Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
JACKSON
Ilie in my bed, my heart heavy as I stare blankly at the ceiling, wearing the sweatshirt Isabelle made for me.
It’s been seventeen days, nine hours, and eleven minutes since I last saw her.
I miss her.
So fucking much.
The first week, I did nothing. Didn’t leave my apartment at all.
I felt Isabelle everywhere, saw her even if she wasn’t there.
The memories of her laughing in my kitchen.
The scent of her jasmine and fruity perfume in my sheets.
Her half-used skin-care products on my bathroom counter—I’d bought exact copies of all the products she used to make it easier whenever she stayed over.
During week two, I forced myself to start job-hunting through the pain. Researching firms and consulting roles in the architecture industry. Updating my résumé. Drafting cover letters. And among that, starting my applications for architecture school.
My school applications are progressing okay, but so far, most of my job applications have been rejected—even before the interview stage.
Apparently, having CEO experience and trying to switch to a traditional employee role is challenging.
I don’t know if it’s because recruiters think I’m overqualified, not willing to do nitty-gritty work, or that I’ll jump ship as soon as a more senior role comes along.
I’ve tried to address these things in my cover letter, but still … nothing.
My phone on my desk starts ringing, and I reluctantly get out of bed, a throbbing pain pounding my head. My sleep has become even worse since I broke things off with Isabelle.
When I check my phone, it’s Lucy calling me.
She reached out to me, also shocked and heartbroken, after finding out about Mom and Andrew. We ended up having a long chat, and she assured me that nothing would change between us. At her encouragement, I started seeing a therapist to process my feelings about Mom’s infidelity.
My phone continues ringing.
I pick up the call, and it’s Anna’s cheery voice instead of Lucy’s, which rings through my phone’s speaker. “Hi, Uncle Jace!”
The last time I saw her was dinner at my place before everything exploded. I’d do anything to go back to then.
“Hi, Anna.”
“You sound sad.” I picture Anna frowning. “Are you sad, Uncle Jace?”
A lump forms in my throat. “I’m doing okay.”
Not really.
“I haven’t seen you and Isabelle in a long time. I miss you both.”
My heart cracks open. “Sorry, Anna.” I can’t bring myself to tell her what happened. “It’s been … busy.”
“That’s okay. Anyway, Mommy says you’re applying for a new job and architecture school.
That’s amazing! I’m proud of you for following your dreams, Uncle Jace!
Keep it up.” Anna giggles. “Don’t tell Mommy I used her phone to call you, though.
She and Daddy won’t let me have my own phone until I’m twelve. ”
For the first time in what feels like forever, a tiny smile pulls at my lips, warmth tugging my chest. “I won’t. I appreciate your encouragement, Anna.”
Anna’s right. Despite the job application rejections, I’m feeling more determined. Persistent.
For the first time in my life, I’m finally doing something for myself, and I don’t care how long it takes; I’m going to keep pushing forward and jump through as many hurdles as I have to.
More selfishly, I can’t let my conversation with Isabelle at The Daily Brew be the last we have. I just need to get my life together first.
After ending the call with Anna, I pull out my notebook and pen, flipping to a fresh page.
My therapist, Barbara, encouraged me to start journaling, and it’s been a helpful way to brain-dump my thoughts. Some days, I pretend I’m writing to Isabelle instead, telling her about my day.
After our second session this week, Barbara gave me a homework assignment—to spend thirty minutes doing something that makes me happy, something solely for me.
So, today, I do just that. I start sketching a floor plan of my dream house, letting my creativity lead me and pretending there are no limitations. It has four bedrooms, a pool, a spacious kitchen, a library, and a fashion studio.
The end product is messy and full of scribbles and nowhere near professional, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel imperfect at all.
And then I realize I only included a library and a fashion studio because of Isabelle—because she’s the only woman I envisage building my dream house with, the only woman I want to spend forever with.
I asked Aaron to ask Jen if Isabelle was doing okay, and I heard she’d been busy with work. I wonder what she’s doing right now. She’s probably occupied with final preparations for her fashion show.
God, I wish she were with me, wish I could cuddle and kiss her again.
My vision blurs, and I close my eyes, swiping my palm down my face. When I reopen them, there’s a spot in my sketch that’s blurred—wet from a teardrop that fell onto the paper.
The sudden sound of the front door unlocking causes my ears to perk up.
What the hell?
I stand and head to my bedside table to unplug the lamp, bringing it with me as I then tiptoe to the bedroom door.
My heart beats faster, and I hold my breath, getting ready to strike the intruder if they come here.
There’s no way I’m going down without a fight. I still have to make things right with Isabelle and—
“Are you sure this is a good idea? What if Jackson’s not home?”
“All my ideas are good, babe. Ten bucks he’s just sad in his room, thinking about Isabelle.”
My guard drops at the familiar voices, a frown forming on my face. I step out into the living room, my suspicions confirmed when it’s none other than Aaron and Jen standing there.
Aaron gives me a casual wave. “Hey.” His brows draw together when he notices the lamp I’m still holding. “What’s that for?”
“I thought you were an intruder,” I grumble. “How the hell did you get inside my apartment?”
“Oh.” A sheepish look crosses his face. “A few months ago, I crashed here for a few days, and you gave me a spare key, remember? I forgot to give it back.”
“Could’ve just rung the doorbell like a normal person would.” I walk toward Aaron and Jen, placing my lamp down on the floor. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“You almost gave me a heart attack when I heard you broke up with my best friend,” Jen chimes in, shooting daggers at me.
