Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jackson
I n her black tank top, ripped jeans, Converse sneakers, and thick eyeliner, Cassie looks as stylish and effortless as always.
The expression on her face isn't normal.
She's worried. Not about her work or her boyfriend or our parents or our younger siblings.
About me.
My sister smiles. "Usually, I'm the one asking you for advice." She doesn't rub it in. She could—I offered a lot of unsolicited advice about her current boyfriend (and several exes).
I don't regret it—I was looking out for her—but, for the first time, I get how she must have felt. How much it hurt to hear someone she loves tell her not to be with someone else she loves.
All right, maybe I regret one part.
I don't think I ever kicked her when she was down, but fuck if I did—
"I'm an asshole, I'm sorry," I say.
She nods in agreement. "True. But what is this in reference to?"
"Damon."
"Wait a second." She holds her hand to her ear. "Is Jackson Steele apologizing for misjudging Damon Webb?"
"Not when you say it like that."
She holds up her fingers and presses them together in a so close gesture.
Okay, she's right. I owe her a real apology. "I should have given you more space to make your own mistakes."
"And when he breaks my heart again, you'll show up with tissues and a gun?" she offers.
"Of course. The tissues."
"The gun you'll do on your own?" she offers.
"I wouldn't use a gun, Cass. Where's the craft?"
Her raspberry lips curl into a wide smile. "This might help." She holds up a carry-out container of iced drinks.
I take the iced tea.
She sips her almond milk latte and crosses the room to set the container on the breakfast table.
The room seemed big when we got here, but now it feels small. Like there isn't enough space for everything in my head and my heart.
"It is so like you to have a one-night stand and get married." She settles into the chair at the table.
I move toward her. "Is that what Daphne said?"
"She didn't say much, but I put some pieces together. The ring is a bit of a giveaway."
I don't have a smart comeback. I don't want a smart comeback. Only the truth. "She wanted some space."
It's all I can think to say.
People are always speechless in love songs and on TV. I never understood it. It seemed like another affect, another Hollywood idea of love.
I always know what to say.
When I don't, I stop and think and figure it out.
Right now, I can't think enough, but I'm thinking too much. Words don't hit the message. There's something I can't put into coherent sentences.
Something I can't explain with logic.
Is that love?
How could I love someone I've been with for a single night? Even if I've known her a long time. Even if I've known her all my life.
Does love even matter?
Marriage is about commitment. Marriage is about compromise.
Marriage is about a life together.
Cassie interrupts my train of thought. "Are you okay?"
I shake my head.
She nods understanding, accepting the answer, not pushing. "I've been there."
She pauses, leaving me room to expand or shrink back to put up walls or take them down.
When I don't say anything, she asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"
I meet her at the table and sit across from her.
From here, we can only see the desert. The big blue sky. The bright lemon sun, the miles and miles of dirt and dust.
And the cacti Cassie adores.
It's just like her to love prickly drought-resistant plants.
Or is that a joke about her sex life?
No, I'm not going there.
She follows my gaze and smiles at the sight of an especially large cactus. "They are beautiful."
"Barren like your heart," I offer.
She laughs. "I think I'm supposed to make that joke. Only I can't now that you're a married man." Her eyes go to my left hand. "Or should I not joke about it?"
No. It feels good to laugh at it. Well, to hear her laugh at it. It makes me think I'll laugh at it one day. "You can joke about it."
"Good. It's funny," she says. "I mean, who else goes to get a lap dance and comes back with a wedding band?"
I guess Zack told her that. She's right. It's absurd. Ironic.
Something I'll laugh at in a few years.
As a story Daphne and I tell our kids.
Or one I tell my coworkers.
One that seals my fate.
"It seems like she doesn't remember." It nearly breaks my heart to say it. To think it. Which is strange. No one has ever broken my heart before.
I've left women, and women have left me. I've missed partners the way I missed an old sport, a favorite tea, a restaurant.
I felt the lack, but I didn't lose a part of myself.
"Maybe she doesn't," Cassie says.
I take a long sip of the iced tea. It's weak and strong at the same time. Astringent yet lacking flavor.
Mediocre, like most coffee shop tea.
Still, the caffeine helps. And the average quality is familiar. I need that now.
Something stable.
That's another irony. Looking for stability because my decision to marry introduced too much chaos to my life.
That's why people marry. Why I always planned to marry.
To have someone I can count on, something steady.
But maybe that's an illusion. Maybe that's a mirage.
How do you ever really know you can count on someone?
People change, walk away, divorce.
