That's the problem. I've been in love with Jackson Anderson for years. I kissed him at my birthday party a year ago, and he rejected me, saying we couldn't because I was Emma's best friend.
Now we're sleeping together, and I'm falling deeper every time he touches me.
He doesn't feel the same way. He can't. He agreed to the rules and agreed to keep it physical. If he felt more, he would've said something, would've argued against the"no falling in love"rule.
But he didn't. Because he doesn't love me, he's helping me heal, being the steady, protective person he's always been. That's all this is for him.
For me, it's everything.
I stare at the ceiling and try to figure out if I'm making a mistake.Is it wrong to keep sleeping with him, knowing I'm in love with him? Knowing he doesn't feel the same way?
Dr. Mills said reclaiming my sexuality is part of healing, that choosing pleasure on my terms is powerful. And it is. Every time I'm with Jackson, I feel more in control, more myself.
But I also feel more in love.
And that terrifies me.
Because eventually this ends. The arrangement can't last forever. At some point, one of us will want more, or Emma will find out, or the rules will fail.
And when it ends, I'll lose him not just as a lover but as the person who held me together when I was falling apart.
I can't lose him.
But I don't know how to keep him either.
17
JACKSON
December hits Hartford like a freight train.
Snow, ice, holiday decorations everywhere. The city transforms into something out of a postcard, all twinkling lights and wreaths and that specific kind of cold that settles deep in your bones.
Emma's showing now. Eighteen weeks, and there's no hiding the bump anymore. She's constantly touching it, talking to it, making Chase feel for kicks. The excitement is contagious. Even Ethan's caught on, patting Emma's stomach and saying"baby"with his toddler pronunciation that makes it sound like"beh-bee."
Maya's been here almost two months now. Two months of therapy sessions, of her slowly piecing herself back together, of us sleeping together three, sometimes four times a week, while pretending it's just physical.
And she's healing. I can see it in every small way. The nightmares that used to wake her screaming have faded to once or twice a week. She's eating regularly now, actually finishing meals instead of pushing food around her plate. The smilesreach her eyes more often. She laughs at Ethan's antics without that hollowness underneath.
Dr. Mills is working miracles. Maya comes back from each session exhausted but lighter, like she's slowly shedding weight she's been carrying for too long.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of Emma and Maya in the living room, laughing about something. I head upstairs to find them buried in boxes of Christmas decorations.
"Finally," Emma says when she sees me. "I need someone tall. Maya's useless."
"I'm five-foot-four, Em. Everything's tall to me."
"Exactly. Jackson, help me with the tree."
The Christmas tree is massive, eight feet of fake pine that Emma insists looks more real than a real tree. Chase is at an optional practice before the one later, which means I'm on decoration duty.
Maya's sitting cross-legged on the floor, untangling lights. She's wearing leggings and one of my old Wolves hoodies. I lent it to her weeks ago, and she never gave it back.
She looks up and catches me staring. Something passes between us: heat, memory, last night when she came to my room and rode me until we both forgot the rules about staying quiet.
"Jackson." Emma snaps her fingers. "Tree. Focus."
"Right. Sorry."
