Page 4 of Worth the Wait

His voicemail clicks in. That familiar voice, somehow already sounding distant, as if he's fading from me, even in this recording.

"It's Jackson. Leave a message."

The simple words pierce me like shards of glass. What could I possibly say to bridge the chasm already forming between us? How could words repair what circumstance seems determined to break?

My lips part, but the sound that escapes isn't words—just a single, broken exhale that carries the weight of everything we'd planned, everything we'd dreamed.

I end the call without speaking, then navigate with shaking fingers to his contact. My vision blurs as my thumb hovers over Block Contact. One movement to sever this connection completely. One gesture that says I'm choosing my future over this pain.

"Goodbye, Jackson," I whisper, pressing down firmly as the first heavy teardrop lands on my screen.

The phone asks for confirmation—a final chance to reconsider.

I don't hesitate.

Chapter 1

Tarryn

Present Day…

The gleaming chrome and glass lobby of Blake Financial seems to whisperimportant people do important things hereas I stride through the entrance. Today marks my two-year attorney work anniversary at the firm, a milestone that still feels surreal some mornings. I catch my reflection in the polished elevator doors—tailored charcoal suit, sleek chignon, the carefully constructed armor of a woman who belongs in these hallways of power.

"Happy work anniversary, Ms. Wells," Martin, the security guard, says as I flash my badge. His smile carries the genuine warmth that's made him a fixture in my morning routine.

"Thanks, Martin. How's Layla doing with the college applications?" I adjust my portfolio, making sure the Westfield contract is properly aligned inside.

"Driving me and her mother crazy, but that's teenagers for you." He shakes his head, pride evident beneath the exasperation. "She's got her heart set on Northwestern."

"Smart girl," I reply. “Don’t forget to tell her that when it’s time for her personal statement, I’m more than happy to help coach her on it.” Martin was kind to me on my first day, when I was so nervous I forgot my badge in the cab.

“You got it!” He waves me on as I wish him a good day, catching a brief reflection of myself in a lobby mirror.

I straighten my blazer as I walk toward the elevator bank, savoring the confidence it gives me. Two years ago, fresh out of law school, I'd felt like an impostor in my clearance rack suits. Now, everything I wear is still mostly from the sale and clearance racks, but it’s carefully selected to project exactly who I am: Tarryn Wells, rising star attorney, meticulous and thorough, someone who doesn't make mistakes.

The memory of my law school graduation flashes unexpectedly—standing on the stage, diploma in hand, eyes automatically scanning the crowd for a familiar face before I could catch myself. Even then, with everything I'd accomplished, some small part of me had been looking for Jackson's proud smile. Though we’d long since decided that with all of the hopeful dreams and whispered promises to each other, even we couldn’t make it work. Time and distance did exactly what I feared it would do—ripped us apart. The weakness had annoyed me then. It still does.

The elevator doors open with a soft ding, revealing my friend Zoe already inside, coffee in hand, looking impeccable as always.

"There she is." Zoe grins, her crimson lipstick perfect despite the coffee cup. "The two-year survivor. Congratulations, Counselor."

"Thanks," I say, stepping in beside her. "Though, 'survivor' makes it sound like I've been stranded on a desert island, fighting for my life."

"Please. The Blake Financial legal department makesSurvivorlook like a day at the spa." She takes a sip of her coffee, leaving a perfect lip print on the rim. "Speaking of which, have you heard about the new hotshot joining the team today?"

I press the button for our floor. "No. Should I have?"

"Oh, honey." She leans in conspiratorially. "Word is he's being fast-tracked. Miguel is personally shepherding him around. They poached him from some Indianapolis firm where he apparently worked miracles with their negotiation strategy."

A small knot forms in my stomach. I've been working my ass off for two years, carefully positioning myself for the junior counsel position that should be opening up next quarter. The last thing I need is some hotshot parachuting in and cutting in line.

"Fast-tracked for what exactly?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

Zoe shrugs, too casual to be genuine. "Not sure, but Denise in HR said Miguel mentioned something about 'fresh blood in the leadership pipeline.'"

The knot tightens. The leadership pipeline is where I'm supposed to be.

"Well, I'm sure he's very qualified," I say diplomatically, though my mind is already calculating how this might affect my carefully plotted career trajectory.

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