’d fucked up.
“You fucked up, cowboy.”
I took in the man.
Five-ten, stocky with the flat eyes of a killer that his good ole boy mask didn’t hide.
“You were under the beds,” I said.
“If you knew that, woulda made sense to check, huh?”
I knew that, but I’d been so distracted and so eager to get out, I overlooked it. I hadn’t even heard them coming out, which should have been impossible. But the fucking dead were walking so what did impossible mean anymore ?
Still, I didn’t need this asshole rubbing my nose in it, even though it was the least I deserved.
But I could still fix this.
“This place is yours. We’ll be on our way,” I said, slowly angling close to Asia.
“Don’t you think we have some things to discuss first?” the man said.
“Let’s go downstairs and discuss them,” I said, the plan clicking into place.
First step was to get them in the open.
Give myself more space to work.
I started walking, careful to keep Asia within arm’s reach. Thankfully, she followed, and the two men trailed after her.
The descent down those eleven steps felt interminable.
The men didn’t brandish their weapons yet, but I knew that was only a matter of time.
“Where you folks come from?” the older man who was downstairs asked.
He looked at Asia, who said nothing at first.
“No need to be nervous, sweetheart. We’re just trying to make it like everyone else,” he said .
I recognized her expression.
Outwardly serene, but I knew her well enough by now to see her fear.
And it wasn’t misplaced.
Or maybe it was.
I didn’t know.
And I didn’t intend to find out.
“Why don’t we?—”
The older man’s words were cut off by the blade that pierced his throat. Before he could even finish his sentence, he slumped down.
The others were shocked, and I took advantage of that.
I lunged toward the man closest to me, driving my other knife into his side, sure I hit his kidney. A split second later, I unholstered my gun and fired off two shots.
“Let’s go.”
I led Asia outside, and then locked the door. We took the long way back to the judge’s house. I watched it for about ten minutes. Then, once I was sure everything was clear, I led her back inside.
She didn’t say a word. But when the door clicked closed, she turned to face me.
“You killed them in cold blood. ”
You killed them in cold blood.
The words ping-ponged around my brain, but for some reason, I couldn’t process them.
That was what she thought?
I studied her, really looking at her.
I’d done that for days.
I’d never admit it, and was grateful she never caught me, but staring at her face as she slept was the highlight of whatever my life was now.
When I looked at her like that, I saw peace.
Even before all this, when was the last time I experienced that?
I remembered being so proud and peaceful when I taught Evan to ride his bike. But other than that—I never had.
Seeing that peace on Asia’s face, knowing that I had a part in putting it there; knowing that I protected her from all the things that were happening had a dual effect. It made me that much invested in making sure that peace would always be there. And it made me proud of myself.
Another almost unprecedented feeling.
Sure, I took care of Evan, but that was what I was supposed to do. It was the least that I owed him.
I’d been a superlative soldier, but it was that or end up a fucking lowlife like Carl Thorne—so there was no real choice.
I hadn’t poured everything into my career out of love, duty, or even honor; I was just running.
But this thing with Asia wasn’t any of that, and I had no frame of reference for it.
But those words, “You killed them in cold blood,” gutted me.
Maybe I overreacted.
I let my gaze caress her face, taking in features that were so new, yet so familiar.
She was as beautiful as ever.
In truth, I couldn’t imagine a scenario where she wouldn’t be—but those eyes, dark, probing, studying me… There was no warmth in them.
None of the humor that lit her up when I made her smile, or, more likely, when she laughed at one of her own jokes.
Those eyes, always so full of life, were blank now.
Suddenly, I laughed .
I couldn’t stop myself. I let out that full, hearty belly laugh, and by the time it died down, Asia’s eyes blazed with anger.
“Don’t ever fucking laugh at me,” she said.
I hit a nerve, and the satisfaction of that wouldn’t go unrecognized.
I smiled at her, then took a step toward her.
“You look like you want to hit me," I said, unable to keep the glee out of my voice.
“I’d never do such a thing. You just killed three people in cold blood,” she said.
Her words killed the last of my laughter.
I glared at her for a second and then spun on my heel. “I’ll make dinner tonight,” I called over my shoulder.
