Page 97 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

Lying this close, I feel his muscles tense. Whatever happened, it was not good.

He hums in my ear like he’s contemplating which moment of the night to begin at.

“The beginning,” I tell him, assuming I’ve read his thoughts correctly. “Tell me all of it.”

He rests his chin above my head on the pillow and tells me everything. Tells me how the house has always felt like a humongous monster to him. How hard it was having an alcoholic dad but having to pretend to the world like everything was okay. And how his dad only sobered up when he almost lost his career—but it hadnothing to do with him or his mom. He mentions how all of this led to him taking on the responsibility of protecting his mom from a young age. And how last night, while sitting at their table, he put a stop to it.

He kisses the side of my face and holds on to me tighter like I’m the one with the parachute now. “I couldn’t sit there any longer and allow myself to feel used. So I told him the truth. About all of it. I even told him that I’m Ranger, and I told both of my parents that I wouldn’t be coming back. I said goodbye to that house and that way of life for good.”

“Jack,” I say tearfully, twisting to look at him. I want to find something encouraging to say. Something worthy and important. “I’m so proud of you. That had to be incredibly difficult. And you did it.”

His smile is sad. “Thank you. It felt right. I just…I hate that my mom won’t leave. But I told her that if she ever did need somewhere to go, my door would be open to her.”

“And mine,” I say, meaning it.

This is what chokes him up. I see tears collecting in his eyes, so he shuts them until he gets a handle on them. I want to tell him it’s okay if he cries in front of me, but this has been a big week. We’ll get there eventually.

“So how do you feel today? Now that your parents know about Ranger?”

“Surprisingly good,” he says after sufficiently pushing his feelings away again. “In fact, I think it’s time to come out from behind the name.”

“Really?” I say with a huge smile because it honestly delights me. “I am in full support of this decision.” I want everyone to know that those incredible books belong to Jack. I want to be able to shout his accolades from the rooftops. But mostly, I don’t want him to have to hide himself away ever again.

I nuzzle into his chest. “I can’t wait to brag to everyone that I’m dating the best mystery writer on the planet.”

He hums and I feel the vibration against my cheek. “I knew you only wanted to date me for my status in the book world.”

I shrug. “It’s fair since you’re only in this relationship for my magical mattress.”

“Itisa great mattress.” He breathes in, pulling me in even tighter. “I love it. And I loveyou.”

Those words.My first reaction is to take a sledgehammer to them until they’re nothing but dust where I can never find a trace of their existence again. Because what if they don’t last?

But then I force myself to put the sledgehammer down this time, and instead I run my hand across the slopes and valleys of those beautiful words. Right now—Jackson Bennett—loves me. And that’s something to delight in. The fear and trepidation can just take a hike.

We both jump out of our snuggly cocoon when Madison pounds on my door. “HEY! You better not be getting frisky in there—although I’d actually be proud of you if you were,” she says almost to herself. “But that’s not the point! I’m going to miss my flight if you don’t get your ass moving, Emily Walker.”

Jack kisses the side of my face. “Come find me when you get home, Goldie.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Emily

“You’re quiet over there,” I say to Madison as we near the airport, a light rain drizzling down the windows.

“Hm?” She straightens up and looks away from the window, where her forehead has been plastered for the entire ride with zero words leaving her mouth. Which has to be a record for her.

Normally I would have noticed it sooner, but I’ve been lost in my own thoughts too. Of Jack. Of Us. Of last night.

I turn my attention back to Maddie. “You’ve been silently staring out the window like you’re re-creating a sad music video.”

“Well, I couldn’t waste the rain, could I?” She laughs lightly. “No—I’m good. Just…feeling sad to leave.”

My chest tightens and I resist the urge to whip the truck around and take her back home. Instead, I reach over and take her hand. “You’re the bravest girl I know.”

Her laugh is a cross between a chuckle and something stuck in her throat. “That’s because you haven’t seen me clutching the seat in the back of New York Ubers.” As if to prove her small-town point, cars zoom past my old slowpoke truck on the interstate.“So…you and Jack. I’m sorry I had to interrupt you this morning.”

“No you’re not, you little shit,” I say, flashing her a sideways grin.

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