All Who Dream (Letting Go) (20 page)

“How did
your talk go last night with Cody?”

I
stretched my legs out, letting the cool, dampness of the grass seep into my
yoga pants. The breeze was warm enough to ward off chill.

“As good
as it could go I guess…although, I’m sure our conversation on the subject isn’t
over.” I shook my head at the irony of my words. “He will have a lot more
questions as he processes what I told him. The hardest part
is
knowing
I can’t control what the future holds.”

I felt
his eyes on me then. “No…we never can.”

A beat of
silence passed between us, and I waited for him to say more. I begged silently
for him to say more, but he did not. Instead, I decided I would go first. Most
of my “stuff” was already out there at this point anyway. Why not tell him everything?
I could only hope he would reciprocate in kind.

“I was
married at eighteen, right out of high school. We eloped, although my parents
were so detached from my life they hardly noticed.”

He watched
me as he lay back, propping his torso up with his elbows. I scooted around to
face him and crossed my legs as I plucked pieces of grass from the earth.

“I
thought he was everything I wasn’t: charismatic, funny, and charming. He was
popular in school, invited to every party and social event. I felt like
somebody
when I was with him, not just
Angie-the-forgotten-daughter, or Angie-the-sister-of-Briggs. I felt important,
wanted.”

“The
first year wasn’t so bad. He worked for his parent’s furniture company. They
gave him a lot of flexibility with his schedule. He came and went as he
pleased. They spoiled him with freedoms, knowing someday he’d have to step it
up and take over for them. It’s ironic though; his freedom meant the end of
mine.

“What was
once a party every few weekends quickly turned into him staying out every
weekend.
And soon enough there was no distinction between
his weekend partying and his normal mid-week life. Dirk grew distant with me,
hiding things, lying to me. I knew he was on something in addition to his heavy
drinking, but he would tell me I was crazy, laugh me off. But one day he
stopped thinking my accusations were funny. He changed into an angry, violent
monster almost overnight. I’d seen his anger before, but I never thought…I
never believed he would hurt me like he did. I lived in such denial, unwilling
to tell anyone the truth about what was really happening. I felt like a
failure. I’d banked everything on my future with Dirk—I didn’t go to college, I
didn’t pursue writing, and I didn’t think I needed friends.

“There
are so many nights I don’t remember, so many rages, but somehow those weren’t
as bad as the in-between times. There was so much uncertainty, so much fear. I
didn’t know when or what or how he would be set off…only that he would be. That
became inevitable. Sometimes he would go for days or weeks without a rage, and
I would see a glimpse of who I thought I loved in high school, but the calm
never lasted. I did everything I could to make him happy. I thought if I could
just
be better
, do more, love more,
give more…then he would wake up and realize that he wanted me—more than his
addiction. But he never did wake up.

“I left
him when I found out I was pregnant. I planned it for weeks, saving up money to
start over with Briggs somewhere new—somewhere untouched by Dirk. I never told
him about the pregnancy.”

I
stopped, realizing my heart was racing a thousand beats per minute. I had told
this part of the story many times at
The
Refuge
, but never like this. Jackson watched me intently as I focused on a
single blade of grass between my fingers.

“But he
found you,” he said.

“Yes.”

I heard
Dirk’s words in my head then, as loud and clear as the night he first spoke
them.
“Found you, Angela.”

I shuddered.
“He broke into our home in Dallas. Cody was only two. I don’t know how Dirk
found out about him, but he did. He came to take him, and I…I wouldn’t let
him.”

Jackson
sat up, his knee touching mine, his hand balling into a fist at his side.

“He threw
Cody into his truck, and I lunged at him, begging him to stop. That’s when he
stabbed me.” My hand instinctively went to my abdomen. “It’s a miracle that
Briggs came back that night. He was able to take Dirk down and call the cops.
I’d lost so much blood by then though. The doctors didn’t think I would make
it. They were worried about trauma to my head from when Dirk threw me against a
wall before grabbing Cody. The doctors induced a coma as a last resort—to give
my body a chance to heal.”

“And you
proved them wrong.”

I smiled
sadly. “I guess I did.”

“Will you
show me?” he asked, staring at my hand on my abdomen. His eyes were so sincere,
so full of selfless concern. I leaned back slightly and lifted my sweatshirt to
expose the scar that resided an inch below my belly button.

I heard a
hiss escape between his teeth as his brows furrowed. Then, he reached out, as
if crossing a great divide. As his finger traced the length of the scar, a fire
trailed across the sensitive flesh.

Eyes
still focused intently, he said, “It wasn’t enough for you to rob me of my
yesterdays…you had to steal my hope of tomorrow, too.”

I gasped.
Those words were not his—but mine. They were only written in one place, a part
of a poem I’d started years ago in my black journal.