Marriage is a legal contract, yes. I can enforce community property, but there's no way to force someone to love me, care for me, want to stay in my life forever.
I stare at the desert, willing the desolate landscape to answer my questions.
Cassie sits with me. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
I take another sip. "It's not a long story." Not the parts I'd share with her. "We were playing truth or dare. A way to see which of us is more fun."
Cassie raises a brow. "Do I want to know?"
"Do you want to know about my sex life?" I ask.
"No," she says. "But I've already heard too many details. You know I ran into Maddie a few times. Right?"
I did not know that. I shake my head.
Cassie continues, "She let it slip that you have an interesting appreciation of ties. I guess she wanted to know what to buy for your birthday." She tries to imitate Maddie's steady, matter-of-fact way of speaking. "Would Jackson rather see a black tie or a teal tie around my wrists? What about gold? That suits him." She shudders in distaste. "There were some vivid mental images. I almost forgot them. And gold is not your color."
"She went with teal." The joke settles my stomach. Eases the tension in my shoulders. I don't feel great after last night, but I don't feel hungover either. No pounding headache or dry mouth or fuzzy memories.
"Gross." Cassie puts her hands over her face in a show of hiding. "I'm not listening."
For the first time all morning, I smile. For the first time, I feel easy.
I can still joke with my sister. Other things are complicated, but I have her.
She didn't disown me for sleeping with her best friend.
She doesn't hate me because I married her best friend.
"We had sex," I say, "but it wasn't a dare."
"I think you misunderstand my gesture. It means, I don't want details."
"I didn't bring up the ties," I say.
She laughs. "Fair enough." That, too, is easy. Like old times.
Things haven't changed between us.
I open my mouth to say something else, but I catch myself. I don't need to offer anyone details about last night. But I especially don't need to share them with my sister.
I just want to tell someone.
Everyone
Maybe I'm not as different as other men as I like to believe.
Maybe I want everyone to know for a brief moment to have me with mine.
Mine. Does that even make sense?
How can one person belong to another? Why would anyone want someone to belong to them?
Daphne is a strong, independent woman. I would never want to take that from her. I would never want to ask her to be less, to make her world smaller instead of bigger.
Cassie gives me a minute to drink tea and sort through my thoughts. Then she asks, "How did the dares end up on marriage?"
That's a good question. I remember the ceremony, but other parts of the night are hazy. I take a long sip and wait for the image to form in my mind. "There was a couple at the bar. They walked in after a quickie ceremony. It gave her the idea." My lips curl into a smile at the memory of Daphne catching the bouquet. The way she turned to me and raised a brow should we?
"It was her idea?" Cassie fails to hide her surprise. Daphne must have run to her hotel room.
She was in a panic.
Cassie saw that. She assumed it was my idea.
Or maybe it's something about me. People always think I'm the one who broke up with an ex. People always think I'm this puppet master pulling strings.
I take charge of my life, yes, but Daphne does too.
Daphne would never agree to marry someone if she wasn't interested.
"Was she that horrified?" I ask.
Cassie bites her lip. "She was in shock."
"She was adamant, last night. I tried to say no, to remind her we were too drunk to make that decision, but she went off on some medical concept, as proof she was sober, and she teased me about not being any fun."
Cassie laughs. "That's a new one. People don't usually think of marriage as fun."
"I tried to say that." I nod. "But she said a lot of people see it as an adventure for two. We could have that adventure." It doesn't make sense now, but it did last night. "It was romantic."
Doubt fills my sister's eyes.
"She's the one who proposed," I say. "She got on one knee."
She doesn't say anything, but her expression stays apprehensive.
"See." I pull out my cell phone to show her the picture.
Cassie studies the screen carefully. "You look happy."
"I was."
"How much did you have to drink?" she asks with a careful voice. The practiced mix of caution and direct inquiry that comes with life tethered to a man in recovery.
I used to think he was an anchor around her neck. Even when I started to like him, to become friends.
That's too much chaos. It can undo her.
But the love she has for him holds her together in a way nothing else would.
I didn't understand that. I do now.
"Enough," I answer with the same caution. "But that wasn't it. It was something else." I felt a pull to be with her.
It wasn't the sort of pull people sing about or the kind of thing I see in the movies.
It was something deeper, truer.
A desire to tie myself to her. Not as an owner or as a belonging. As family.
Cassie will always be my sister. I'll always be her brother. My parents will always be my parents. But outside of my immediate family, I don't have any close connections.
I have friends. I have exes. I have coworkers. I have a job with a contract.