Her words prick my chest. “Jen, I—”
“Sit down,” she orders, her voice like someone who means nothing but business.
With a sigh, I plop myself down on the nearest couch, not believing I’m getting bossed around like this at my own home. I probably deserve it, though.
Neither Jen nor Aaron sits.
“I was secretly rooting for you since the beginning, Jackson,” Jen says. “And to be honest, I still am. So is Aaron. Which is why we’re here today. To give you some tough love since the soft-love route isn’t working.”
Aaron beams at Jen like she’s having his babies. “Perfect intro, Jen. I couldn’t have said it any better myself.”
Jen’s cheeks flush crimson, and Aaron turns to me.
“As your unofficial fairy godparents, we refuse to sit and watch before this really becomes unsalvageable,” Aaron says.
I blink. “Unsalvageable?”
Jen face-palms herself. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it. You know, for someone who did so well at school, you can really be so dense sometimes.”
“Denial’s always been his strength,” Aaron says to her.
“More like weakness,” Jen mutters. She places her hands on her hips, her blue eyes laser-focused on me. “At first, we thought you probably just needed some space, and we wanted to respect that. But it’s been almost three weeks, and you haven’t reached out to her. Not even one text. Why?”
A heaviness wraps around my limbs, and my chin dips to my chest. “I thought it was better that way. I mean, she’s better off without me … at least right now.” The words sound pathetic leaving my mouth.
“You really think she’s better off without you, huh?” Jen folds her arms. “Then tell me, why is she still mumbling your name in her sleep and hugging your suit jacket in bed like it’s her favorite stuffed animal?”
I sink deeper into my seat, my chest growing tighter with each breath. “She … she is?”
Jen huffs. “Her fashion show’s happening in a few days, and she’s channeling all her energy into it and her business as a distraction, pretending everything’s fine, but I see through her.
You think you’re doing her a favor by pushing her away, think you’re a burden on her, but by whose standards—yours or hers?
If roles were reversed and she was the one going through all this instead, would you expect her to have everything figured out? ”
Silence hangs in the room.
My head pounds like a jackhammer, Jen’s questions swirling in my head like a washing machine on the highest speed.
Fuck.
Aaron turns to me. “Do you love Isabelle?”
I hate hearing the tentative tone in Aaron’s voice, the way he’s phrasing it as a question instead of anything other than the truth—the simple, only truth.
“Of course I do,” I growl, leaping out of my seat.
Both Aaron’s and Jen’s eyes are as wide as saucers at my reaction.
It’s the first time that admission has come out of my mouth or even crossed my mind, but it sounds so right when I say it out loud.
So fucking right.
I love her.
I’m so hopelessly, madly, completely in love with Isabelle Curtis-Wong.
“Isabelle’s everything to me.” My voice wavers. “Everything. You think I’m not hurting, too? Letting her go was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I told myself it was the right decision.”
I drag a hand through my hair, completely disheveling it as I pace up and down my living room.
“You think I haven’t thought about reaching out to her?
I have. Every day. More times than I can fucking count.
But each time I wrote a text, I deleted it before I could hit Send.
I restrained myself from reaching out because I knew if I did, I’d lose all my control and do anything—everything—to pull her back into my arms.” I shake my head.
“I hate myself for breaking her heart, remember that pained look on her face. And I wanted to be in a better position, both mentally and career-wise, before I allowed myself to even contemplate the possibility of winning her back. Because there’s no one else I’ll love other than her. ”
Silence hovers in the air once again, a stark contrast to my loudly thudding heart and rapid breaths. I’m panting as though I just ran the marathon.
Aaron and Jen don’t say anything, but their faces soften.
Aaron’s the first to break the silence. “No one’s perfect, dude.” He gives me a pat on the shoulder. “You’re amazing for Isabelle as you are. I’m pretty sure she sees that already. The question is, can you see it for yourself, too?”
“The ball’s in your court now, Jackson,” Jen adds. “Ultimately, we can’t tell you what to do or not do. Only you can make that decision for yourself.”
Aaron’s and Jen’s words linger in my head, long after they leave my apartment.
My heart races again, a zillion thoughts washing over me.
I thought I was doing the right thing by letting Isabelle go, so that I didn’t drag her down with me while I spiraled. But … was it the wrong call?
I sit on the couch, pressing my palms into the plush material and squeezing my eyes shut.
If I dig deeper, what am I really scared of?
Burdening Isabelle? Yes.
But maybe there’s more to it than that.
Maybe I’m scared to let her see me as weak. Vulnerable. Incompetent. Not the polished, put-together version I usually am.
But she already saw all those messy and ugly parts of me the first day I found out about Mom and Andrew and the several days following that. And she stayed with me, cared for me through all of it.
I head back to my bedroom, picking up the floor plan of the dream house I sketched, my eyes zeroing in on the fashion studio and library.
When I picture my life in five, ten, twenty years, two things are clear.
The first is doing what I love, and that’s architecture.
And the second is spending it with the woman I love.
The room feels like it’s shrinking around me as my head spins, my breaths punctuating the air.
Fuck.
I messed up. Immensely. I pushed away the most important person in my life and the best thing that’d ever happened to me.
Isabelle’s right. Relationships are about supporting each other and being there for each other regardless of whether things are easy or hard.
What do I know about relationships? I’ve never even had a girlfriend before her.
She’s my first girlfriend, and I want to be her last boyfriend and forever person. We still have so much to do together, so much to see and many milestones to reach.
I can’t let her go like that, can’t let our story end like that.
I just hope it’s not too late.