Page 229 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

“Good night, Princess.”

When I reach the door, Jackson holds his hand between us palm up in offering. When our hands come together, my heart skips a beat. It always does with him.

I look back once more to see my dad smiling. Guess he caught that shared moment as well.

Walking out of the hospital this time feels different than before. Peace has washed through me, calming the anxiety I was feeling earlier. “He was telling me goodbye,” I say, walking toward the garage. We keep walking, our hands clasped like we’ll lose sight of one another if we don’t hold on this tight. When Jackson doesn’t say anything, I ask, “What do you think?”

“I think I could get into trouble no matter how I answer. But if you pressed?—”

“I’m pressing you,” I say, poking him. I’d normally get a chuckle or a wayward grin out of him, but his mind seems to be deeper in thought for me to pull him from. “Jackson?”

The name catches his attention, and he glances at me. “He looks and sounds like he’s not going down without a fight. Maybe it won’t take a miracle. Maybe it just took you showing up for him.”

The thought grows my smile. “I’ll take whatever days I get with him. Not only do I get a chance to rebuild my relationship with him but I also need to take care of my family.” The meaning behind the squeeze of his hand is lost. I don’t know what he’s sensing, keeping his feelings to himself or burying them.

Stopping in front of the Lamborghini, I take Jackson’s other hand and hold them both between us. “You know what I’m going to say.”

His expression doesn’t fall, but he’s struggling with indifference. “You’re staying.”

“I have to.”

Resignation is foreign to my fighter’s demeanor, but it’s there, seen in his posture. “And I have to leave.”

I sigh because that thought is depressing. I don’t voice my needs because relationships are built on compromise, and that’s where we are. We’re stuck in the in-between of wants and needs.

I didn’t call him the man I love for my father’s sake. I don’t want to ever hide how much I love Jackson, not from anyone, especially the man standing in front of me now. My feelings won’t change. Distance and time won’t erase my love for him, but as much as I hate it, I need to let him off the hook. “Our timing . . . Just know I love you.”

The words strike a different chord inside him than usual, and a heavy breath follows. “That’s a way to kick this conversation off. Bringing in the heavy hitter right off the bat.”

I sway our hands, trying to figure out what to say when I don’t want to say any of it. I want him here, with me, but that’s an impossibility. “I love you, but I don’t know how long I’ll be in LA.”

“I think this is when I say I’ll wait.” He releasees my hands and cups my face, his thumb caressing my cheek. “I’m sorry this isn’t more romantic. Us, in a parking garage with the smell of gasoline in the air, the sound of tires squealing as they head for the exit. Yeah, I could have played this better, and then maybe you’d change your mind.” He kisses me and then presses his forehead to mine. “I can’t ask you to leave, but please see that I’m a man in a state of desperation. I’ll wait for you, Marlow.”

“I can’t do that to you, though. I could be here for weeks or even months. I have to stay for my dad. I wish I had an idea for how long . . . but I don’t.”

His head tilts to the right. “What do fucking months have on us? We got this. We waited years to be together.” I want to smile, but my heart hurts too much, so I move closer. His arms welcome me and then warm me from the outside in. I’m not sure what to say because nothing will make this better. Our journey’s been long and winding, the timing always a bit off from one another. I just thought this time would be different. Life threw a curveball right at us. He kisses my head, and says, “You always hated LA.”

I’ll cling to his desperation as a reminder of how much this man loves me. But our timing is off, and all I can hope is that one day we can recapture it. “I did, but the sunshine’s not as bad as I remember.”

Leaning back, he locks his gaze on mine. “No, baby. You’re a New Yorker through and through. Don’t you forget that.”

“I won’t,” I whisper. I also won’t forget how he was mine and I was his for too short of a time.

Tears start to form as our goodbye grows louder in my ears. Just when I feel a sob rising inside, warm lips press to mine, and our tongues embrace one last time. Hands caress my face as fingers slide deep into my hair.

I’ve never known what being consumed—body and soul—felt like until Jackson St. James was kissing me. Now I never want it to end.

Except it isn’t up to me . . .It’s now in fate’s hands.

CHAPTER 32

Jackson

Andrew walks in without knocking and drops a red file on my desk.

“What’s this?” I look up. When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “What are we doing? Charades? File. Red. Folder. I’m going to need more to work with here.”

He must be in a good mood because for a serious guy around the office, he chuckles. “Funny.”

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