At that, I really do have to laugh. “I’m not entirely sure that’s the best argument.”
“I guess I’m saying that if you think you can, then you should trust that. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
“Does that help?”
“Yes,” I lie. Because the truth is, I don’t know if I can at all.
And if that’s the feeling I should trust, where does that leave me?
More important, where does that leave me and Jackson?
twenty-two
I wake to sunshine and the wonderful sight of Jackson’s blue eyes looking down at me.
“Hey,” I say, blinking a bit as I try to wake up. I’m still on the deck, but I’m under a blanket, and I realize with surprise that I’ve slept here all night, and apparently alone. “Did you stay up all night?”
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead he sits on the edge of the chaise, his expression so serious that it scares me. “We need to talk.”
I shake my head, because whatever he has to say, I don’t want to hear it.
“I have been up all night,” he admits. He leans forward, then presses his head into his hands.
I sit up, too, my fear now taking on the color of panic. I force it down. With everything else that has been going on, the last thing Jackson needs is to see me losing it, too.
With some effort, I pull myself together, then press my hand to his thigh. “Hey,” I say. “I know you’re scared, but Harriet’s right. This is why you hired her. It’s not over, Jackson, and we both have to believe that.”
His nod is perfunctory, as if I’m talking about some irrelevant topic at a cocktail party. “I’ve done a lot of thinking,” he finally says. “I think it makes more sense if I ask Damien and Nikki to take guardianship of Ronnie.”
“I—oh.” This is not what I was expecting, and I’m scrambling a bit to mentally shift gears. “Okay.” I swallow. I should be turning cartwheels. After all, the thought of being the parent figure in Ronnie’s life has had me terrified. But instead of joy, I feel an overwhelming disappointment. “I guess that makes more sense,” I add. “After all, Damien’s her uncle.”
“That’s part of it,” Jackson says. “It’s not all of it.”
A strange sort of prickling builds at the back of my neck, then starts to trickle down my spine. “You’re scaring me, Jackson.”
“I know,” he says, and there is pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry. But there’s something I need you to do for me. No arguments, Syl. No questions.”
I don’t answer. These words are too much like the words I said to him in Atlanta. And those words just about destroyed us both.
He takes my hand. His is cold. Even a little sweaty. And I feel suddenly ill.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t say it.”
“I have to.” The words sound like nails sealing a coffin. He draws in a breath, and his voice when he speaks is heavy with pain. “I need you to walk away.”
“No.” I’m shaking my head, but I don’t even realize it until I have to stop because the world is moving back and forth, and I am getting dizzy. “No,” I repeat. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you don’t need it. You don’t want it. And I’m sure as hell not doing it.”
“I’m not playing a game.” The pain is gone, replaced by a firm intensity. “I should have done this at the airport. I should have sent you back to LA the moment those detectives showed up in Santa Fe.”
“That is such bullshit.” I’m searching for words, for arguments, for understanding. But I’m finding none of those things. “Why are you doing this to me? To us?” Tears are streaming down my face, and I don’t even care.
Jackson’s fingers twitch, as if he wants to wipe them away, but he doesn’t reach for me. On the contrary, it looks as though he’s fighting hard to not touch me.
“Goddamn you, Jackson. You said you’d never do anything if the price was breaking me.” My voice is cracking and it sounds far away, as if I’m standing at the end of a very long tunnel. “What the hell do you think you’re doing now?”
“I am protecting you, baby. And I’m doing it the only way I know how.”
“The hell you are.”
“I once told you that where you are concerned I’m neither brave nor strong because the thought of losing you destroys me. And that’s true. But, dammit, Syl, I’ve found that strength. And it’s not you but the world that has destroyed me.”
“Jackson—” My voice is full of pain. And, yes, of understanding. But he doesn’t let me continue. Just shakes his head and pushes on.
“I’m strong enough for the both of us, baby. And this is over. It has to be. So as of this moment, we’re done. Because I won’t live like this, knowing that you are tied to a man who can’t even touch you. You deserve a life, Syl. I won’t have you thrown into a cage of our making just because I’m being tossed into one.”
“That’s not a decision you can make for me,” I say.
“The hell it’s not. You’ve handed me control, baby.”
My brows rise. “Control? In bed, sure. But about this? No fucking way.”
“Do you remember the photo I took of you?”
I know what he’s talking about, of course. I’d asked him to take it after Reed had sent me the blackmail photos. I’d needed to grab back some of what Reed had stolen, and so I’d had Jackson take a photo of me, bound and naked.
So, yeah. Of course I remember the photo.
I say nothing, but he knows that I do. How could I not? “That photo was the ultimate submission,” Jackson says.
“Bullshit. I asked you to take it.”
“You did,” he agrees. “But now it’s mine. I hold it. I control it. That wasn’t just about sex, Sylvia. The minute you asked me to take that photo you handed me control in your life, too. Because I could destroy you in a heartbeat.”
“You wouldn’t.” Despite everything he’s said tonight, I know that much is true.
His smile is a little sad. “No. Never. But that doesn’t change the basic fact—you gave yourself to me. Trusted me fully with your reputation. Your privacy. And now, baby, you have to trust me on this.”
“But I don’t,” I say.
He sighs. “Fair enough. But I know I’m right. And if you won’t walk away, Syl,” he says in a voice that breaks my heart, “then I will.”
“Are you sure about this?” Damien asked Jackson. They were on the Malibu property, meandering down pathways that led from the house to the beach. Now, they paused beside the tennis courts, and Damien opened the gate.
Jackson followed him onto the green surface, and took a seat at a courtside table across from his brother. “Believe me,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about little else.”
For hours now, he’d felt lost. Hollow. He’d really left her.
He was really going to move forward without Sylvia at his side. He’d fought so damn hard for her, and now he was throwing it away.
No.
No, he couldn’t look at it like that. He was fucking saving her. She deserved more than some sad life as a prison widow. And while he believed her when she said she would take care of Ronnie, how the hell could he put that on her? Only by being a selfish prick, that’s how.
Yes, he wanted his daughter with the woman he loved.
But even more than that, he wanted Sylvia happy and free. Not trapped.
So, yeah. As much as he hated it, he was sure about this. Sure enough that he’d walked away from her. Sure enough that he’d cut her to the core.
“I’m sure,” he said once more to his brother.
Damien didn’t nod, didn’t argue. He just looked at him, those dual-colored eyes seeing more than Jackson wanted to reveal.
“She loves you,” Damien finally said. “Do you really think that walking away will make her love you any less?”
Jackson ran his fingers through his hair, the words hurting him more than he wanted them to. “I think it will make her live her life.”