19. Aftermath
NINETEEN
AFTERMATH
GIGI
An entire floor of the hospital is swarming with special agents, officers, and other personnel. One room holds doctors carefully monitoring Parker after his operation—he took Dawson’s bullet while saving us, the projectile having shredded through his elbow so severely that he might lose the use of his arm forever.
Dawson is receiving treatment for his shoulder wound in another room. He refuses to answer any questions until he has a lawyer present.
Two special ops men are assigned to guard each room.
Jackson and I answer all the questions his team and Davis have for us. We’re slowly piecing things together. I share about the things I found in my research at the Buzz, and about my anonymous source. It helps the agents create a profile on Dawson. They believe he must have been my source and carried a huge chip on his shoulder for many years, seeing his friend Parker constantly being the overachiever.
They’d searched his locker and desk at the police station and found copies in a folder of various articles I’d written over the years based on the source’s leads. In a sick way, he must have gotten off on his tips turning into exposés in the Buzz. Like that would prove he was better than Parker.
The night of Jackson’s stakeout with Davis and the officers at the docks, Parker said Dawson was expecting his biggest shipment of arms yet. But when Davis corralled the two of them into assisting on Jackson’s stakeout at the last minute, Dawson panicked knowing the smugglers’ truck was en route.
We believe he’d directed me through the anonymous text to snoop at the warehouse to create a diversion. Something to distract Jackson so that Dawson could wave off the truck when it arrived. Dawson was never in his radio position, but instead in the warehouse waiting for me so he could attack, then ran to the truck when it arrived.
He’d threatened to expose Parker’s role in everything unless he kept his mouth shut. As for Mike, after we’d questioned him at the club, he’d placed a nervous call to his usual number from the burner phone to tell them about us. We believe it was also Dawson who met him and made that attack, trying to prevent him talking if we or anyone else came at him with questions again.
As the agents and officers continue to sort through evidence and interviews, no doubt, more will come to light. Right now, concern fills me as I watch Jackson crack.
“Are you okay?” I side up to him, desperate to be there for him.
His jaw clenches as he grits his teeth. “No. I’m absolutely not okay. Those are our friends, Parker and Dawson. How can this be happening? I feel so betrayed, like I knew them and trusted them, when in reality I didn’t know them at all. None of us did.” He presses his hand flat against the window of Parker’s room, as if yearning for the joyful past our group once shared.
I cover his hand with mine and squeeze it. “I know this hurts.”
“Yeah. See Gigi, I don’t always win. Being the hero sucks sometimes, because this feels far, far from a win… knowing what the two of them have gone through? Learning of the bad decisions they made instead of turning to any of us for help? Seeing them about to be ripped apart from their families as they face the consequences of their actions?”
“Jackson…”
“I-I need to go for a walk down on the beach and clear my head.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, please. I need to be alone. I’ll find you later.” He brushes my hand away, pushing my heart away in the process. I let him be, as I’m convinced we’ll be together tonight to talk and heal. I’ll be the hero for him then—consoling him, listening to him, loving him however he needs.
I remain longer, holding Kelsea’s hand until Addie takes her home with her. Beau has Dawson’s brothers already there with them, too.
There’s a lot we all need to unravel about their situations. For now, we cling to one another as friends, as a chosen family, to get through this.
Returning to Jackson’s house, everything weighs me down. I should be happily at work, typing furiously away on my article about the illegal fishing ring, but I can’t even start. It hurts too much, recalling the somber faces of everyone tonight. I played a small role in tearing apart families by chasing this story to begin with, and I can’t reconcile that with the long years of friendship we shared.
Over the years, Dad would kill stories he didn’t want the people of Love Beach to know about. I haven’t always agreed with him—even though there have been times when I did the same. Knowing when to stop, when a story isn’t good for our town, is an art form. Yet, as a journalist, I always believed our duty was to set out the facts so people could debate and grow.
This story might never see the light of day for so many reasons. Perhaps it’s because of how devastated Parker’s sister is. How Dawson’s brothers are lost without him. Or how close Jackson and I have become—even how close to death I came. But that’s a decision for tomorrow whether to write the article.
I spend some time cleaning up for Jackson—doing the dishes, scrubbing down bathrooms—anything to keep my worry at bay. When it’s almost sunset, I decide to scour the beaches for him. Only I hear a phone ring, an actual land line somewhere in the house.
I rush toward the noise and discover it hidden on a bookshelf: a red phone. Do I answer it? What if it’s a top-secret message from his command? Or what if it’s him, injured on the beach, trying to reach me because I still haven’t replaced my smartphone?
Tentatively, I reach out and answer. “Hello?”
“Gigi! Thank God. Come to the end of the pier now. As fast as you can. Hurry!” Jackson’s urgent, panicked tone jolts me.
My heart skips a beat. “Coming!”
I hang up and make a mad dash to my car, my mind racing with thoughts that more threats might be on the way—that someone could be about to strike Jackson’s house. It would be just like him to warn me and keep me safe if he couldn’t be there in person.
A few blocks later, I dismiss those fears: Ybarra has been captured. The mission is over, although it wouldn’t surprise me if Jackson has people here sweeping the town to protect it, just in case. Davis, too, had called in every available officer and volunteer to patrol. Nothing left to chance.
So why did Jackson call? Fear grips me as I speed through town and reach the boardwalk with lightning speed. I don’t even know if I turn off the car, as I launch out and run as fast as my legs can carry me. Even after missing some training sessions recently, I manage the sprint, although I’ve had plenty of opportunities to do so over the past several days with Jackson.
