Chapter 4 - June
*Do you ever wish things were different between us?*
I immediately want to take it back. Swallow the words, pretend I never said them, laugh it off as the storm making me sentimental.
But I don't. I stand there by the window with candlelight flickering shadows across Jackson's face, and I wait for an answer I have no right to ask for.
His expression doesn't change. Doesn't give anything away. Just that same neutrality he's worn for seven years whenever conversations get too close to something real.
"What do you mean by that?" he asks, voice low.
My heart pounds against my ribs. I could deflect now. Could make it about friendship, about wishing we saw each other more often, about normal safe things that don't threaten to burn down everything we've built.
But the darkness makes me brave. Or stupid. Or both.
"I mean..." I take a breath, force myself to hold his gaze even though I can barely see him in the dim light. "I mean exactly what it sounds like. Do you ever wonder what we'd be if circumstances were different? If we weren't who we are, carrying what we carry?"
Jackson goes very still. The kind of still that means I've hit something, cracked through whatever wall he keeps up.
"June…"
"Because I do," I continue before I lose my nerve. "I wonder all the time. And I know I shouldn't, I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. I can't help wondering what it would be like if we were just... two people. Without all the history, grief and ghosts."
The words tumble out faster now, like a dam breaking.
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "That was… I shouldn't have said that. It's not fair to you, it's not fair to Tommy's memory, I just—"
"Stop." Jackson's voice cuts through my spiral. He takes a step closer, and in the candlelight, I can see something raw in his face. "Don't apologize."
"I crossed a line."
"You didn't." Another step. We're only a few feet apart now, close enough that I can see his chest rising and falling with each breath. "Or maybe you did, but I crossed it first about twenty years ago, so you're just catching up."
My brain stutters over those words. *Twenty years ago.*
"What?"
Jackson runs a hand through his hair, lets out a rough laugh that sounds more like pain than humor.
"You want honesty? Fine. Yeah, June. I wish things were different.
I've wished it every single day since I figured out what I was feeling, which was long before you married Tommy, long before any of this made sense. "
The floor seems to tilt under my feet. "Jackson…"
"I was in love with you at twenty-two," he continues, voice raw.
"Completely gone for you, and you were dating my best friend, and there was nothing I could do about it.
So, I buried it. Told myself it would go away, that I'd meet someone else, that eventually I'd stop feeling like my chest was caving in every time I saw you smile at him. "
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process what he's saying.
"It didn't go away," Jackson says. "It got worse.
And then you married him, and I stood there as best man and gave a speech about how perfect you were together, and I meant every word.
Because you were perfect together. Tommy loved you the way you deserved to be loved.
Completely, openly, without reservations.
And I was happy for you both. I swear to God I was happy. "
"Jackson…"
"Let me finish." His voice cracks slightly. "Please. Because if I don't say this now, I'm never going to."
I nod, throat too tight for words.
"When Tommy died, I thought maybe—" He stops, shakes his head. "That sounds terrible. I thought maybe after enough time passed, after you'd grieved, maybe there'd be a chance. Maybe I could tell you, and it wouldn't be a betrayal, and we could..."
He trails off, but I know what he can't say. *We could be something.*
"But then I realized I couldn't," Jackson continues.
"Because telling you would make it seem like I'd been waiting for him to die.
Like I'd wanted it somehow. And I didn't, June.
I swear I didn't. Tommy was my best friend and losing him destroyed me.
But losing him while being in love with his wife? That's a special kind of hell."
Tears are streaming down my face now, hot and fast. I can taste salt on my lips.
"So yeah," Jackson says, voice barely above a whisper. "I wish things were different. I wish I'd met you first. I wish Tommy were still alive and you were happy and I'd gotten over this twenty years ago like a normal person. I wish a lot of things. But wishing doesn't change reality."
The silence after his confession is deafening. Just the rain hammering the windows and my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
"Say something," Jackson finally says. "Please."
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again.
"Twenty years?" The words come out broken.
"Give or take."
"The whole time?"
"The whole time."