He looked
up from my scar, his crystal eyes piercing me through.
“Photographic
memory.
I couldn’t forget those words.”

He took
his hand away, searching my eyes for the truth they held, for the hurt that was
the heaviest for me to carry.

A single
tear slipped down my cheek. “I’ll never have another baby.”

The words
came out like they were separate from me, passing over my lips without caution
or restraint. I hadn’t spoken them aloud in years. There hadn’t been a reason
to say them.
 
Jackson went rigid beside me.

A twinge
sparked inside me, in the deep hollow of my lower abdomen, within the void that
lived under my scar. I closed my eyes briefly, wishing I had the ability to
resurrect the feeling of life, the feeling of wholeness. But I did not. The
only feeling that resided there now was emptiness. The vacuum had staked its
claim; it couldn’t be undone.

Though
his body was tense, his voice was low. “How are you not hateful or bitter?”

I didn’t
need to look at him to know it was a sincere question. Not some perfectly
constructed string of sympathies like I’d received in the past. This was
Jackson, and he didn’t shy away from awkward. He embraced it, was comfortable
in it even.

“When you
have to fight so hard to live—to keep on breathing—you don’t relinquish that gift
back into the hands of something that will destroy it. I didn’t have time to
hate, not when I still had someone to love.”

“You
sound like my brother.”

I exhaled
at the change in topic, equal parts relieved and surprised.

“Do I?”

It was
his turn to pluck a blade of grass and roll it between his fingers; he did not
look at me. I held my breath, feeling my heart beat erratically with
anticipation.

“Yes, he’s
very forgiving.”

This was
new information, a new piece of the puzzle that made him. I didn’t dare
interrupt. He stared at the lake, as if watching a memory dance upon the water.

“My
father and Jacob were cut from the same cloth, even though they never shared
the same blood. No one could say a negative word about either of their characters,
or how they led Pinkerton. But I never wanted their life of corporate ideals
and business meetings. I didn’t want to be trapped like them. I wanted to live
my
dreams
…” He said the last word as
if it were venomous.

I waited,
watching how his hair moved in the breeze.

“But that
was all before…before I knew what dreaming would cost me,” he said, shaking his
head.

A cold
tingle went up my spine. “What did dreaming cost you, Jackson?”

“Everything.
It cost me everything.”

He stood
then and reached his hand down to pull me up. “Let’s go in, and get some
breakfast.”

With that
he was done sharing.

Jackson
was the expert at speaking witho
ut ever really
saying anything.

While
Jackson showered, and Cody slept, I wandered down the hall toward the library
Jessie had told me about the night before.
I had
imagined a few crowded bookshelves, but not this.
This
was an actual library. I’d never seen anything like it. The
floors were a perfectly polished hardwood. Though every wall was covered with
shelving, the room was not dark like I would have assumed. Instead, the
ceilings were littered with skylights—admitting a naturally filtered light to illuminate
every square inch of it. I stood in one place, turning in a circle to take it
all in.

One shelf
in particular caught my eye. Though there was order to every linear space, the
books on this shelf seemed to be set apart—almost like a shrine. They were red
hardbacks, gold lettering down the spines—five in total. I walked toward them.

“The
Quinton Chronicles…by Everett Jr.,” I said, moving my hand over the spine of each
volume. That title jogged a memory. I’d seen these books before at Rosie’s
house. She had raved about them, but there was something else she had said. I
narrowed my eyes, trying to remember what it was. It was something about-

“Best
crime novels ever written in my opinion.”

I jumped
a foot in the air, gripping my chest.

Jacob
lifted his hands, simultaneously apologizing and calming me. “I’m sorry; I
didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“No…that’s
quite alright. Jessie told me I should visit the library, maybe borrow a book?”
I shrugged, feeling my face heat from the surprise.

“Of
course, this is about the best reading property you’ll find. This room is what
sold us on the house. Jess and I are avid readers.”

I smiled.
“I would imagine so—with the family publishing house and all.”

“Yes, my
grandparents and parents passed on their love of books and reading to us at a
young age. I think Jackson was barely four when he learned to read.”

The image
of Jackson as a toddler squeezed my chest.
“Bright kid.”

Jacob
nodded, walking toward the shelf I was standing beside.
“Turned
out to be a pretty bright man, too.”

There was
sincerity in his tone and in his words. Everything about Jacob was gentle and
genuine. In many ways he was opposite of Jackson, yet they were both
strong—both natural born leaders.

“Have you
read them?” He pointed to the red books.

“No. I
was just remembering my best friend talking about them, though—I haven’t read
much in that particular genre. I usually stick to light fiction—happily ever
afters
.”

