Jackson #3
Instead, I know Bennet's favorite beer, his Social Security number because of one unfortunate tax incident, and exactly how long he can go without doing laundry before the smell becomes a violation of international law.
“Finally, you two get to meet.”
Yeah, finally, motherfucker.
Bennet has no idea he's just detonated a bomb between us. He's practically rushing her toward me by the shoulders, already half-gone in his head somewhere between here and the stage. “Rosalie, this is Marcus. We call him Jackson. Jackson, Rosalie. The little big sis.”
Marcus.
Her eyes widen, but Bennet is already angling away. "I need my tie; we're almost up."
I stare at her. It's impossible not to, because what the actual fuck?
Her hands tremble, barely perceptibly, as she reaches up to work Bennet's tie.
She's good at hiding it. Bennet doesn't notice a fucking thing, just stands there letting her fix the knot while she concentrates on it like the entire future of his graduation depends on getting the length exactly right.
“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” she says.
Her voice is perfectly even.
I almost laugh.
Nice to meet you.
“Sullivan, let's go!” Professor Tate's voice cuts through the crowd. “Two minutes, get your ass to the podium.”
“Go, go. I'm right behind you.” She pulls Bennet into her before he can protest, wrapping her arms around his neck, and something about her changes immediately. I watch her eyes go glassy over his shoulder as she holds him tighter. “I'm so proud of you.”
He lifts her clean off her feet.
“Thanks, Rose.”
Then he sets her down and takes off toward the stage at a jog, tossing a look over his shoulder at me that assumes I'm following.
I'm not.
Not yet.
“Rose—”
“How old are you?” She cuts across me so quickly I barely have time to register the question.
Her eyes are dry already. Composed. Shoulders squared, face calm, every trace of the woman who was about to cry against her brother's shoulder packed neatly away somewhere I can't reach.
“Twenty.”
I don't hesitate or dress it up. She asked me not to lie to her, and I'm not about to start now.
It's like I've knocked the wind out of her.
Her lips part, and for the first time since Bennet walked her over here, the control slips.
“You ordered whiskey at the bar.” She blinks, like she's trying to work backward through the night and figure out where the hell she missed it. “You know what? Never mind. Fake ID. Of course you had a fake ID. Fuck, Jack.” She closes her eyes. “Marcus. I don't know what the fuck to call you.”
“Jackson.”
Her eyes open.
It doesn't change anything." I take half a step toward her. "I'm twenty. I’m a grown man, Rose.
Jesus Christ.
Even I hear how fucking stupid that sounds.
Her eyes close again.
“That's not helping, is it?” I drag my hand over the back of my neck.
“Not even a little.”
“Okay, forget I said that. But I can't stop thinking about you.
I went back to the app the next day and your profile was gone.
I've been trying to figure out how the fuck I was supposed to find you when I didn't even know your real name, and now you're standing here and you're fucking Bennet's sister, which is a whole separate problem I haven't even begun to process, but—”
“I'm thirty.”
Everything in me goes quiet. She says it flat and clean, like she's finally found the thing that's going to make this simple.
“Thirty?”
“Yes.”
I stare at her.
She gives me a humorless little smile. “You told me twenty-four. I told you twenty-six. Looks like we were both pretending to be something we weren't.”
Ten years.
Fuck.
Ten fucking years.
And because my brain is defective, that's not what comes next.
On your knees.
Her fingers tightening in my hair.
Such a good boy.
The way she'd looked at me when I stopped following orders and turned her over.
Don't you fucking come. You hold it.
“I don’t care. We both lied. Fine. You felt what I felt that night. I know you did.” I walk closer and whisper. “You let me be on top. You told me what that means to you. You trusted me with that other side of you, and I trusted you with the other side of me. I don’t care, Rose.”
Let him out. Unleash him, baby. Make me your pet.
For one second, her expression softens.
Not much. Just enough that I see Rosepetal underneath all that composure. Enough to know that if Bennet hadn't walked her over here, if we'd found each other anywhere else, this conversation would be going very fucking differently.
Then her gaze slips past me toward the stage.
To Bennet.
And she's gone again.
"I have to go."
"Rose—"
"No," she shakes her head and takes a step back.
"You can't just—"
"This." She gestures between us, and her hand trembles once before she drops it to her side. The small space. The four days I haven't been able to put down. All of it. "It never happened."
For a second, I genuinely don't understand the words.
Then I do.
"What?"
"Tuesday. Rosepetal. Jack. Whatever the hell that was." She swallows. "It never happened."
I'm fucking speechless. My mouth hangs open, useless.
Her eyes hold mine, and I wait for her to take it back.
She just takes a slow breath, shakes her head, and turns away.