Page 20 of Somewhere Without You
I nodded faintly, unsure what else to say.
Max stood, giving me a small nod before backing toward the door. He paused just before leaving. “By the way. . . I’ve read all her books.” He managed a faint grin. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
Then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him. I sat in the sunroom, the book still open in my lap, my pulse unsteady.
It had been so long since someone looked at me and actuallysawme. Not as a wife, or an accessory to a deal—but as a person.
And maybe that shouldn’t have meant so much.
But it did.
Ten
Dinnerpassedinsilence.Jackson had retreated into his office, lost in whatever task kept him occupied, while I sat at the table, aimlessly pushing my food around.
Max had left shortly after our conversation, but his words lingered like smoke—subtle but impossible to ignore.
I know what fear looks like.
I hadn’t expected that.
He saw more than I wanted him to. More than I meant to show.
I should’ve been afraid—but instead, all I felt was. . . exposed. As if someone had gently peeled back the mask I wore so tightly, just to see if I was still breathing underneath.
A wave of nausea rolled through me, and I shoved my plate away.
Maybe Jackson’s absence was a good thing. Maybe his refusal to leave his office meant he was simply focused—dotting everyi, and crossing everyt.
Or maybe he knew something.
I sank back into my chair, the quiet pressing in around me. And for the first time in weeks, I couldn’t tell if I was more afraid of what came next. . . or the possibility that nothing would happen at all.
After dinner, I followed my usual routine. Brushing my teeth, washing my face, slipping into a pair of white floral pajamas. Jackson’s office door remained shut, but Icouldhearthe rustle of papers and soft footsteps from inside.
I climbed into bedshortlyafter 9 p.m. whenmy phone buzzed with a text from Katherine. I didn’t respond.She followed up with another call, but I let it go to voicemail, a familiar cycle of avoidance she must’ve expected by now.
I powered off my phone and tucked it in the drawer, deciding itwastime to go to bed. Iwasn’ttired. Ijustwanted the day to be over.
Sleep didn’t comeeasily. I spent whatfeltlike hours tossing and turning, until exhaustionfinallytook over and I drifted off—only to be jolted awake a few hours later by the thumping sound of music.
I blinked through bleary eyes, squinting at the clock on the nightstand. 3:02 a.m.Slowly, I climbed out of bed, the deep bass vibrating through the floorboards with each softthud, thud, thud.
The housewasdark as I crept down the hallway, the only light a thin sliver seeping under Jackson’s office door. I hesitated, pressing my ear against the wood, but all Icouldmake outwerejumbledlyrics from a song I didn’t recognize.
I should’ve ignored it. I should’ve turned around and crawled back into bed.Butcuriosity got the best of me.
The doorknobwascold against my trembling fingers. I steadied my breath, trying to quiet the rush of my heartbeat, and turned the handle.
Inside, Jackson sat slumped over his desk, hisusuallyneat blonde hair in disarray, his navy blue shirt wrinkled and stained. The pungent stench of bourbon filled the room, and a sharp pang of regret hit me.
Ihadmadea mistake.
I started to retreat, hoping to slip back into the shadows without him noticing.
Butjustas I began to turn, the music stopped—the sudden silence shattered by the creak of the door. Jackson’s head jerked up, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine.