Rounding the pier and stepping onto the long row of whitewashed wooden slats, the crash of the ocean waves below mirrors my pounding heart. I spot him at the far end—he flings his hands in the air as soon as our eyes meet, beckoning me on, even though the pier seems to stretch endlessly between us.
I push myself harder, legs pumping, lungs burning, when I pass a boy excitedly pointing up to the sky. “Look, Mommy, a helicopter!” he shouts. A quick glance upward nearly makes me stumble onto the boards, but I regain my balance. I’m almost there—just a moment longer.
As I near, Jackson’s arms are outstretched, and before I know it, I launch into him. I wrap my arms around him in a tight embrace, and the impact sends us spinning until we finally come to a stop, our lips colliding in a desperate kiss. He overwhelms me with the intensity of his mouth until I must pull back, gasping for air, my chest heaving from the run.
“What is it, Jackson? You have me scared out of my mind.” I search his eyes, as they probe into mine, like fighting to find my soul.
“I have to go.” His gaze flits toward the approaching helicopter, and my world crumbles at his feet.
“Wha—?” I lose all control of my body, going limp in his arms, a stream of tears pouring out of my eyes. “No. No. Stay another night, please.”
He clutches me to him, lifting me off my feet, holding me so tight our bodies meld together. “I wish I could, darlin’.” His voice cracks, and he sniffles—yes, the strong, fearless hero is crying, too.
“How could this be? So soon?” I whimper into his ear.
“Mission over. On to the next. They called me right before I called you. I only prayed you’d make here in time for me to say good?—”
“Don’t say it. Nope.” I pull away sharply from him, pressing my hand over his mouth. “We won’t say it. We can’t. Oh, God, we just got together and now…”
Tears spill out as the helicopter blades grow louder. I know we have only minutes—maybe seconds.
“Hey, soldier,” he says, his voice stern but still breaking, as he sets my feet on the pier. He takes my wet cheeks in his hands, forcing my eyes to his. “I need you to do one thing for me. Do you think you can promise me something? Promise me.”
I nod, my voice catching and my nose running. “Yes. Anything.”
“I’m going to need you to be strong for me, G. Because I can’t leave here seeing you crying. That would break me. We don’t have any control over this, okay? So, at least for now, see me off with all the strength you can muster. Promise?”
My throat is too tight to speak, so I nod, my promise clear in my eyes.
“Good girl.” He pulls me into another fierce embrace. Our bodies press together as the helicopter hovers above, its blades threatening to blow us away. But that’s fine with me—as long as we’re together, no matter where the wind takes us.
I find my voice. “Now you promise me something, soldier. Promise me you’ll come back. No matter what, find your way back to me, and I’ll be waiting—right here in Love Beach, forever, for as long as it takes.”
He kisses me tenderly, as if not wanting to break me with too forceful a parting kiss, but I’m already shattered. The promise to be strong is all that keeps me from collapsing on the pier and screaming at the approaching helicopter, No! You can’t have him! He’s my hero and I need him!
“I fucking love you, G,” he swears, and then the warmth of his body leaves me, breaking me in two. I gasp as, in true hero fashion, he leaps off the pier and lands on a rope ladder that, by some miracle, has descended from the copter just in time. He clings to it with one hand while saluting me with the other, shouting, “I promise. Be strong until I return, darlin’.”
It’s the ultimate hero’s exit, vanishing into the dark night like the climax of a Hollywood spy film. I hold back my tears for the moment, though I know they’ll come later—I’ll drown my sorrow at home on my couch until I find a way to live without him.
For now, I wave my hands until I can no longer see or hear the helicopter, then continue waving, hoping if he has high-powered binoculars, he can see me.
Then my heart jumps into my throat—I didn’t say I love him back.
“I love you, Jackson. I love you,” I whisper, praying the gentle sea breeze carries my words to him. And then it all breaks—the dam of my emotions surges, tears streaming down my face. Exhausted and on the verge of collapse, I nearly fall off the pier when two arms wrap around me, holding me upright—it’s Belle.
“I’ve got you, baby. I’m here, so lean on me,” she says.
“H-how did you know I’d be here?” I ask with my voice pitiful and weak.
“Jackson called me after he called you. He told me he was leaving and exactly where to find you—he knew you’d need someone to hold you after he was gone.”
I cry even harder now, salty tears mixing with the ocean waves. Jackson knows me so well. Had I known, things between us might have been different over the years—maybe we’d have been together long before now and had more time together. Now he’s off to an undisclosed location, battling dangerous forces, and my tears fall freely as I tremble in my sister’s embrace.
“I know, honey. Let it all out. Standing by, watching you both say goodbye broke my heart—I can only imagine how you feel,” she comforts me, gently rubbing my back.
“No. It’s not goodbye. He’ll be back, Belle. This isn’t the end. We just began… God, my heart aches. How can it hurt this much? I never knew a heart could hurt so deeply. Is that what you felt all along while fighting for Davis’s love? And I was so cruel when I said I was tired of you pining for him. I’m such a terrible sister.”
“Not entirely,” she laughs softly. “For years, I wondered if the day would come when you’d open up enough to let someone in. And now you have—with Jackson, just as I always hoped.”
“Oh God, how am I going to survive this?”
“You will,” she assures me.
“Take me to his place, Belle. I need his scent, his space, and I want to steal his clothes and wear them every day. I just. Need. Him.” I sob between each word.
“Yes, let’s go. My dear sister, I’ve got you. We’ll get through this together. Want to stop for ice cream for me and alcohol for you on the way?”
I sputter, unable to form a coherent reply, but I know she’ll dash to the store for supplies. Leave it to Jackson to know that I’d need my sister to comfort me after he left. My hero saves the day, once again.