I press my hands to my face, trying to process.
Jackson Reed, steady, reliable, always-there Jackson, has been in love with me since before I married Tommy.
Has carried it through my wedding, through fourteen years of marriage, through Tommy's death, through seven years of monthly dinners where we both pretended everything was fine.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?" I ask.
"Because you weren't mine to tell," he says simply.
"You were Tommy's. And after he died, you were grieving.
And then enough time passed that saying something felt like I'd been lying all along, which I guess I had been, but…
" He stops, exhales roughly. "There was never a right time.
And I convinced myself there never would be. "
"So why tell me now?"
Jackson's quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks his voice is rough with something that sounds like fear.
"Because there's a war happening and men are dying and I don't know if I'm going to survive it.
Because Demon's out there somewhere planning revenge and the club's on high alert and every time I leave the garage I wonder if I'm coming back.
" He takes a shaky breath. "And I realized I'd rather die with you knowing the truth than live another twenty years with you not knowing.
Even if it ruins everything. Even if you hate me for it. "
"I could never hate you," I say immediately.
"You should." There's something bitter in his voice. "I lied to you. To Tommy. For years."
"You didn't lie. You just didn't tell us."
"That's the same thing."
"No, it's not." I move closer, close enough that I can see the pain etched into every line of his face. "Lying is active. You were just... surviving. Trying to protect people you loved."
"That doesn't make it right."
"Maybe not. But it doesn't make you a bad person either."
Jackson laughs, sharp and hollow. "You're being too kind."
"I'm being honest." My hands are shaking. I clasp them together to stop the trembling. "You want to know something?"
His eyes meet mine, guarded. "What?"
"I love you too."
The words are out before I can stop them. Simple. Devastating. True.
Jackson goes completely still, like he's afraid to breathe. "June…"
"Not for twenty years," I say quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Not during my marriage. I loved Tommy. Completely. He was my whole world and I never… I never looked at you that way when he was alive. I swear."
"I know." His voice is rough. "I know you didn’t."
"But after he died..." I have to stop, swallow against the tightness in my throat.
"After he died, you were there. You handled everything I couldn't handle.
You sat with me in that house, you helped me make decisions I couldn't make, you just...
showed up. Every single time. And somewhere in that second year, maybe the third, I started noticing things. "
Jackson doesn't move, doesn't interrupt.
"I noticed how you always remembered how I take my coffee.
How you'd fix things around my house without me asking.
How you'd call on the hard days, the anniversaries, like you had them memorized.
" Tears are streaming down my face now. "I noticed that you made me feel less alone in a way nobody else could.
And I told myself it was just grief, just dependency, just me clinging to the only person who understood what I'd lost."
"June…"
"But it wasn't," I continue, voice breaking. "It wasn't just grief. It was you. The way you'd touch my shoulder or my hand and it would feel like like coming home. The way these dinners became the best part of my month even though they're supposed to be about remembering Tommy."
I'm crying harder now, years of buried feelings spilling out.
"I fell in love with you sometime in those first few years after Tommy died, and I've hated myself for it ever since.
Because how can I love my husband's best friend?
How can I sit at Tommy's grave and then go home and dream about you?
How can I honor his memory while wanting—" I stop, chest heaving.
"While wanting something I have no right to want? "
Jackson closes the distance between us in two strides and pulls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me so tightly I can barely breathe. I break completely, sobbing into his flannel shirt while he holds me, one hand cupped against the back of my head.
"You're not a terrible person," he murmurs into my hair. "You're human."
"I loved him," I choke out. "I loved Tommy so much."
"I know. So did I."
"So how can we… How can we feel this and not be betraying him?"
Jackson's quiet for a long moment, just holding me while I cry, years of grief, guilt and longing into his chest.
"I don't know," he finally says. "I've been trying to figure that out for two decades and I still don't have an answer.
But June..." He pulls back just enough to tilt my face up to his.
"You loved him when he was alive. You were a good wife to him.
You didn't betray him then, and you're not betraying him now. "
"How can you say that?"