But I don't have a partner, an other half, a passion.
I don't have anyone who calls to say they missed me.
I don't have anyone who asks anything of me.
Only the bank, demanding a mortgage payment for thirty years.
I thought that was freedom. It is, in a certain way, but it's a cage too.
But then—
"If Daphne really doesn't remember, she was too inebriated to sign a contract. We can get an annulment." I click into lawyer mode. The facts. The logic. Of course, a quickie Vegas wedding, after a night of partying, is an easy annulment. Of course, that's the rational decision.
Cassie is a smart, logical person, but she's an artist too. She looks at me with concern. She looks at me like I'm a song she's struggling to write. She's not sure if it's a sad song or a happy one. If this is a tragedy or a fun memory. "Is that what you want?"
The answer should be obvious. I'm not an artist. I'm not a romantic.
I do what makes sense.
My entire life, I've done what makes sense.
Why would I want to continue a hasty elopement?
It feels right.
That's all I have.
No logic.
No facts.
No rationality.
Only pure instinct.
That's not a good reason.
"If that's what she wants," I say.
That's not the entire truth, but it's close enough.
I wouldn't ever want to trap her. I would never want to be with anyone who didn't want to be with me.
But especially not Daphne.
Cassie nods with understanding. "I'm sorry."
I let my gaze shift to the bright blue sky. A beautiful day. No clouds. No problems. "Shit happens."
She nods.
I text Daphne before I can change my mind.
Jackson: We can talk whenever you're ready. Don't worry about breaking news to me. If you were too drunk to remember the marriage, you weren't fit to sign a contract. We can annul the whole thing and move on with our lives. If that's what you want.
Cassie glances at the screen, sees I'm texting her best friend, waits for me to finish. After I set the phone face down on the table, she says, "Look at it this way; at least now, Damon and I can't be mad at the two of you ever having sex."
"You can't?" I ask. "Can I get that in writing?"
She shakes her head. "Absolutely not." Her expression is easy, teasing, but I still feel the weight of the betrayal.
Is it all in my head? "You're not mad?"
"No. I gave her my blessing A little while ago. Not that she needed it." She taps her chin. "That would be a fun role reversal, wouldn't it? Instead of you, growling at Damon don't touch my sister , as if I'm your property, I claim ownership of you." She stands up and addresses the room as if she's giving a speech. "No one can sleep with my brother until I say they can."
"You're deranged," I say.
"A deranged feminist icon," she says.
She's right. I've had friends ask my permission to ask Cassie out, as if, as her brother, I had some sort of right to approve or disapprove of her partners.
And I told most of them hell, no . I certainly expressed my distrust of her current boyfriend.
She didn't ask.
She didn't want my opinion.
I was trying to protect her, yes, but it wasn't my choice to make.
Even so—"You sound like Zack."
She laughs. "Oh my god. Do Rosencrantz and Guildenstern know about this yet?"
"Is that a literary reference?" I tease.
She huffs. "I read books."
"It's from a play."
"Even better. Theater is on a stage."
"Your songwriting makes you an expert in theater?" I ask.
"I'm sorry. We can't all read literary icons like John Grisham."
My lips curl into a smile. I walked into that one. "Keep me company until Daph is ready to talk."
"Daph?" She raises a brow. "You call her Daph now?"
"She is my wife." My eyes go to my watch. The one she teased me about. "For a few days at least." I don't have a license in Nevada. I can't oversee the divorce here.
Again, Cassie raises a brow, but she nods sure . "Want to lose at 500 rummy?"
"Do you have a deck of cards?"
"No, but they should have one downstairs."
We take our iced teas and head down to the gift shop, buy candy, trinkets, and a few decks of cards.
When we get back, we fall into an easy rhythm for a few hours.
I forget I married her best friend last night. I order room service, I drink cups and cups of tea, I lose to my sister.
And then I see something that changes things.
An email from my boss. He heard the news from Rip. He saw the pictures.
He's glad I finally tied the knot with my girlfriend.
Does he know about the frisky business on the phone too?
Fuck.
No. Rip wouldn't spell it out.
And even if he did—
It's different if it's my wife.
I know enough about the world to know that much.
As far as he knows, I've been seeing Daphne for a long time.
As far as he knows, I made an intelligent, albeit impulsive, adult decision.
I'm finally a married man.
And I'm finally invited to dinner at his house. With his family.
Next weekend.
This is a career maker.
The thing that will make me partner.
And admitting it was a drunk mistake is sure to end my time at the firm.
But can I really ask that of Daphne?