Love and Relativity (12 page)

The flipside to that thought was considering what he’d be to
me
. I didn’t want to be the one to hurt him, and most of all, I just wanted our relationship—whatever it was—to remain intact. I let out a soft laugh. No matter how many times I wanted to strangle the man or how many times we’d quarreled at Pete’s, there was no denying it.

We were friends.

“After the cruel things he said to you, I can barely look at him,” I said. “He’s nothing to me, Jack.”

Shifting his hands from my waist to the counter behind me, he slid them past my hips and leaned in. “So what am I to you, Emma? What are we doing?”

That distracting pull, that spark that I so often denied existed between us surfaced, and all I could think was,
I need more time
.

I slid to the right and gently nudged his arm aside to step away, moving to the other side of the kitchen counter. He turned around to face me, the small kitchen space bridging an awkward gap between us. “I don’t know, Jackson. I meant what I said Saturday night. I care about you.”

“You care about me.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t help me understand this,” he waved between the two of us, “or where we go from here.”

“All I’m saying is that I don’t know if we
go
anywhere from here. I’m not sure a kiss means anything changes between us.”

“It changes everything between us. Did the first time, whether you’ll admit it or not.”

“No, it didn’t. And it doesn’t have to.” I shrugged. “I mean, I still feel the same about us as I did before.”

He widened his stance and crossed his arms. “Which is how, exactly? You’re telling me you’re still not interested in me.”

I pressed my lips tight and dropped my gaze to my shoes. If I told him the truth, even though he already knew it, voicing it would launch us into uncharted, scary territory—something I wasn’t sure I wanted to face just yet. If I lied or skimped on details for the sake of avoiding my conflicted feelings, I’d only add to his confusion and my list of reasons to evade him—other things I wasn’t sure I wanted to do.

“We’re...friends,” I said, my voice cautious. “I never thought of it quite that way until this weekend. I’m not sure I want to risk losing something I just figured out I have.”

“Friends who are obviously attracted to one another.” He released his arms to his sides and took a careful step forward. “I know I didn’t imagine the way you kissed me in my truck. I might have initiated it, but you wanted it just as bad as I did. Just as bad as you wanted it the first time. You know I’m right, so don’t even try and bullshit me.” His earlier shyness disappeared at the mention of the kiss, his gaze now cool and confident. This was familiar for him, knowing when a woman wanted him. He took another step closer. “You begged me once before. Parted your legs for me and pulled my mouth to yours, remember?”

My eyes flickered up to his then back down, my cheeks turning warm. I didn’t want my mind to linger on the first kiss we’d shared, the one that almost turned into more—the one we never talked about. Now, the kiss in his truck forced the memory onto center stage, and he had me cornered.

“You’re right,” I admitted quietly. “I did want it.”

“And I’ve never wanted anything more. So why are you fighting it? Emma, if this is about Jen, I understand. Really, you know that I do. But you can’t go on like this and pretend that whatever we have here doesn’t exist.”

My head snapped back up in his direction. “It’s not about Jen.”

“I remind you of that night, of everything that happened.”

Suddenly my appetite was gone, and I could care less about finishing the dishes. I glanced at the vegetables Jackson had begun chopping on the counter and then turned for my bedroom.

“Where are you going?” He followed.

Pushing the door open, I walked to my dresser. I pointed to the world map hanging above it. The corners were frayed, secured to the wall with thumbtacks, and small, colorful pins were arranged in diverse clusters across the countries. Europe was especially colorful. Jackson came to my side, his eyes moving from my face to the map.

“Most of her stuff is still in her old room at my mom’s,” I said. “But I took this. All of the places she wanted to see.” I traced my index finger over Europe, stopping on the bright red pins over Paris. “She loved art and fashion. Paris was going to be her first stop. It’s going to be mine now. Well, in between semesters, after I get settled at my new school next year. Her dreams are mine now.”

