Chapter 31
NOW
July
Iwoke up the next morning with a hangover from hell. It took everything in me just to get out of bed to take a shower. I reeked from wearing that dank old Delvecchios’ polo. What the hell possessed me to put that on? The entire bed smelled now.
I slowly showered, cleaning the smell of rotten marinara and the feeling of Jackson’s kisses off my skin.
I dry heaved twice, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the smell, or the thought of Jackson’s mouth on me.
When I got out of the shower, I slipped on a blue ribbed tank top, which I tucked into the waistband of my denim shorts.
I braided my blonde hair into two French braids and slapped on a layer of mascara.
I put everything from last night into the washing machine, including Jackson’s old boxers.
Because let’s face it, I couldn’t throw them out.
In the afternoon, Jackson showed up with a peanut butter banana smoothie and french fries from McDonald’s.
“For your hangover,” he said bashfully when I opened the door.
“Thanks.” I couldn’t meet his eyes.
He followed me into the family room, where we sat on opposite sides of the couch. I sat cross-legged, balancing the fries and smoothie between my thighs.
We didn’t say anything at first, and he let me eat my food in silence. I purposely ate slowly again, thinking of what I would say first when I decided to speak. Do I say sorry? I felt so awkward. I had acted like a drunk, love-sick puppy last night.
I started to say “I—” At the same time, Jackson started to say, “Are—”
We nervously laughed at each other.
“You go,” I said quickly.
“Are you okay?” His brown eyes were filled with sympathy. I wanted to lean across the couch, wrap myself around him, and pretend nothing bad had ever transpired between us. But that wasn’t our reality.
I played with one of my braids, pretending to be interested in my split ends. “Listen, I’m really embarrassed about yesterday.”
“It was a lot all at once. Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Jackson offered.
It was a lot. Seeing my room for the first time, and realizing that Peter had left it untouched except for the yearbook.
He thought I would come back. The yearbook note where Jackson said he loved me.
The old pair of his boxers, the Delvecchios’ polo.
The fucking photo he taped back together and gave to me.
It was all so much. Too many feelings—I didn’t even know it was possible to feel so much at once.
I could combust from all the pressure I felt in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Jackson reached over and set his palm on my bare kneecap.
He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and I had to close my eyes to convince myself not to slide my hips toward him, to make him touch me higher.
I should say, “No touching,” but it was no use.
I didn’t want to say it. All of my previous anger for him had dissipated.
“No, I’m sorry,” Jackson said gently.
I opened my eyes to look at him, and god, I loved the way those brown eyes were staring back at me.
Like I was the only thing in this entire universe that mattered.
Maybe in another life it could’ve been us—we could’ve been happy, and those could have been the eyes I woke up to every morning.
Because that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it?
That was the plan. That’s what he’d promised.
I set my hand on his, letting myself feel the roughness of his knuckles against my palm before sliding his hand off my knee. “Thanks, Jackson.”
He scratched his jaw. “Why don’t we get you out of the house today? Get some fresh air.”
“Yeah, okay,” I agreed.
We got in Jackson’s truck, and I didn’t even ask where we were going.
The windows were down, and the wind was whipping the loose strands of my braids around my face.
I embraced it, the sharp hit of it against my skin a good distraction, because having my legs up on Jackson’s dash like I was in high school again made me realize that I was falling back in love with him.
“Back To You” by Selena Gomez was playing as I closed my eyes and let myself doze off.
***
When I opened my eyes, we were at a beach. I could just make out a lighthouse off a long pier in the distance.
“Where are we?” I asked as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. Mascara transferred onto my fingers, and I wiped it on my shorts.
“Lake Michigan,” Jackson answered.
“We’ve been on the road for over two hours?” I asked in surprise. I had been asleep for longer than I thought.
“You’ve never been to Holland before, have you?”
I shook my head no. There was a group of teenagers playing sand volleyball, a mom placing her baby’s feet in the water, a dog chasing after a frisbee, and a couple reading books side by side in lawn chairs. It was the perfect day to be out at the beach—not a cloud in the sky.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Jackson said.