“Jackson…” she said.
I didn’t respond.
Asia
“Jackson…”
His name slipped out before I could call it back.
He stopped but didn’t look at me.
“Yeah? ”
His voice was clipped, his body was rigid, hostile—so different from the reverence I felt in his expression and his touch mere moments ago.
He closed himself off from me.
I wish I could take back his name.
Take back the other words I just uttered.
Instead, I said, “You don’t have to cook.”
I wanted to kick my own ass.
Words, communication, conveying feelings.
That was my job, had been my life for years.
And now, when it mattered most, that was the best I came up with?
So fucking lame.
Jack huffed, his nostrils flaring and then he shook his head. “I said I got it.”
Then he marched out of the room.
Maybe I should have been relieved.
After all, there was space between us now, so presumably, I’d be able to think more clearly, and he’d have time to calm down.
But not even a second passed before I accepted that was complete bullshit.
I mean, what was there to process ?
He’d done it because he didn’t think he had a choice.
And I’d said what I said because my mouth got ahead of my brain.
A doubly stupid mistake because if today had taught me nothing else, it underscored that I was completely ill-equipped to deal with this world.
I needed Jack.
Not in some fluffy, nebulous way.
I needed him like I needed oxygen, because like oxygen, Jack kept me alive.
Processing that, having it shoved into my face in such an undeniable way, had me as shaken up as I’d been since that elevator had gone dark.
Because needing someone—relying on someone—was completely alien to me.
Relying on people left you vulnerable. And a long time ago, I promised myself that I would never be vulnerable.
These last days taught me a painful truth: I couldn’t rely on myself, and that was scarier than any monster or any gun freak looting houses could ever be .
If I’d accepted that a minute sooner, I wouldn’t be in the mess I found myself in now.
Now I had to figure out how to clean it up.
Wondered if I could clean it up.
I went to the bathroom, adjusted my clothes, and then took a moment to look in the mirror.
It seemed like the same Asia that always greeted me. But there was a weight in my eyes that wasn’t there before. One that I knew would be much heavier without Jack, assuming I would have even made it this long.
Because despite the circumstances—as confusing and horrific as they were—Jack brought an ease, a lightness to those moments that were so dark. And that might be gone now, all because I couldn’t keep my fucking mouth shut.
“Get yourself together, girl,” I muttered in the mirror.
I took a quick shower, and then left the bedroom.
Jack was in the bar area.
“We’ll have the last of the judge’s spaghetti and a can of peas for dinner,” he said .
I was surprised he spoke first, but on second thought, I clocked what was happening.
Logistics were one of Jack’s specialties, so he focused on those, the nuts and bolts of what it took to stay alive.
And avoided everything else.
“Can I help?” I asked.
He didn’t stop, didn’t even look in my direction.
I cleared my throat. “Jack…”
“I told you I got it,” he said, not even attempting to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
My hackles raised—but only because I felt called out.
Instead of indulging the impulse to fight, I simply nodded and then sat. If I didn’t feel like shit, I would have patted myself on the back for my growth.
But whatever silver lining that was, was no match for the rainstorm here now.
Jack wasn’t the biggest talker, but his presence always gave me comfort.
Now, I may as well have been alone.
He didn’t even radiate anger .
It was like he wasn’t there at all, and that left me bereft.
Still, my pride wouldn’t let me open my mouth.
The circumstances made pride an extravagant luxury, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
Another great childhood coping mechanism that I still hadn’t been able to shake.
“Soup’s up,” Jack said.
It may as well have been fuck you.
His first words in—I looked up at the clock—forty-five minutes, and any doubt I had about how hard this would be was dispelled.
Suddenly exhausted, I ate my food and tried to pretend I wasn’t bothered.
Jack did, too, and he was a hell of a lot better at this game than me.
After dinner, I wordlessly cleaned up, and forced myself not to look in his direction—and to not give into my frustration.
We were adults.
We were in a fucked-up situation.
We could have a conversation.
I wiped the already clean counter again, and then turned to face him .
“So today?—”
“Don’t.” Jack’s voice was like glass over concrete.
I refused to be deterred.
“Jack, what I mea?—”
“Asia, I told you to fucking drop it.”
