Now #3
Because I don’t fit. I’m not glamorous or media-trained. I don’t know how to smile through invasive questions or pretend cruel comments don’t hurt. I can’t even read a handful of them before spiraling completely.
He already carries so much.
The pressure of racing, sponsors, media, expectations, his team, fans, constant traveling, the danger of his job … He shouldn’t also have to carry me.
The memory of Tuscany returns before I can stop it. Him crouched in front of me after catching me reading those comments online, still damp from the shower, concern written all over his face. The best thing you can do is let it go …
That’s easy for him to say. He’s built for that world. I’m not.
And maybe loving someone also means recognizing when your presence makes their life harder instead of better.
Jackson deserves someone who can stand beside him without crumbling under the spotlight. Someone who thrives in that life instead of feeling trapped by it. Someone who can smile in paddocks and at galas and on yachts in Monaco without secretly wishing to disappear.
Not someone who runs back to Colorado because it all became too overwhelming. Not someone who still freezes every time her phone buzzes, terrified another piece of her private life has been ripped open for public entertainment.
Cynthia and I are by the elevator, waiting for it. My eyes drift toward the small waiting area by it. The latest issue of GQ is still sitting on the coffee table.
It’s been there all week.
Jackson stares back at me from the cover, dressed in an expensive suit, his haircut crisp, his smile subtle and effortless.
It’s from the London photoshoot that put an end to your Mallorca trip. It feels like a lifetime ago.
My chest tightens. This is how it’s going to be from now on. Seeing him everywhere. On magazine covers, on television screens, on giant billboards in airports.
Watching the world admire the man I convinced myself I had to leave behind.
He’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him.
“Still staring at that magazine?” I blink and find Cynthia watching me with a knowing expression.
Heat creeps up my neck as I finally tear my gaze away. Before I can say anything, she gently grabs my arm and pulls me to the side.
“Listen, Evie,” she starts with her mom voice, “I understand why you came back, and I know you still have doubts. But it might be one of those times where you need an outsider’s perspective to open your eyes.
You’ve got tunnel vision, and it makes you feel stuck.
But it’s so clear to everyone else what you should do. ”
“You think I should return to him.”
“Of course I do, Vivi. You’ve been miserable since you came back. At this point, you might as well add to your schedule ‘daily post-lunch crying session alone in my office, ten minutes.’”
“It’s not every day,” I defend myself. “And it’s closer to five minutes.”
She sighs, unimpressed. “I’m worried about you, Vivi. We all are.”
“You shouldn’t, I … I’m alright.”
Unconvinced, she offers, “Why don’t you come to Vegas with us in three weeks?
The bedroom has two queen beds, and Yasmine and I planned on sharing the same one, anyway.
You can bunk with us. We’ll get you last-minute tickets for the race and the flight.
Maybe you’ll get to talk to him there. It would be good for you. ”
“Cyn, I’m not sure.”
“I am. And even if you don’t end up meeting up with him, it’ll be a nice girls’ trip to Sin City. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Crap … It’s pretty clear she won’t take no for an answer. “I promise I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Fine. But I actually might fire you if you refuse. Not even kidding.”
“You would never,” I dismissively say with a shrug. “Who else would help you find spots for bathrooms and handle the Mrs. Carters of this world?”
I know I have a point when she doesn’t double down on her threat.
We’re still talking about it as we step out of the building together. After wishing each other a good weekend, we head to our respective cars. Once I’m in mine, I don’t start the engine immediately, staring at the wheel for a moment.
I was hoping I’d been a little more discreet in my despair. But of course, Cynthia saw right through me. Along with others, apparently. It’s hard not to appear affected when everything hurts so much.
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the headrest.
None of this has changed how much I love Jax. If anything, distance has made it worse.
Because now there’s space for me to miss everything. The sound of his laugh. His scent after his workouts. The way he steals bites off my plate even after insisting he isn’t hungry. The warmth of his body at night. The way he says princess like the word belongs to me alone.
I reach for my phone before remembering there’s no reason to text him. No reason except wanting him.
Maybe that’s the cruelest part of maturing. Realizing love alone can’t fix incompatibility. Can’t erase grief. Can’t magically make two people fit together just because they desperately wish they did.
I love Jackson Reyes more than I have ever loved anything in my life.
But loving him and belonging in his world are two completely different things.