My life looked too much like a crime novel…

“Well,
I’d be willing to bet that you’ll be hooked after the first chapter of book
one. Sometimes we need to get outside the box…shake it up a little. I think
you’d be surprised. The plot is impressive. Hit number one on the New York
Times Bestsellers with every release.”

I could
tell this guy had been in publishing—naturally selling story lines with every
conversation.

“Romance?”
I challenged.

“Yep—although
pretty unconventional,” he said, lifting one corner of his mouth, just like
Jackson did.

“Okay.
You sold me.”

He
laughed. “Take them, they’re yours.”

“Oh, no…
I didn’t mean—”

He leaned
over and cupped his mouth as if telling a secret. “I can get more. I’m close
with the publisher.”

I laughed
just as Jackson strolled in, hair still a bit damp from his shower. His eyes
roamed over the two of us, landing on Jacob. There was a silent exchange
between them, thoughts expressed only through their eyes, like a brotherly
code.

 
Jacob’s smile never wavered; Jackson’s smile
never appeared.

“Cody’s
awake,” Jackson announced.

The
statement was obviously meant for me, but he stared at Jacob.

“Oh…okay,”
I said calmly, turning back toward Jacob as he handed me book one of The
Quinton Chronicles. “Thank you, Jacob. It was nice talking with you.”

“Anytime.
I’m looking forward to getting to know you better,
Angie.”

Two steps
into the hallway, I heard an exasperated sigh from Jackson.
“Really,
Jacob?”

The
questioning exclamation was cause for me to stop, curious as to what would be
said next, but the only sound to follow was Jacob’s laughter. The genuine glee
was absolutely contagious. Jackson followed suit a few seconds later with a low
chuckle, and my heart knocked hard inside my chest.

I’d never
grow tired of that sound.

After helping Jessie with party preparations for the last
several hours, she’d kicked me out of the kitchen and told me to go relax. Now
heavily engrossed in the world of Detective Maverick Quinton and his new
partner Reagan Harper, I was grateful for the excuse to read.

She spun around, her hair whipping violently in the
wind as she shoved a finger into his chest. “You may think trust is a luxury,
Quinton, but in my book it’s a requirement! You can’t build a house on a wet
foundation. Stop looking for reasons to nullify my existence in this case...I’m
not going anywhere. Get used to it!”

He stared at her, eyes sharp and narrowed. It wasn’t
that he didn’t notice her—he noticed, too much. He didn’t want to need her, he
didn’t even want to like her, yet there she was, refusing to be ignored. He
grabbed her wrist, pulling her bony finger away from his chest. No woman was
going to tell him how it was—not even his new partner. He didn’t care what
abbreviations followed her name
;
she didn’t
know him.

She didn’t know anything.

“The only thing I’m required to do is make sure that at
the end of the day we are both still breathing.”

Her eyes grew round, as her hand twisted away from his
grasp. For a moment he thought she would sprout tears, proving once and for all
that he was owed a different partner—of the male variety.

But she didn’t cry.

“You’re the worst kind of arrogant there is,” Reagan
challenged.

He laughed humorlessly. “And what kind is that,
sweetheart?”

“The kind that’s born out of
necessity—like a custom-fit suit of armor.
You think its
protection, but it’s not. A lot of materials are made to look like iron,
Quinton. But I can see through your armor, and it
ain’t
made of iron.”

“How can
you stand this heat?”

My head
snapped to attention. Covering my eyes against the rays of the sun, I held my
finger into book one of the
Quinton
Chronicles
to save my place.

“I live
in Texas, remember? It’s hot there,” I answered, closing the book while holding
my place with my finger

 
“Want to go out on the paddleboat? I promised
Cody another ride.”

“Sure,” I
said, using a blade of grass to keep my spot in the book before setting it
down.

Glancing
at the book, Jackson asked, “Is it any good?”

“Yeah…I’m
surprised I’m so hooked, actually. I don’t usually care for this genre. Your
brother has good taste.”

I knew he
heard me, but instead of replying, he jogged ahead, calling out for Cody to
untie the boat from the dock.

I was definitely
sweating now.

My shorts
were stuck to my backside like sticky plastic wrap. Twisting my hair atop my
head, I hoped a sudden rush of wind would dry my neck. No such luck.

Jackson
and I occupied the two main seats on the paddleboat, while Cody sat in the
back, facing out toward the water. He had a life jacket on, even though I was
confident in his ability to swim. I glanced at my co-captain. The heat had to
be overwhelming
him
like it was me, but somehow,
instead of looking like the sweaty pig I was…he looked cool.

That was
annoying.

Without
warning, Jackson stopped paddling. In one swift motion, he stood, ripped his
shirt off, and dove into the water. The boat rocked violently at the sudden
movement. I clung onto the side for dear life while Cody laughed hysterically
and joined him in the water a second later.

