Page 26 of Cupid's Beau

“From what, Jack?”

“You don’t understand what this life is like.” He grips the counter, knuckles white. “The constant scrutiny, the speculations, your every move analyzed, the details of every relationship exposed in the tabloids.”

“So help me understand, Jack.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “I haven’t had a real relationship in years because every time I try, it becomes a media circus. My last girlfriend had reporters going through her trash. The one before that had to change her number three times. My sister can’t even post a family photo without gossip sites analyzing each detail.”

“Jack-”

“And now they’re camped outside your parents’ inn. Your home. Because of me.” He pokes at his chest. “Because I was selfish enough to want…” He stops, jaw clenched.

“To want what, Jack?” My heart breaks a little seeing this handsome giant struggling to gather himself, to hold it in. His pain, his frustration. The things he can’t really share. One-percenter problems. Still real, still human. Just a man with talent. Who chose to share his gift with the world. And now asks for nothing but a bit of space, some privacy, room to breathe. To live his life.

“You.” The word comes out rough, almost angry. “I want you. And now your life is going to become a fucking circus because of that.”

“That ship has sailed, Jack.” I say quietly. “Now, what? You protect me by pushing me away?”

“I’m not-” He starts pacing.

“What, Jack? What did you want when you kissed me? When you brought me here? When you…” I swallow hard. “When you were inside me last night?”

He stops moving, and the pain in his eyes makes my chest ache. “Everything. That’s the problem.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“This-” he gestures between us “-can’t work. It never works.”

“You haven’t even given us a chance.”

“Because I know how it ends!” The words explode out of him. “Every time. The press, the pressure, the constant scrutiny - it kills everything good. Everything real.”

“Or maybe,” I step closer, refusing to let him retreat, “you kill it first. To maintain control. To protect yourself.”

He runs both hands over his face. “Neneh…”

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re not sabotaging this because you’re scared.”

“Of course I’m scared!” The admission seems to surprise us both. “I’m fucking terrified.” He waves between us. “This feels different. You feel different. And that makes it worse.”

“Why?”

His silence is answer enough. I grab my phone off the counter.

“I need some air.” I head for the door.

I walk along the rocky shore until my feet hurt, until the wind has dried the tears on my cheeks. The ocean crashes against the rocks, as wild as my thoughts.

My phone buzzes - Malik, probably with more PR plans - but I ignore it. All I can think about is the pain in Jack’s eyes, the way his hands shook when he admitted being scared, how badly I want to shake some sense into him. And kiss him, hug him, make love to him again. Soothe his pain.

When I finally head back to the house, the sun is high overhead. I find a note on the kitchen counter:

Had to go to the city. Back tomorrow.

- J

That’s it. No explanation, no apology, not even a proper goodbye. Just another retreat, another fucking wall.

I trace my fingers over his handwriting, remembering how those same fingers touched me with so much passion and tenderness just yesterday. How is it possible that everything has changed so fast?

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