Chapter Twenty-Nine JACKIE
Chapter Twenty-Nine
JACKIE
“He had it on the damn mantle, Lilly!” I whisper through clenched teeth, trying to keep my voice low. “Do you understand?”
“By the fifth time you mentioned it, yes.” Her lids remain closed, the picture of serenity, her braids skimming the yoga mat beneath her hammock. She looks like a goddess.
Meanwhile, I’m a twitchy marionette on a string, fingers digging into the back of the blue silk.
“You can release your hands down to the ground, ladies,” the nice-looking instructor says sweetly, walking around amongst the other women hanging from the ceiling. Her voice is soothing, calm.
Unlike my brain.
Because over Adam’s fireplace sat the ugliest painting of a cat to ever see the light of day. Still in the same frame I “borrowed” from our family’s storage room. He kept the abomination for all these years.
“Now widen your stance and bring your legs through the front side of the hammock,” the instructor says, her voice still hushed against the spa-like music playing in the background.
I crane my neck to see what kind of acrobatics she’s making us do now.
“Control the fabric,” she continues, “make sure it catches on your shoulders when you spin.”
What do you mean spin?
This woman looks sweet and innocent, but I’m convinced her class was forged in the depths of hell.
Moments later, we’re hanging upside down, the top of my head close to touching the mat.
“My abs are on fire,” I groan. “Remind me why we’re doing this?”
Lilly, still floating like a fairy in her purple bodysuit, answers without looking at me. “I want to see if I should bring her into the program at the new studio.”
“Ladies, focus on your breathing,” the demon coos.
“He said we’re not rushing,” I whisper again, a bit lightheaded from all the blood rushing down. “Does that mean we’re headed somewhere?”
Lilly twists into the next pose with infuriating ease, while I somehow manage to wiggle my way through a clumsy backflip, landing into a sort of stunned Savasana.
“Beautiful,” the little she-devil murmurs. “Let’s come all the way out of the hammock.”
Everyone gracefully dismounts out of the silk fabric, smiling and thanking her. Not me. I’m not ready to get back out there. Instead, I bring my knees to my chest and let the fabric close around me like a pod. Curled inside, cocooned in my own feelings.
Lilly’s feet land beside me, and she slides her finger through the edge of the hammock, looking in at me.
“I think he might still love me,” I croak. “What do I do?”
“Do you hear yourself?” Lilly stares at me, brows lifted. “You’re in full panic mode, acting like a teenager having her first crush.”
“I could be wrong,” I whisper. “What if I’m wrong. What if—”
She pokes her head through the folds like a really messed-up version of a home birth. “Now you decide to second-guess yourself?” She sighs, is clearly exasperated with my meltdown. “You are Jackie. Fucking. Rawlings! Pull yourself together and tell the man you love him.”
The other women start filing out, and Lilly jerks her head back, then meets my gaze again, warm and steady. “Stay here. Breathe. Meditate in silence while I talk to Vera.”
I stay, curled up like a kid in time out, listening to my own heartbeat slow.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I grew up in a house with people so closed off that talking about feelings makes me feel like a gutted fish.
The idea of showing my hand scares me shitless. I have no solid evidence I can grasp, except for some things said in the heat of the moment. Glances I might be reading too much into. Echoes of what once was.
I’ve tried to reach out. Take the first baby step. But I’m afraid if I leap too far, I might fall into the void.
The birthday with his family showed me what we could be. But hope is a double-edged sword. One wrong move and it could leave wounds that’ll never heal this time.
And yet, I’m thinking about grabbing it with both hands.
I think of Eliza. How she’s slowly opened up to me these past few months spent at her home. She still gets threatening texts, still checks every corner when going outside. But she’s moving forward with the wedding. She refuses to love in fear of what might happen.
She got a shot at love and fought for it. Didn’t let a spineless sperm donor with bad breath, as she elegantly described Hall, keep her from enjoying life.
I let go of Adam before he had the chance to break me. Running off to London felt safer than waiting around for everything to fall apart.
What if it never did?
What if he can actually forgive me? Then I need to come clean. About everything. Even the part where I crossed the line and hacked his accounts.
Because if there’s still a chance for us…
I can’t risk losing it again.
Why did I ever think showing up unannounced at Adam’s office was a good idea? I’ve been standing outside for ten full minutes, staring at the limestone facade like it could give me a sign. The folder is pressed to my chest, a flimsy shield against what’s bound to be an uncomfortable conversation.