Oh, a name drop. He was serious.
So was I.
“I know what you said, but I’m not your subordinate, and we need to talk,” I said, trying to keep my voice as steely as his.
He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Fine,” he said with a shrug that was anything but casual, “talk.”
Before I could speak, he was up and out of the room.
“Very mature, Jackson,” I called out loud enough for him to hear, but I didn’t follow.
A few minutes later, Jack emerged from the bedroom, his scowl firmly in place.
I fell in behind him as he marched up from the basement. I knew this routine well. We checked the entire house top to bottom and made sure nothing was out of place and that everything was secure .
We’d gotten better at it—or really, I’d gotten better—so the process took less than an hour.
By the time we were done, it was dark and time for us to turn in for the night.
Not a single word had passed between us.
On the surface, it might have been a good thing, Jack and I moving like a well-oiled machine.
But it wasn’t that. We did work like a well-oiled machine, but there was friction there, a tension that left me exhausted.
And too exhausted to apologize, or again try to explain myself.
I needed Jack, but more than that, I wanted him.
Wanted him to talk to me.
Wanted whatever it was about Jack that kept me from feeling completely alone.
I just needed to tell him that, but I had no idea how. And every glance at his steel-eyed expression, the hard glint in his eye made it that much more impossible.
So even though I felt like I was going to burst, I didn’t say anything.
I showered, changed into pajamas, sure to keep my shoes and gun close by, and sat on the edge of the bed.
It was like nights before. Jack, ever the gentleman, would let me sleep first. Everything inside of me wanted to continue to pretend, but when Jack walked by, I reached out and interlaced my fingers with his.
The room was pitch-black, but I easily imagined his expression, feeling his anger and his angst.
The Asia before would have used that as an excuse to walk away.
But me, now, knew I couldn’t shrink away from that.
I tightened my grip on Jack’s fingers.
His hand was stiff in mine—his thick, warm fingers familiar, but the way he held himself apart from me was different. I could tell he wanted to pull away.
But he didn’t.
I squeezed his hand, relying on him for strength when I had no right to.
Then, on a deep breath, I spoke. “I need you, Jackson.”
The words flew out of my mouth and into the darkness, hitting my pride like the sharpest dagger.
“I need you, and I hate it. ”
His gaze didn’t leave mine. “Good. You should hate it. Because it makes you weak.”
The words sliced through me.
Maybe they were meant to. But I didn’t let go of his hand.
And I still felt him tighten his hold for the briefest moment.
Or was that just my imagination?
I wasn’t sure.
But I didn’t let go.
I chuckled, though, no longer surprised that he made me laugh, even at a time like this. And more than happy to focus on something else. “Should I be offended that you didn’t try to deny it?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he flipped on the camping lantern, and filled the room with dim orange-hued LCD light.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, Asia,” he said, his eyes on mine.
He sat on the bed next to me, his hand still in mine. His expression also softened ever so slightly, but that change only allowed me to see his hurt that much more clearly.
Hurt that I caused.
Hurt that I needed to fix .
“The last time I needed someone—” I began, then hesitated.
I couldn’t open that door.
I wouldn’t open that door.
Not now.
Not ever.
“I…” My words trailed on a shaky breath, and when Jack squeezed my hand, the first tear broke free.
I threw myself into his arms, letting him hold me as the tears flowed—and flow they did—for the girl I had been, for the woman I had grown into, for the woman I knew I would need to become. And through it all, Jackson held me, keeping his grip tight as my breath returned to normal.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You don’t?—”
“No, Jackson. I am sorry. I know how it sounded. How it made you feel.”
My breath hitched. “What you did today…killing them? You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even flinch. No one’s ever done that for me. No one’s ever thought I was worth it.”
My throat closed up, my words jagged.
“I know it wasn’t just for me. I know it was survival. But still…thank you.”
And while I was sure I sounded like a fucking idiot, feeling exposed sharing a part of my story that I always kept to myself, I held his gaze, hoping he understood.
Hoping one day, he might tell me some of his story.
Until then…
“Jackson,” I whispered, my gaze still on his.
“Yeah?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“Would you kiss me?”