Page 222 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

I’m not granted the words or promise, just a hand squeeze in return before he says, “My legal team protected your trust fund since it was never opened, and I was only a secondary beneficiary.” Shock comes in many forms, but for me, I’m standing here speechless. His other hand covers mine, and he adds, “It’s available to you to claim, so you can have the money and start over on your own terms.”

My own terms?I’m not even sure what that is anymore or what that means for Jackson and me. There’s so much to sort through.

My mom’s words bobbing around my head don’t make it any easier to determine.

The nurse looks at me and then nods once. “You’ll have to return to the waiting room, ma’am. We’re on a very tight schedule.”

I lean in and kiss his cheek. “I love you, Dad.”

Now he’s the one with tears in his eyes. “I love you, too, Marlow.”

I walk through the sliding doors. I have hours to worry about him and don’t know where to go. In the small garden by the corner of the hospital, I sit on a bench and stare up at the blue sky that reminds me of Jackson’s eyes.

“Is this seat taken?”

I look over to see him sitting down beside me. “I’m saving it.”

“Oh, yeah? For whom?” Jackson nudges my leg.

“You.”

CHAPTER 29

Marlow

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

I nod, not quite composed enough to say all the things I want to. The surprise of seeing him, that boyish smile that knows its time and place, the heat that reaches me across the bench, and the unwavering connection that bonds us. It’s all so much at once.

“How’s he doing?”

I keep the tears at bay and finally breathe through the buildup of the situation. “He’s been taken to surgery.”

“I know it’s scary.”

“It is.”

I look at him. Judging by the dark circles and the wrinkled clothes, I’m thinking he didn’t get much rest on the plane.

He says, “I missed your call. I was in a meeting.”

I want to touch him, hold his hand, or even run my fingers over the scruff that’s thickened on the overnight flight. I want to kiss him and that half-hearted grin from his mouth.It’s unnatural for Jackson to look as though he’s unsure of a situation. He’s unsure of me. I’ve done that to him.

I clasp my hands together to restrain them and bite my lip, feeling a bit unsteady in his presence as well. The love’s still there, thriving under the skin and rushing my veins, but we shouldn’t fix this, whatever seems to be wrong, with the physical. We’ve relied on it too long. I ask, “You flew all the way to LA to tell me that? You could have just called.”

“I didn’t want to. I wanted to tell you in person.” His own struggle is playing out before me, his fingers fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket while his eyes are set on his shoes in front of him.

I wrap my arm over my stomach because as good as it is to see him, the butterflies have changed direction. “What’s going on? I’m nervous. You’re nervous.”

Resting his forearms on his legs, he angles his head to face me. “I didn’t go to work thinking there was anything going on at home that we couldn’t work through.”

No flowers are blooming in this garden despite the unpredictable California weather this time of year. Just greens and browns. “I’m sorry, Jackson, for not leaving a note or a message, something behind. I wish I could explain my thoughts when I got the news, but there was no rhyme or reason. Nothing was done to hurt you or to make you feel abandoned. I wouldn’t want to do that to you anyway. But yesterday, you abandoned me. Emotionally, you put miles between us, and I still don’t know why.”

“I have.”

“Here’s the thing. I’m tired. You must be exhausted. I’m not thinking clearly. A nurse told me four hours minimum for my dad’s surgery, but it could be upward of eight if there’s more damage than they suspect.” I stand and hold out my hand because why are we torturing each other? “I don’t know whereyou’re staying, but I need more sleep, and you look like you could handle some rest. I’d like to have you come with me . . .” I leave the offer lingering and stand here long enough for him to know I mean it.

But he reaches for it without question, stands, and wraps his around my hand. Without taking a step, though, he asks, “This has changed, hasn’t it?”

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