Forever, Jack
Page 10

I froze, my breath ceasing to function normally. No. He was not doing this, throwing around the “L” word like I was young enough and dumb enough for it to be a cure-all. A magic bullet to diffuse a situation. I ground my teeth. Oh my God, if I survived this encounter, it would be a miracle.
Hysteria swirled in me, making me nauseous and lightheaded. I could laugh in his face. That would throw him. I wrenched my head away from his, grabbing his upper arms and held him at bay, needing to see his face as disjointed feelings and reactions boiled inside me.
His piercing green eyes held nothing but sincerity in them.
“You knew me for ten damn days,” I spewed. “And you haven’t seen me for months. When did you decide that, Jack? Was it when you were thinking with your dick before you fucked me? Or did you just suddenly decide it, since you’ve seen me again? How romantic.”
He flinched at my words. Shocked?
Damn, I was shocked. Shocked at my words and angry as hell. Angry that he thought he could use me again.
“It was never a decision, Keri Ann,” Jack said harshly and shook his head.
Moments ticked by and his expression cycled through confusion and emotions I couldn’t read. Didn’t want to read.
His mouth became a grim line. “You don’t … decide … to stand in front of someone one day and have them splinter you apart by just looking at you.”
My throat felt thick.
He swallowed. “And I didn’t fuck you. Believe me, I’ve done enough fucking …”
I flinched.
“… to know the difference.”
I licked my lips, trying to find moisture.
His eyes dropped down.
My back was against the counter, I had nowhere to step back to. My mind failed to remember what I wanted to say to him. “You’ll forgive me if I have trouble believing you. Did you manage to remember that you ‘loved’ me,” I made air quotes, “while you were cavorting around England with every girl who crossed your path? Did you think I wouldn’t see that, or didn’t you care if I did?”
“That’s not what it—”
“I mean who are you right now, Jack?” I didn’t want to hear his excuses. “Are you the actor who’s playing the part of the good guy? Are you trying to do the right thing now? Because I don’t need it. I don’t need you.” I took a deep breath and tilted my chin up, staring him in the eyes, ignoring how upset he looked, with his jaw tight, his shoulders rigid, and his bottom lip white as he worked it repeatedly with his teeth. “I may want you,” I said, emphasizing the word and pausing. It was a word he’d used with me, a word that had ultimately led me to kiss him. But a word that should simply mean an attraction and nothing else, that shouldn’t have led to anything else. “I may want you and be attracted to you, but I don’t need you—”
“Let’s work with that. You ‘want’ me. That’s a good start. We can’t go back, so let’s start again. Just give us a place to start. Give me a place to start.”
I held onto his upper arms, feeling their heat, their strength, rock hard under my fingers, and I drew on that strength to do what needed to be done. “It’s not a start, Jack. It’s what got this all so messed up in the first place. I’m attracted to you, sure. So is probably everyone you’ve ever met. It’s how you’re made. But that’s neither here nor there.”
“That’s not all you think of me. I know it isn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter if I have real feelings or not—”
“It does. It means everything.”
“No. It. Doesn’t.” I cast my eyes away from his and his arms tensed under my hands. I couldn’t look at him while I said this. “Since it turns out I didn’t really know you at all, I’m going to assume I was just like every other girl who’s ever fallen into your bed. Maybe it was the idea of you. The part you played with me. The Jack I knew then wouldn’t have deliberately hurt me … maybe I never felt real things for you. How could I when I’m not sure who you are?”
I looked back up at him and faltered a moment at his expression. Even the flush on his cheekbones had leeched away. Complete and utter devastation. I’d thought for a second that he wouldn’t believe me. I barely believed me. That was a seriously low blow and not like me.
Oh God.
“You do know me,” Jack said, his voice rough. “You know me better than anyone on this planet. And I pegged you for more honesty than that. I know you felt something real, not based on the illusion of Jack Eversea. I can see it. I can feel it. It is real. The only real fucking thing I’ve felt in forever.”
“Stop it, Jack.” I winced, resisting his words as best I could. “It doesn’t matter. How I feel about you isn’t even up for discussion. It’s irrelevant because I already know where this ends. I’ve been there.”
I knew I couldn’t have Jack in moderation. I wasn’t capable of it. I’d opened my whole heart to him already, and it had ended in a nightmare. All I could do now was put the deadbolt on, close the shades, and pray for daylight.
“I understand why you’re saying this, but you’re wrong,” he implored. “Shit. I did this all wrong. I’m pushing you. I went too fast. I’m sorry. I just needed to see you again, tell you what happened, not freak you out.”
“Jack. I’m not an idiot. Whether you push me or not still leads to the same place. Fast or slow, I’m not going there. And I thought it would matter to me to know what happened, but I don’t think it will make any difference.”
“I should have told you before how I felt.”
“God, Jack. What you should have done if you really felt the way you say you do, was not leave the way you did and not contact me for over half a year. What? Did you expect me to wait around pining after you? Well, I did. Does that make you happy? Make you feel more appreciated? Do you not get enough love from your adoring fans? I was devastated. But I’m moving on now. Or trying to. And I will as soon as you leave.”
I breathed through the crushing pressure that suddenly sprang up in my chest and gripped his arms tighter to stop the shaking in my hands. I needed to finish this, give him no way out. I couldn’t go back now. I’d only be here again the next time. “If there’s any truth to what you are saying about being in love with me—”
“No,” Jack said desperately, his green eyes flaring. “Don’t say it, Keri Ann. I know what you’re going to ask of me. Please … don’t do it.”
“If you truly love me, then you’ll respect my request … and walk away from this. Leave. Me. Alone.”
When I was nine, Alex O’Rourke hit a six in cricket that nailed me right in the chest. It was a hell of a shot, and he made the Second Eleven’s team for it, even though he was only on the Under-Nine’s up until then. I was out for the count and flat on my back. There was no air, no oxygen, and no capacity to get some. I lay on the field presumably turning blue before the umpire made it over to me.
The evidence of the hit was a smear on my Aran v-neck from the red leather cricket ball right above my solar plexus.
The bright blue and cloudless British sky above me darkened around the edges and narrowed to a pinprick as my starved lungs communicated frantically, and in vain, with my brain. That tiny spot of light was the last thing I remembered until I woke up in hospital while they were x-raying my chest.