Page 28 of Worth the Wait

It'smidnight when I pass by Tarryn's office again, most of the building dark and silent. A sliver of light spills from beneath her door—she's still here, just as I suspected. I pause outside, debating whether to knock, when a soft thud from inside makes the decision for me.

I push the door open without knocking to find Tarryn slumped forward at her desk, head resting on a stack of papers, fast asleep. Her breathing is deep and even, face relaxed in a wayI rarely see during waking hours. The sight of her so vulnerable and unguarded sends an ache through my chest so intense I have to take a moment to steady myself.

Gently, I touch her shoulder. "Tarryn."

She stirs, eyelids fluttering. When she lifts her head suddenly, our faces are inches apart. I can feel her warm breath against my cheek, smell the vanilla and amber notes of her perfume. For a suspended moment, we simply stare at each other, neither moving away. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, drift to my mouth, and I watch her throat work as she swallows.

"Jackson?" Her voice is husky, sleep-roughened in a way that sends a message straight to my cock.

"You fell asleep," I say, fighting to keep my tone neutral despite the sudden need that’s burning in my chest. "It's midnight."

She straightens, creating distance between us as reality returns. She reaches up to her hair, smoothing flyaway strands in a nervous gesture.

"Shit," she mutters, glancing at her watch. "I was just reviewing the liability clause and must have…"

"Exhausted yourself to the point of collapse?" I finish for her, stepping back to give her space. "Yeah, I noticed."

She starts gathering papers, movements jerky with embarrassment. "I need to finish this section before?—"

"No, you need a break before you make a mistake that costs the client millions." I hold out my hand. "Come on. Let's get some air."

"I should really?—"

"Tarryn." I rarely use this tone—the one that means no argument. "Thirty minutes. The river walk is right across the street. It'll clear your head."

She hesitates, clearly torn between her sense of duty and the exhaustion evident in every line of her body. Finally, she sighs. "Fine. Thirty minutes."

The night air hits like a physical relief after hours in the climate-controlled building. The Chicago River stretches before us, city lights reflecting off its surface in rippling gold and silver patterns. Tarryn walks beside me, having exchanged her heels for the ballet flats she keeps in her office. The height difference between us is more pronounced now. Reminding me that the protective instinct I feel for her has always been there.

"Better?" I ask as she takes a deep breath of the night air.

She nods, some of the tension visibly leaving her shoulders. "I hate to admit it, but yes."

We walk in companionable silence for a few minutes, the sounds of the city providing a muted backdrop to our thoughts.

When we reach a small viewpoint overlooking the water, Tarryn pauses, leaning against the railing. The light from a nearby streetlamp catches in her hair, highlighting strands of copper among the chestnut. I have to curl my fingers into fists to keep from reaching out to touch it.

"So, what changed?" she asks suddenly, her profile illuminated against the dark water, the gold of the streetlight catching half her face while shadow claims the other. "After your father recovered. You stopped reaching out to me."

The question catches me off guard—it's the most direct reference she's made to our past since that day in the elevator.

"Everything changed," I say, moving to stand beside her at the railing. The metal is cool beneath my palms, grounding me as memories surface. "After he recovered—it was like nearly dying made him see what really mattered."

I stare out at the water, watching how the light plays across its surface, highlighting her reflection beside mine. The gentlelapping of the river against concrete creates a soothing rhythm beneath our conversation.

"He came to my apartment one night, still weak from surgery, and told me he'd been wrong."

I pause, recalling how vulnerable my father had looked that night—the man who'd seemed invincible throughout my childhood suddenly mortal and afraid. A distant siren wails somewhere across the city, the sound echoing off buildings before fading into nothingness.

"He said life was too short for both of us to postpone our dreams. He hired a management consultant for the business and insisted I apply to law school immediately." I laugh softly, still filled with wonder even years later. "He became my biggest champion, called me every day during finals, and sent care packages to my apartment."

Tarryn's watching me now, her expression softened. "I wish I'd known," she says softly, looking away.

"I tried to tell you," I say quietly. "But by then…"

"I'd blocked your number," she finishes, looking away.

The admission hangs between us, charged with years of unresolved pain. A boat passes on the river below, its wake disturbing the reflected lights, sending them dancing in chaotic patterns.

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