Jackson released a slow breath, letting it unreel from his lungs. “It’s good to know you meant what you said Saturday night—that you’re not giving up your dreams of leaving the island.”

“No, I’m not. I’ve been thinking about it since our talk.” I turned to him. “You
are
a reminder of that night. And it does hurt...badly. It’s why I’ve created distance. I stopped showing up at your place back then because it became too difficult. At first I found what I needed with you, but then it was all too much. I had to step away. But you need to know that how I feel about us isn’t all because of Jen.” I gestured to the map again, hoping he’d get a clearer picture. It was about who Jackson was and who I wasn’t.

It was about our differences.

Jackson studied the rest of my room for a moment, settling on the edge of my bed, where he decided to take a seat. “So what else is it about?”

I didn’t join him. He leaned forward to rest on his knees, his ice blue eyes raising to mine. Seeing his bruised face, torn-up clothing, and crazy mess of hair amidst my spotless baby blue bedspread and white ruffled throw pillows made me smile. He was sorely out of place, but so sexy it didn’t matter. I’d happily destroy the curtains and sheets with that man.

I shook my brain fog, quickly pulling my head from the gutter.

“Well, for one, it’s everything I’ve said before. I don’t want to be just another one of those girls you run around with for a good time.”

“You could never be just another girl to me, Emma. Wasn’t I the one to say to you the other night that I know you don’t do casual?”

“That’s just it, though.
You
do. You’re not going to change overnight, Jackson. You were a playboy before I met you, and you’re still one now. And that’s the last thing I would want, is for you to be something you’re not. Our relationship would be doomed from the start if it were founded on trying to change one another.”

“Don’t you get it?” He stood from the bed, a glint in his eyes, the softness gone. “I wouldn’t be changing
for
you, I’d be changing
because
of you. You seem to have quite a few conceptions of who you think I am and what I want, and it’s starting to piss me off. You’re what I want, okay?” He closed in on me, my back to the dresser. “I knew it three years ago, the first time you walked into Pete’s with that jackass, Chris. I knew it after he left you, when you kept coming in with Whitney each Friday night. I remember you sat there and cried the first time you came without him, and Whitney held you until she got enough beers in you to sing karaoke. It made you smile. When you realized it was fun, you tried another song. You sucked.
Bad
. But you were better the next week. And I knew it the night Jen died, when I found you there on the side of the road on my way to Pete’s.” He was nose to nose with me now, his fingers gently trailing the line of my jaw. “I knew when I wrapped you in that blanket and into my arms, and every day after that. Your laugh rings in my ears when I’m playing pool, like a siren, always drawing my eyes in your direction, and once they land on you, I’m fucking ensnared. Your loyalty to your friends, the compassion and patience you have for the people you work with, the fact that you don’t put up with my shit and you see past it all...is why I—” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You see the goodness in people, even fuckups like me. I...I’m...”

I stepped back until the dresser was pressing painfully into my skin, eyes wide. This was so not the turn I was expecting this conversation to take.
Please don’t say it, please don’t say it
—

“I’m in love with you, Emma.”

All of the air whooshed from my lungs, my hand finding my throat. It was too hot in here. Too cramped. Too...everything.

“Jack—”

“Look, I’m not trying to put you on the spot, okay? You don’t have to say it back or anything like that. Just hear me out.”

Still no air.

Pulling a small bag from his back jean pocket, he opened it to reveal a small, beat-up old paperback. “I got this for you Sunday at the old bookstore down near the lighthouse. It’s one of those sappy romances you like...but there’s something in there about love being courageous. That it’s the most courageous thing in the world. Because it’s terrifying, or some shit.” He handed me the book. My limp fingers could barely hold it up. “I started reading it and couldn’t stop. I finished it last night, and all I could think of was you, and how for all this time I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel, I thought I was just being selfish. I’ve known since Jen died that you’d never look at me as anything other than the guy who found you on the sidewalk that night, and what reliving that memory over and over again would do to you if you ever decided to be with me. Yeah, I’ve chased you since then, even though I knew it was useless. I just wanted to be near you, had to take what I could get. I gave up trying to make you mine a long time ago, but it doesn’t erase what I feel for you. And the second I tasted you in my truck,” he shuffled closer and filled the spaces of his fingers with my own, “I couldn’t wait to tell you any longer. Only, Chris was here and he fucked it up.”