"Because love isn't finite." His thumbs brush away my tears. "You loving me doesn't mean you loved him less. It just means your heart didn't stop working when his did."
The words crack something open in my chest. I've spent all those years believing I had to choose: Tommy's memory or my own happiness. That I couldn't honor one without sacrificing the other.
"I'm scared," I whisper.
Jackson's arms tighten. "Of what?"
"Of this. Of what it means. Of how wrong it feels and how right it feels at the same time." I pull back just enough to look up at his face. "Of losing you if we try and it doesn't work."
"You're not going to lose me."
"You can't promise that. You said it yourself. There's a war, men are dying, you don't know if you're going to survive."
"Then we make the most of whatever time we have," Jackson says, and there's a fierce determination in his voice I've never heard before. "We stop wishing things were different and we start living in the reality we've got. Even if it's complicated. Even if it's messy."
"What about Tommy?"
"What about him?" Jackson cups my face in his hands. "You think he'd want us miserable? Want us spending the rest of our lives alone because we're too guilty to be happy?"
"I don't know."
"I do." His voice is certain. "Tommy loved you. Loved me too, in his way. He'd want us to live, June. Not just exist. Actually live."
I want to believe him. Want to believe we're allowed this, that it's not a betrayal, that we can honor Tommy's memory while also honoring what we feel for each other, but the guilt is a living thing in my chest.
"Jackson…"
He kisses me.
It's not smooth or practiced. It's desperate, nervous and uncertain, like we're both teenagers who've never done this before.
His lips are warm against mine, slightly chapped, tasting like coffee and rain.
My hands come up to his chest, fingers curling into his flannel, and for three perfect seconds I let myself feel it. Let myself have this.
Then reality crashes back in.
We break apart at the same time, both panting. Jackson takes a step back, running his hand through his hair, looking stricken.
"I shouldn't have done that," he says quickly. "Christ, June, I'm sorry. That was… I shouldn't have—"
"No." My voice comes out shaky. "No, you're right. We should stop. This is…" I press my hands to my face, feeling the heat in my cheeks. "This is too fast. Too raw."
"Yeah." He takes another step back, putting more distance between us. "Yeah, it is."
We both wanted that kiss. We both stopped it. We both know exactly why.
"It feels disrespectful," I say, wrapping my arms around myself. "To Tommy. To his memory. To everything we just said about honoring him."
"I know." Jackson's voice is rough. "I know it does."
Outside, the rain continues its assault on the building. Inside, we stand in candlelight looking at each other like strangers, like people who just shattered something that can't be put back together.
"I should go to bed," I finally say. "Get some sleep."
"Right. Yeah." Jackson moves toward the hallway, gestures to the guest room. "It's the second door. Clean towels are on the dresser if you need them."
"Thank you."
We stand there for another awkward moment, neither quite knowing how to end this. How to walk away from confessions that can't be taken back and a kiss that shouldn't have happened but did anyway.
"Goodnight, June," Jackson says.
"Goodnight."
I walk to the guest room on unsteady legs, close the door behind me, and lean against it. My lips still tingle from the kiss. My chest still aches from everything we said to each other.
*I love you.*
*I love you too.*
The words hang in my mind, impossible to unhear. Impossible to take back.
I change out of my damp clothes into an oversized t-shirt Jackson left on the bed—one of his, soft from years of washing, smelling faintly of motor oil and detergent. Climb under the covers and stare at the ceiling while rain hammers the windows.
Down the hall, I hear Jackson's bedroom door close. Hear the old floorboards creak as he moves around. Wonder if he's lying awake too, replaying everything, feeling the same crushing weight of guilt and longing.
Five or six years we've been dancing around this. Years of monthly dinners, boundaries and feelings we never named.
And now they're named. Out in the open. Real.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, but all I can feel is Jackson's lips on mine, and all I can hear is Tommy's voice in my memory, laughing at something stupid, calling me beautiful, telling me he loves me.
I cry into Jackson's pillow until exhaustion finally takes me under.