They splashed
and swam, leaving me to cook like a grape in the sunshine. I was sure by the
end of our time on the lake I would be a raisin. The water was so tempting, but
I was not in swimwear.

I slipped
my sandal off and tried to stretch my foot gracefully into the water—desperate
for some relief, but it proved an awkward task. Even with legs as long as mine,
I could barely touch the water with my toes.

Jackson
swam over to me, a devious grin on his face. “What are you trying to do there?”

“I’m hot,
Jackson. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Sure, I
was a little testy. But honestly, my skin felt like melted wax.

“So get
in, then.” He floated on his back with ease, revealing abs that shouldn’t exist
on a real, live man. I diverted my eyes.

“I’m not
dressed for it.”

Guys had
it so much easier. If they wanted to swim, they just did it. A simple strip
down was all they needed. Not so for a woman though. Nope. There were all kinds
of wardrobe malfunctions we had to think through. My tank top was light
pink—soaked, it would be nearly transparent, not to mention I was wearing jean
shorts. That was likely the worst swimming cloth imaginable. There was just no
getting around that.

“Oh, come
on, who cares. This is the lake, not a populated beach front.”

“No.” I
shook my head.

I looked toward
Cody, floating on his back in his life jacket, making motor sounds. I smiled at
him, despite the sweat dripping off my face. In that unguarded moment, Jackson
grabbed my dangling leg.

I gasped.

“You have
two choices: Jump or-”

SPLASH!

I swam up
to the surface, sputtering, as I heard Jackson and Cody laughing.

“
Urgh
!
You said I had
two
choices!” I yelled, shoving a wall
of water at Jackson, who was quite amused at the turn of events.

“Yeah,
but when I realized you’d never jump, I decided I had better seize the
opportunity before you pulled your foot back.”

“You are
so mean!” I bit the insides of my cheeks, trying desperately not to smile.

Jackson
swam to me as I backed up underneath the lip of the paddleboat.

“Say it
again,” he challenged, his voice low and smooth.

“You’re
mean,” I said with half the conviction as the time before it.

“Say it
again.”

I
shivered, the cool lake water soaking into my bones, stealing my breath from my
lungs—or maybe that was Jackson. I couldn’t be sure.

“You’re
mean.” I whispered the words this time, their meaning completely lost now.

We
treaded water, staring at each other, unsure of what should happen next.

I reached
up and grabbed hold of the ledge, steadying myself. He did the same, trapping
me between his chest and the boat. My eyes skittered past him, searching for
Cody who was still on his back, humming.

My chest
ached when I saw the intensity of Jackson’s stare. “What do you want from me,
Jackson?”
 

I took in
a shaky breath as his hand grazed the top of my head, freeing my hair to fall
down my shoulders and back. His fingers combed the length of it while an army of
goose bumps marched up my neck.

I stopped
breathing entirely.

His voice
was so low it was hardly audible. “I don’t know.”

Yet as
soft as the words were, their weight was crushing.

He doesn’t know?
 

Turning
to pull myself back into the boat, Jackson gripped my hips and pulled me to him
once again.

“Don’t,
Angie.”

“Don’t
what
? What is this, Jackson?” I
swallowed, reminding myself to keep my voice low. “I don’t need any more
complications in my life, and that’s what
this
is starting to feel like—like one big, messy complication. I appreciate all
your help the past few weeks, but I think…”

His eyes
grew dark as the arm around my waist loosened.

“You
think what?”

I
exhaled. “I’m going back in two weeks.”

Thoughts
and feelings could change, they were fluid—but leaving wasn’t. That was
concrete.

“Don’t
you think I know that?” He practically growled.

Another
shiver went through me.

“Hey!
Guys—look there’s
Pippy
!
And
Peter!”
Cody yelled, pointing to the yard where
Pippy
,
Peter, and the man I assumed was Caleb, all stood waving at us.

Jackson
hoisted himself back into the boat then reached for my hand to pull me inside.
He did the same for Cody.

Neither
of us spoke on the paddle ride back.

Jackson
tied us up to the dock and Cody jumped out and ran over to Peter, asking him
when they could play pool in the game room. As I started to stand inside the
boat, Jackson put his hand out to stop me.

“Here,
you'll want this.” He tossed me his shirt.

“What?
Why?” I asked.

He looked
down at me and immediately I remembered. Crossing my arms over my chest, my
cheeks flamed.

“I will bring
you a towel.” He was halfway across the deck when he said it.

“Oh, uh,
thanks,” I muttered in reply before slipping his shirt over my head.

A relationship with Jackson was like playing a game of
connect-the-dots, while blindfolded. There was no numeric system that led the
way; no big picture set as a guide. There were just dots—haphazardly placed at
will.
His
will.