Chapter 28
JADE
The fire has burned down to embers by the time either of us speaks.
Phoenix is on the sofa with a blanket over his shoulders, his bandaged arm resting in his lap. I'm curled up in the armchair across from him, holding a mug of tea that went cold an hour ago. Outside, the snow is coming down so heavy I can barely make out the tree line.
We've been sitting here in silence, but it doesn't feel like the hostile silence from before. This one is heavier. Like we're both circling something neither of us wants to say out loud.
He breaks first.
"I need to tell you something."
I look up. His jaw is tight and there's something in his expression that makes my stomach clench.
"You've told me a lot of things," I say. "Most of them were bullshit."
"This isn't." He shifts, wincing when it pulls at his arm. "This is the truth. Or part of it. As much as I can give you right now."
"Why only part?"
"Because if I dump it all on you at once, you'll bolt. And yeah, I know that's ironic considering you can't actually go anywhere." His mouth twists. "But I'm not ready to lose you. Not yet."
I should tell him to go to hell. Should demand the whole truth or nothing at all. But there's something raw in his voice that I haven't heard before, and against my better judgment, I want to know what he's about to say.
"Fine. Tell me."
He stares into the dying fire for a long moment before he speaks.
"Marcus came to me six months ago. The investor dinner was his idea. He'd been working the deal for over a year, had everything lined up perfectly, except for one problem." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Me."
"You?"
"The Teos are old money. Traditional. They don't just invest in businesses, they invest in people.
And apparently I wasn't the right kind of person.
" He shakes his head. "Thirty years old, no serious relationships, tabloids calling me a playboy even though I've never been that guy.
But perception is reality to people like them. "
"So Marcus told you to find a girlfriend."
"He told me the deal was dead without one. No girlfriend, no Teos. No Teos, no other investors." Phoenix looks at me, firelight catching in his dark eyes. "He gave me three months to find someone who could make them believe I'd settled down."
"And you picked me." My voice comes out flat. "The broke writer drowning in debt. Easy mark."
"That's not why."
"Then why?"
He doesn't answer right away. When he finally speaks, his voice is rougher than before.
"You know our mothers were friends."
“Yeah."
"What I didn't tell you is that my mother kept stuff from back then. Photos, letters, random shit from a friendship that blew up in her face." He pauses. "When I was about twelve, I found a box of old pictures in the attic. Most of them were of our moms when they were young.”
My stomach drops. I already don't like where this is going.
"But there was one that was different. A photo of you." His eyes lock onto mine. "You looked around my age, maybe a year younger. Standing on some beach, squinting at the camera. Your mom must have sent it before everything went to shit between them.”
“Okay..."
"I kept it.”
The words hang there between us.
"You kept a photo of me," I repeat slowly. "Some random girl you'd never met.”
“Yes."
"That's weird, Phoenix.”
"I know.”
"No, I don't think you do. What twelve-year-old keeps a photo of a stranger?”
"I'm not trying to make it sound normal." His voice is steady, like he expected this reaction. "You wanted the truth. This is it. I saw that photo and something about you stuck with me. I couldn't explain it then and I can't explain it now. But I kept it."
I want to get up and lock myself in the bathroom. I want to scream at him. But I'm frozen in place, some sick part of me needing to hear the rest.
"What else?"
“Then, I looked you up." He's watching my face carefully. "I found your blog."
My blog. The one where I've spent years spilling my guts about heartbreak and loneliness and all the dreams that never came true. The one I thought nobody read.
"How long?" I barely recognize my own voice.
"Five years. Give or take."
I set down my tea because my hands are shaking too hard to hold it. "You've been reading my writing for five years. Watching me for five years. And you never once reached out."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't know how. Because I knew you'd think I was crazy." That bitter laugh again. "Guess I was right."
"You are.”
"Probably."
"Stop agreeing with me!" I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved. "Stop acting like that makes it better. It doesn't. None of this is okay."
"I'm not saying it's okay." He turns to face me, and there's no defense in his expression.
No walls. Just raw honesty that makes something twist in my chest. "I'm saying that when Marcus told me I needed a girlfriend, I didn't think about the investors.
I thought about you. I thought, this is it.
This is my excuse to finally reach out. To finally see if the real you is anything like the woman I've been reading about for years. "
"And?" The word comes out sharper than I intend.
"Better." His voice drops. "You're better than anything I imagined. Smarter and funnier and more stubborn and so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes. Every second I spent with you made me want more."
"You said you didn't plan to fall for me."
"I didn't. I planned to use you for the dinner and let you walk away after." He holds my gaze. "But I was already gone before you got on the plane. Every email, every little piece of yourself you gave me, I fell deeper. By the time you showed up in Malibu, I knew I was fucked."
"Convenient."
"True."
"How the hell am I supposed to believe you?" I stop in the middle of the cabin, arms wrapped around myself. "Everything from day one has been a lie. The money, the dinner, bringing me here."
"Not all of it."
"Then which parts were real? Because I can't tell anymore."
He stands slowly, careful with his arm, and closes the distance between us. He stops close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face.
"This," he says quietly. "What I feel for you. That's real. It's the only real thing I've got."
I want to believe him. It scares me how badly I want to believe him.
But I've been here before. I've trusted before. And it wrecked me.
"I can't just take your word for it," I whisper.
"I know." He reaches up with his good hand and brushes hair away from my face. His touch is gentle, almost careful. "That's why we have six more days. I'll show you instead."
I should step back. Put distance between us. Rebuild the walls he keeps knocking down.
Instead I stand there and let his fingers trail along my jaw, let myself feel it even though I know I shouldn't.
"This doesn't change anything," I say.
"It changes everything." He drops his hand and steps back. "But I can wait until you see it."
He goes back to the sofa and picks up his book like nothing happened.
I stand there for a long time, trying to make sense of what he just told me. It should terrify me and it does.
But underneath the fear, there's something else.
That night, we get into bed on opposite sides, but the silence between us is different now. It’s charged and electric and it feels like the air before a thunderstorm rolls in.
I lie there for hours, listening to him breathe.
When I finally fall asleep, I dream about him.
His hands sliding over my skin. His mouth hot against my neck. His voice low in my ear, telling me I belong to him. I dream about giving in, letting go of everything and just letting myself feel.
Three more days.
I don't know if I'm going to make it.