My voice caught in my throat, my fingers gripping it, as if to keep it there, not ready to let the words slip out. But I had to speak. He’d just blindly dumped his heart into a wide open vortex, bared three years worth of pent-up feelings for me with no assurance, no certainty that I’d return them. He might’ve seen his actions as selfish, but I didn’t.

I saw nothing but courage. Something I sure as hell didn’t have at the moment.

“That’s...a lot to process.”

“I know.”

“It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you, Jack. There are other reasons I’m hesitant to...start anything with you.”

“That ship has sailed, Em. It’s already started. It’s steam rolling now. I can’t turn it off. So, just tell me. Tell me what you’re thinking, I need to know.”

I might not have possessed much courage in that moment, but I knew Jackson deserved an honest answer. He deserved more than lame excuses or pathetic avoidance techniques.

I set the book on the dresser and straightened my shirt, bringing my eyes to his.

“I’m thinking we’re too different,” I said, my breath wavering. “Even if you take your player reputation out of the equation, we’re night and day, Jack.” My eyes danced between his face and the book, searching, searching...for what, I had no idea. A life raft, maybe. I could feel myself sinking. “We don’t have anything in common, we bicker every night at Pete’s unless we’re distracted by karaoke and small talk, you’re free and I’m
steady
. Don’t get me started on our tastes in music, food, and...cleanliness.” A smile drifted across my mouth at the image of us fighting over his messy habits, but I whipped it back into submission with the reminder of the seriousness of the conversation. “The list goes on and on—”

“It’s good that we’re opposites. We’d be bored to death if we had everything in common.”

“And I’m leaving in the spring, Jackson. I’m just waiting for my acceptance letter—my green light. I have to get out of here, need a future other than this place. I love Pete’s, but I can’t spend the rest of my life sitting at that bar, taking the long route home to avoid Prescott Lane. I had
plans
before Chris did what he did. I’m studying marine biology. I was going to intern off the Pacific Northwest Coast. Get a job away from the Gulf, where I see nothing but Jen’s face every time I dig my toes in the sand or hop on a boat to go fishing. All I can see is the breeze blowing her curly brown hair around her face, the creases around her eyes when she’d smile at me so wide, her grin looked as if it’d crack. Parts of her are sprinkled all over this place. I’m tired of seeing the same old faces, hearing this one or that one got knocked up after high school, or that so-and-so wound up in jail.” My voice cracked on that last comment.
Great.
Real graceful, Em.

Jackson’s fingers fell from my face.

“I just...don’t have a future here, Jack. This place is quicksand.”

“And I do. Have a future here?”

“I don’t know, do you? I’ve never heard about you wanting to get off this island. Not until this weekend. You seem content just hanging at Pete’s, working down at the marina, partying...that might be your idea of living, Jack, but it’s not for me. You say you hate being broke, but you don’t seem to be doing anything to change it. You said it yourself the other night—you’re comfortable here. And that’s okay, but I’m not.”

“So, that’s why you don’t want to give this a chance? It’s not just about reminders of Jen, it’s about my future, now, too? Do you see me like you see this island, Emma? Like quicksand? Is that what I am to you?” He stepped back further, a muscle ticking in his jaw. My mouth fell open as I searched for the words, knowing whatever I was about to say, it had to be careful. Calculated. So much was at stake here. His heart, my heart, his feelings and mine. Our friendship. Everything that’d passed between us over the course of three years. Why did it not dawn on me until now how much those three years of friendship meant to me?