Rose
"Where are you staying?" Michael asks as he walks me to the door.
The party wound down a couple of hours ago and I'm the last man standing.
Everyone else has dispersed back to their respective homes, and Blaire excused herself to shower and give the two of us some time alone, which was a kindness she disguised as hygiene.
"Next door, at the Sutton."
"Why don't you just stay here tonight? We can get up in the morning and go to breakfast. Catch up?"
There's an edge under the casualness that breaks my heart. He's worried I won't come back. I know he is. That if I walk out this door tonight, the year somehow starts all over again.
"I'm not going anywhere, Mikey." I pull him down into a hug. "We'll do breakfast in the morning. But today was a big day for you and Blaire, so go kiss your pregnant wife and rub her feet and fetch her pickles and Hot Cheetos like the good husband you are."
He nods against my shoulder, and I feel the wetness hit my cheek before he can subtly wipe it away.
"I'm back, okay?"
I wasn't even sure I'd made that decision until the words came out of my mouth, but there it is. And once I hear it, I know it's true.
Yeah.
I'm coming home.
"I missed this more than I ever let myself admit, and I need my family. Besides, I have to be here for the first time you drop that baby, because you're going to need a very good lawyer."
He laughs and nods. "Okay." He pauses. "It's been a shitty fucking year without you, Rose. I want to hear about all of it. Whenever you're ready, I mean it. Please."
He shakes his head and pulls me into what has to be our hundredth hug of the night.
"I'm here for you. Whatever you need. And if you ever want to tell me everything you've been holding onto all these years..." He pulls back enough to look at me. "I'm a big boy now, you know?"
I stare up at him. "You're a big boy?"
He gives me a gentle shove and wipes his eyes. "Fuck off."
"Who's a big boy?" I poke his stomach.
"Get out."
"Michael's a big boyyyy," I sing-song, sauntering through the door he is now actively holding open for my eviction. "A big, big boy."
The door slams behind me, and I drop my head back and laugh at the ceiling of a hallway I've walked a thousand times. I'm halfway toward the elevator wearing the biggest smile I've had in longer than I can remember when his door opens again and I hear quick footsteps behind me.
"Just one more. Please."
I turn, and Michael pulls me into another long hug, his chin settling on top of my head while neither of us bothers pretending we're keeping track anymore.
"See you tomorrow?" he asks into my hair.
"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."
And for the first time in over a year, tomorrow is a promise I can make to him instead of something he has to hope for.
When I exit the elevator downstairs, I spot a figure sitting in the far corner of the lobby, and I know who it is before my eyes finish focusing.
Jackson looks up and stands, sliding his hands into his pockets.
God, he looks good.
He's put on weight in all the right places. His hair is longer now, wavy enough that I immediately want to put my hands in it, and his beard is thicker than I've ever seen it. Dark jeans. Coffee-colored V-neck stretched across that ridiculous chest. Cognac oxfords.
A year apart and the man somehow got hotter.
Rude.
I swallow the memories and remind myself of the facts. He is weeks away from marrying real estate tycoon Rian fucking Fields because I told him not to wait for me, and he’s just following instructions.
He was always a good boy for me like that.
“Hi."
It's all I can muster when I reach him.
"I wanted to make sure you got back to where you're staying alright."
His eyes are doing that thing they've always done, looking at me too closely, and I have to resist the urge to check whether my shirt is on backward.
"I'm right next door. You didn't have to do that." I glance behind him. "Where's Rian?"
"She went home. Early morning." He tips his head toward the doors. "Come on. I'll get you back in one piece."
I nod and wrap both hands around the straps of my backpack purse, then we walk. Slowly.
Painfully slowly, actually. The Sutton is three minutes away and somehow both of us have decided tonight is the night to obey every pedestrian safety recommendation ever published.
"You look so different," he says after a while. "I like the highlights."
"Thanks. It's au naturel. I finally stopped dyeing it."
He looks over, his eyes moving through my hair and across my face in a way that has absolutely no business affecting me after a year of therapy.
"It's called poliosis. James has it too."
"I never knew that about you."
"And I never knew how grown up you look with a full beard." I smile and bump my shoulder against his. "Rian seems nice. She's a beautiful woman."
He stops walking.
So do I.
His face has gone serious.
"Don't do that, Rosalie."
If it were anybody else, I'd have to ask what he means. But this is Jackson. We've known each other too long for either of us to pretend we don't hear what the other person is actually saying.
I nod.
We start walking again.
Neither of us speaks crossing the street. We don't speak in the hotel lobby either, or in the elevator, where I become intensely interested in the floor numbers because looking at Jackson is becoming a health hazard.
By the time we reach my door, I'm a fidgeting mess.
I want him to say something.
Anything.
Tell me he missed me. Tell me he still loves me. Tell me waiting wasn't a mistake. Tell me Rian was some bizarre corporate fever dream and he couldn't go through with marrying her because I'm back now and none of the rest of it matters.
Completely reasonable requests from the woman who specifically told him not to wait.
He says none of them.
He just stands there looking at me, and the worst part is I think he's waiting for me to say my own version.
Neither of us does.
"Thanks for walking me back."
He takes a step backward, and it's only then that I realize we'd somehow ended up close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him.
Old habits.
"How long are you staying?"
His tone has changed. Shorter. Controlled.
Armored Jackson.
I know him well enough to hear the door shut.
"Um. I'm back for good, actually. I'm going to arrange everything from the hotel this week, logistics and all that, but... I'll be around."
His eyes widen before he catches himself.
"Good." He clears his throat. "That's good. Bennet missed you. It'll be good for you both."
Bennet missed you.
Ugh.
Just fuck this.
"Thanks again." I tap the keycard against the reader and the lock flashes green. "Congratulations on everything. I'm... I'm really happy for you."
Lie. Not entirely. Which might actually be worse.
I push the door open. "Goodnight, Jackson."
He looks at me for a long moment. His hands stay buried in his pockets, and I know exactly why because mine are currently strangling a keycard to keep from reaching for him too.
His jaw tightens. Then relaxes.
"Goodnight, Rosalie."
He turns and walks away.
I watch until he disappears around the corner, then step into my room and shut the door behind me. The second it closes, I lean my back against it and let out the breath I've been holding since the lobby.
"I'm sorry, Jackson," I whisper to nobody.
Then I go run a bath hot enough to cook whatever feelings are currently trying to stage a revolt, because tomorrow I have a life to rebuild.
Tonight, I'm allowing myself one bath's worth of grief over the parts of it I can't have back.