“We’ve spent a lot of time together today,” I point out.
“Sick of me?”
Surprisingly, no. I’m not sick of him at all.
“Not yet.”
He laughs and cuts the engine, smiling over at me. “Please, can I come up with you?”
“You’re such a pouter.” I roll my eyes but don’t tell him no as we get out of the car and head to my front door. “Fresh blood on my door. Millie’s been here.”
“I’m not new to any of these things, yet that gives me the willies,” Jackson confesses as I unlock the door and step inside.
“Yeah, well, it makes her feel better.” I kick off my shoes and pad into the kitchen for a glass of wine. “Want some?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
He waits while I pour.
“Okay, what is it?” I ask when I return to the living room and sit on the couch facing him. “Just say it already.”
“What happened in the garage?” he asks. “When you touched the piano, it was different from the other things.”
“Just a memory.”
“Bullshit.”
But his voice is mild as he sits back and watches me.
“Okay, we’re being open and honest, right? Because of this predicament we’re in?”
He raises a brow. “That’s a mild term, but yes.”
“I don’t want to tell you.” There, I said it. “I don’t want to talk about it with you, Jackson. Because I don’t trust that you’ll hear me and not freak out. Because the last time I tried to talk to you about something important I saw, you walked out on me. You left and tore me to pieces.”
“I was young,” he says and stands, pushing his hand through his hair. “Jesus, Daph, I was so young. And hurt. Grieving. Sad. And I wanted to be angry. You were the closest target.”
“Age has nothing to do with treating someone with respect.” I stand as well and cross my arms over my chest. “You wouldn’t listen to me. I told you what I saw because you needed to know. And it nearly killed me. I almost didn’t tell you.”
“For a long time, I wished you hadn’t,” he says and holds his hands out at his sides. “I didn’t want to know that my dad killed himself. I couldn’t deal with it. And, yes, I was horrible that day, but since we’re being honest here, I was horrible for a long time. Going into the Army and leaving was the best thing for me. Because I was an asshole. And so damn angry.”
“I can’t risk you leaving again.” I shrug when his eyes narrow. “We need you to help finish this thing with him, whether I like it or not. And trust me when I say, I don’t like it. I didn’t want you to be the sixth. I didn’t want us to need you.”
“I’m flattered.” His voice is dry as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“But you are the sixth, and we do need you. So, I’m not going to tell you anything that I think will send you running for the hills. Not until he’s gone, and we’re free to live our lives like not-so-normal people.”
That makes his lips twitch.
“I won’t leave.”
His voice is strong. Sure. Free from frustration now and completely calm. His eyes never waver, and he drops his arms from his chest.
“I won’t go, Daphne. Just tell me what you saw.”
I want to. Goddess, I want to.
“Hey.” He crosses to me and frames my face in his hands. The warmth that seeps into me is like a sweet welcome home. I don’t think I’ve felt warm since the day he walked out on me all those years ago. “You can tell me. I won’t turn my back on you again.”
I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and with my eyes on his, I tell him what I saw when I touched the piano.
“It was a memory, like I said,” I add when I’m finished relaying the story. “And, Jack, it’s my fault.”
I feel the tears fill my eyes as he drops his hands from my face and takes a step back.
The retreat is a slice through my heart.
“It’s my fault that he killed himself,” I continue while I can still make the words come. “He felt so guilty, even though he didn’t cause her death. It was a horrible mistake. An awful accident. But I told him too much, and he just couldn’t handle it. And then, just a few weeks later, he took his own life. I can’t tell you what I wouldn’t give to be able to go back and do it differently. To shut my damn mouth and not tell him everything I saw that day. It destroyed him, Jack. And it’s my fault.”
And just like that, my worst fears come to life.
Jack turns his back on me, drops his head, and sighs.
Chapter Six
Jackson
For fuck’s sake, how much more will be piled onto me this week? I take a deep breath and blow it out. I don’t want Daph to see this grief and hurt.
She doesn’t deserve that.
“You’re going to go,” she whispers behind me, and I turn to find her looking absolutely defeated.
“No.” I step back to her and wrap my arms around her, pulling her against me as I rock back and forth, comforting us both. “No, I’m not leaving. I just needed a minute, that’s all.”
She clings to me in relief, and I pull back to wipe the tears from her gorgeous cheeks.
“You’ve been carrying a burden that isn’t yours,” I say gently as she sniffles. She shakes her head, but I continue. “Listen to me very carefully, Daphne. My father chose to end his life. He couldn’t carry the grief and guilt, and that’s on him. I feel awful for him, and I wish he’d gone to someone for help. Oliver. Me. Miss Sophia. But it’s not your fault that he took the information you gave him and used it as fuel for his actions. Hell, we don’t know for sure that that’s what happened.”
“Yeah.” She winces and sniffs. “We do, Jack.”
I sigh and lean in to kiss her forehead. God, she smells good.
“I messed up, sweets,” I admit in a low voice. “I messed up really bad, and I regret it more than I can tell you. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. More than that, I’m sorry that I lost your trust.”
She swallows hard but doesn’t deny it.
“I don’t want to start over,” I continue softly. “I don’t want to do that because it would basically negate everything we had before, and it was damn good before, Daph.”
She grins. “We were babies.”
“Maybe so, but it was still great. The best thing that ever happened to me. So, I don’t want to start over. But I do want to begin again.”
“Oh, Jack, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I know that it means you’ll have to trust me. And maybe you’re not ready for that yet. But I’ll earn it. In the meantime, I want to get to know you better. I want to just be with you, sweets.”
“Every single time you called me that before,” she admits softly, “it turned my knees to Jell-O. You always used to give me butterflies.”
I step closer, dragging my fingertips up and down her arm. “Is that only in the past tense?”
“I’m not telling you all my secrets, Jackson Pruitt.”