The soft shuffle of today’s guard nudges me out of my doubt-induced paralysis. If I don’t move soon, I’ll officially cross into potential stalker territory pretty fast.
Inside, on the second floor, a woman with neatly pinned gray hair greets me with a polite, “Good morning. Can I help you?”
The space looks nothing like the open floor of our own headquarters. It’s more like an old university library, with the sun filtering through tall French windows and dark wooden panels lining the walls.
I don’t know what I expected, but it makes sense. The design is not showy or trendy. Just solid and grounded.
So fundamental Adam.
“I…yes.” I force a smile and shuffle the file in my arms. “I’m here to see Mr. Erickson.”
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, still pleasant.
Of course I don’t. Because clearly, I haven’t thought this through.
“Um…no. We’re…old friends.”
She hesitates, peering over my shoulder at the security detail, long enough to make me want to bolt back to the car. “I’m sorry,” she says gently. “Mr. Erickson doesn’t take walk-ins.”
Slowly, irritation begins to elbow past the nerves. I open my mouth to remind the boarding-school-mistress-looking woman that her boss might want to see the head of his largest client, when an amused voice cuts through the hallway, smooth and steady.
“Of course I do,” Adam calls from a nearby office. “For an old friend.”
His office matches the rest of the floor. Warm, unfussy elegance. Built-in wooden shelves, filled with neatly stacked books and pictures of his family and hockey buddies from college.
Adam leans casually against his desk, arms crossed, a slow, wicked smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“To what do I owe the pleasure… Miss Rawlings.”
On any other day, I’d throw something witty back. But today, I can’t sit on this any longer.
I cut straight to the chase. “I came to give you this.”
The smile melts away at the sight of the brown file jacket. He doesn’t reach for it. I literally have to shove it into his arms.
“It’s been on my mind since we left your parents’ home,” I say quickly, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “I’d like you to run it. To have the final say.”
He opens the file slowly, without saying anything, a frown digging deep lines across his forehead. It takes him forever to scan the title page.
He’s a freaking boy genius, I know he can read faster than that.
“What is this?”
“A way to help underprivileged kids,” I blurt out, hoping it will put him in a good mood, so we can move to the next, more pressing order of business. “Get an education. A chance.”
He flips to the next page, still frowning. “A grant for scholarships?”
“Yes. It should cover full expenses for a hundred kids a year,” I clarify. “Though, of course, if you want to include more—”
His brow lifts as he reads on. “This is… incredibly generous. I should’ve thought of something like this years ago.”
“We have more than enough funds.”
But then he stills. “Why is only my name on here?” His gaze lifts to mine. “Why not yours?”
“I thought…I don’t know. It felt like something you’d want to do.
I kept thinking about your creepy bedroom.
” I choke out a small laugh. “And how someone as brilliant as you had to abandon his dream…” I pause.
“Not that you’re not great at what you do now.
I just hate that you had to give something up. ”
The file cover closes quietly in his hands, and now the entire weight of his attention is on me.
“Would it have made a difference?” he asks quietly. “With us?” He shakes his head. “I’ll always be Adam Erickson from Maple Hollow.”
“I…” I falter. “You are so much more than your name or hometown. Though, for what it’s worth, I happen to think both are pretty great,” I say carefully. “Where is this coming from?”
He sets the folder behind him, on the desk, jaw ticking. “At first, I thought that’s why you left. Because you never saw a future with me.” He runs the tip of his tongue along his teeth. “I’ve always known we were from different worlds. Then Blanca made it clear we were doomed from the start.”
My mouth opens and closes wordlessly. I rush in a breath. “You were everything to me!” I search his face. “It’s not true. It never was. I never cared about that! Who cares what anyone else thinks?!”
The idea that he’s spent all these years believing I saw him as less than suffocates me.
Adam shrugs. “You always did.”
“Yes, but only as it applied to my role in the company. It had nothing—” My palm slashes through the air. “Nothing! To do with you.”
This conversation has gone wildly off script, but I can’t leave it at that. “You are the most caring, smart, selfless… Oh, my God!” I’m beginning to hyperventilate. “Is that what you thought?”
He’s now staring at me, throat bobbing, his silence louder than any confirmation.
“Hey,” his voice is soft, “look at the bright side. Once you told me what really happened, I realized something. I was the one tearing myself apart. No one else.”