I followed him down to the water’s edge, and we both removed our shoes to feel the water. It was colder than I expected, and I jumped back, right into Jackson’s frame. He chuckled at me as he put a hand on each of my elbows.
“Walk slowly,” he whispered in my ear. I leaned my head back against his neck, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath my back.
I didn’t want to think about Sophie coming back in a couple days, or that I had work to do on the house, or that I still had to decide what I was doing with it, or what I would do once I got back to North Carolina.
I was going to let myself enjoy this time with Jackson, like there was no one else around.
“I’m used to salt water. I’ve only been in the Atlantic for the past ten years,” I said as I let the tide cover my toes before receding back.
“Unsalted is better; no sharks,” Jackson said against my cheek. I closed my eyes, letting the heat of the sun wash over us.
I didn’t know how long we’d been standing there like that, but I felt one of Jackson’s hands leave my elbow. When I slowly opened one of my eyes against the sun, Jackson had his phone out in front of us, taking our picture.
“What are you taking a picture for?” I asked.
“So I can capture a time you were actually nice to me for once,” he teased.
I went to push away from him with my hand on his chest, but he caught my wrist. We stared at each other for a moment, dragging our eyes over each other’s faces.
I looked at his dark hair; there wasn’t a single strand of gray yet.
My gaze moved down his forehead to the scar on his eyebrow; the long, curled black eyelashes that fluttered as he blinked; the silver hoop in his nose; the faintest scar above his upper lip; the sharpness of his jaw.
Jackson was still the most beautiful man I had ever seen.
I wanted him. I still loved him—I knew that now, looking at him this closely.
Regardless of everything, I had fallen back in love with him.
But honestly, had I ever really stopped loving him?
He gave my wrist a light tug, pulling my hips into his.
Our faces were only inches apart, but instead of kissing me, he dropped my arm and wrapped me in a hug.
His arms were around my neck, and my hands were splayed against his back.
His face was in my hair, and my face was buried in his chest, right above his heartbeat.
We were in the middle of a beach, the waves splashing over our feet with a thousand other people around us, but the only thing that my mind could produce was, Jackson, Jackson, Jackson.
You’re my best friend, period. And I love you, period.
I traced a finger up his spine, feeling the ridges of each vertebra. I was memorizing this moment, and this feeling. Because I didn’t know if I would ever get to feel it again.
A dog ran by us, its fur brushing against our legs and forcing us to disconnect. Jackson looked away, running a hand down his mouth before picking up our shoes, which we had abandoned in the sand.
“Let’s go play mini-golf,” he said before turning around and leaving me no choice but to follow him through the sand.
We left the beach, driving through the town and listening to “Some Protector” by ROLE MODEL.
I loved the way he was singing it like it was true—like it was a promise.
We arrived at an amusement park that had mini-golf, bumper boats, go-karting, and an arcade.
We bought all-day wristbands, even though it was only open for a few more hours.
We rotated between go-karting, bumper boats, playing a round of mini-golf, and then cooling off in the A/C of the arcade before repeating the process.
We were standing in line for the go-karts when the two kids in front of us got turned away for being too short to drive without an adult.
We watched as they walked back to their mom—a woman who was in a wheelchair.
One of the kids sat down on the ground and started to cry as his mom tried to soothe him.
Jackson was slipping under the line barrier and walking toward them before I could ask him where he was going.
I looked around quickly before walking back out of line, too.
“Hey, did you guys want to go-kart?” Jackson asked them.
The mom looked up at Jackson, one hand on the head of her son, who was still bawling on the ground.
“We’re not big enough, and no one can ride with us,” the other kid said, standing next to his mom.
Jackson looked at the mom before throwing a thumb in my direction. “We’ve been riding all day; we can take the kids for a round. I have two nephews, and Addie here is a nanny.” He flashed a smile that said, I swear we’re not trying to be creeps. Even I had to admit, he was absolutely charming.
“We have great references,” I added.
Jackson looked over at me like, This isn’t a fucking job interview. I shrugged my shoulders as I cringed at myself.