“Malibu…you don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
My tone was firm, confident. Somehow I managed to keep that one word from shaking. But it had been a lie. I wasn’t sure. Not even a little. In fact, I was strongly considering getting my head checked. But as I sat there with him…I’d just known the thought of him going back there made my chest cave in.
He’d opened his mouth to argue, to tell me it was a bad idea, but I’d kept talking because if I stopped, I’d lose my nerve. “You said you don’t have a home anymore. Well, I’ve got one. Big enough for both of us.”
He’d looked at the ground, thumb rubbing the edge of his cane. “Malibu…”
“I’m not saying you have to,” I’d said. “I just…it makes sense.”
The silence afterward had felt like standing on a cliff, waiting to see if he’d jump too. Then he’d nodded once—barely—and said, “Ok.”
Now he was actually here, and the air hummed with everything unspoken. Everything in my apartment was neat. Books lined up by color, candles never lit, throw pillows sitting just right. Maria teased me that she was going to have to give Jewel a pack of donuts and then just let her loose in here. To make it feel real, lived in. But I liked it like this. It looked calm, curated. The exact opposite of how I felt, especially in that moment.
Jackson set his duffel down and glanced around like Dorothy in Oz. “Is it always this sterile, or did you just hide the body?”
I arched a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
A ghost of a grin crossed his face then he cleared his throat. “I can take the couch.”
I blinked at him, my head going in a million different places, none of them good. The fucking couch? “You can’t be serious.”
“I just figured you’d want space. After—”
“I’ve had space,” I cut in. “Too much of it. You’re not sleeping on my couch, Jackson.”
I need you next to me, damn it.I couldn’t say it. But I didn’t have to.
He nodded, surrendering, and followed me down the short hallway. My bedroom was as spotless as the rest of the apartment—pale curtains, soft lamp light, a bed that took up half the room. His gaze moved around the room, landing on the framed photos on the dresser: Maria, Jewel, and Diego, the girls at Willows Harbor, a snapshot of me, Mom and Hannah from last Christmas. There was guilt in his eyes, like he was trespassing on something good.
“You sure about this?” he asked, fingers tightening around his cane.
“Jackson.” I tilted my head toward the bed. “It’s late. Get in.”
He hesitated, then dropped the duffel and eased down onto the mattress like it might explode. I shut the bedroom door, and the silence stretched long enough for me to hear every heartbeat in the room.
I went into the bathroom to get changed. Safe behind the recently replaced door, I slid onto the floor. Dalton and Maria had found me here so close to death. That felt like ages ago. And now…where the fuck did we go from here? I took a few steadying breaths, dug the six months sobriety coin out of my pocket, said a prayer to a god I didn’t always believe in, and got dressed before crawling into bed next to him.
He watched me as I slid under the sheets, his eyes widening as I passed through the dim light of the window. “Hey,” he said, voice rough. “That’s mine.”
I glanced down at the faded red jersey hanging off my shoulders. It went down to mid-thigh and I always wore it to bed; I hadn’t thought twice before putting it on. “Yeah. I know.”
“Where’d you even—” He stopped himself. “I haven’t seen that thing since…”
“Diego gave it to me,” I said softly. “After your funeral.” The word hung heavy between us. His jaw flexed. “I sleep in it,” I added, wincing at the obvious statement. “It helped me feel like you were still here.”
His breath caught. Those gray eyes I had missed so much met my hazel ones. “It looks better on you anyway.”
I didn’t have words, so I moved closer until my head rested against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steady beneath my ear. Proof that the universe had given me back something I had never expected it to.
“You’re really here,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Guess I am.”
