"I do. But you've been… you've been everything I need. The therapy, the support, the—" She stops. "Everything."
The“everything”she's not naming. The sex. The intimacy. The way we've been healing her trauma one encounter at a time.
"You're doing the work," I say. "I'm just here."
"You're more than just here, Jackson."
The wind picks up, and she shivers, pulling her arms tighter around herself. Every instinct I have screams at me to pull her close, to warm her with my body, to give her my jacket and wrap her in it until she stops shaking.
But I can't. Can't touch her, can't close the distance, can't do any of the things a man should be able to do for the woman he loves.
Loves.
The word hits me like a punch to the chest because that's what this is. Not just want or desire or the remains of a crush. This is love, deep and consuming and terrifying.
"I should get back inside," she says, turning to look at me. "Before Emma notices we're both gone and gets ideas."
She's right. We can't be seen together, can't give anyone a reason to suspect.
But as she starts to walk away, I reach out and catch her hand before I can stop myself. The contact is electric, her skin soft and warm against my palm.
She freezes, looking down at our joined hands, then back upat me.
"Jackson—"
"I know. I'm sorry." But I don't let go. Can't let go. "Just give me one more second."
She could pull away. Should pull away. Instead, she lets me hold her hand while snow falls around us and Christmas music drifts from inside.
"This is dangerous," she whispers.
"I know."
"Someone could see."
"I know."
"We should stop."
"Iknow."
But neither of us moves. We just stand here in the cold, hands clasped, both knowing this is more than friends with benefits, more than physical, more than what the rules allow.
Finally, she pulls her hand free and takes a step back. "I have to go."
"Maya—"
"Goodnight, Jackson."
She disappears back inside, and I'm left alone on the patio, staring at my empty hand as I can still feel her warmth.
I stand out here longer than I should, letting the cold seep into my bones, trying to get myself under control. When I finally go back inside, Maya's with Emma again, laughing at something one of the other women says.
She doesn't look at me for the rest of the night.
Back at home, everyone crashes fast. Emma’s barely keeping her eyes open, Ethan’s out cold from the car ride, and Chase carries him straight to bed. Maya slips upstairs to the guest room without saying anything.
I go to the basement and lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
