All Who Dream (Letting Go) (29 page)

“He’s
dying.”

And with
that, the tender-Jackson I had seen glimpses of was gone. His curt response
stung, as did the truth behind his words. It took me more than a second to
recover.

I did my
best to keep the emotion I was feeling out of my voice, but I doubted my acting
abilities were that good. “How long…how long does he have?”

He
shrugged.
“Could be as little as six months or as long as
five years.
No one knows for sure.”

An icy shudder
went through my core as I watched his face, and the lie of his indifference
stared back at me. I knew the unnatural calm was a coping mechanism, but still,
it broke me to see his resolution. He felt far more than he was letting on. I’d
heard his voice when he spoke to his brother that day in the library.

“Do Peter
and
Pippy
know?” I thought of my sweet friend who I’d
come to love like a sister and pushed the threat of tears down again.

“Yes.
They knew before I did—they made the decision together, as a family.”

This
stopped my heart mid-beat.

Oh, Jackson.

I closed
my eyes, feeling the heaviness of his guilt. His opinion hadn’t been
heard…possibly because he hadn’t been there to say it. The dots were connecting
again.
Were those calls he hadn’t taken
from his brother, the ones he had ignored for months, about that?
I felt
sick to my stomach. By the time Jackson had shown up at the company to take on
his brother’s position, Jacob had already decided. I wanted to be wrong, but
deep down I knew I wasn’t.

“Jackson-”

“Angie,”
his voice was soft, but his eyes were not. “I know you’re only asking because
you care about him and the twins, but rehashing his decision isn’t going to
change anything for me.”

“That’s
not the only reason I’m asking, Jackson. I
do
care about them, but I care about you even more.”

The truth
slipped out without thought. His eyes grew wide at my admission. It was the
closest I’d come to saying it all—baring my heart completely, my heart that now
beat wildly against my chest. It surprised me again how strong my feelings were
for him. And I knew in that moment that they weren’t going to lessen with time,
in fact, the force that pulled at my desire for him only confirmed the laws of
gravity.

He pulled
me into his lap, and the next instant my hands were in his hair, my hip
twisting against him. He kissed me hungrily as if afraid I’d disappear. I was
aware of his hands on my back as I pressed into his chest, equally aware of the
heat that built between us with each passing second. I wasn’t sure who would
have more self-control—but I hoped it was him. No part of me wanted this to
stop.

I craved
his kisses more than I craved my next breath.

My lips
felt swollen and hot when Jackson pulled back, his hair a disheveled mess
between my fingers.

“Angie—I
need to take you home, sweetheart.”

I
nodded,
my breathing heavy and ragged.

With a
groan, he gripped my hips and pushed me back onto the coffee table opposite
him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he scrubbed his
hands over his face again and again. Heat radiated off my body as my gaze
remained focused on his lips. He caught my eye and gave a short, breathy laugh
in response. My face exploded into flame.

“You
can’t look at me like that, Ang. Not when I’m trying my best to be a
gentleman.”

I bit my
lip. “Sorry.”

He nudged
my leg with his playfully. “Thanks by the way.”

“For what?”
I asked, my scalp tingling under his gaze.

“Caring.”

If he
hadn’t stood up to grab his car keys, I would have kissed him again.

The
following morning, my book forward was posted on several online sites,
including the front page of Pinkerton Press and my blog, along with a new
profile picture. The response was overwhelming. Emails filled my inbox, so much
so that
Pippy
had to manage them for me so I could
write.

And write
I did.

For the
next three days, I did nothing but eat, sleep and write. I was holed up with
the Senior Editor, Sally Miller. My days started before eight and ended
sometime after the midnight hour. We outlined the inserts and additions that
would need to be added to my book. The work was exhausting, but strangely
gratifying. Seeing the pages of my blog in book format, each entry with its own
chapter
heading,
caught me by surprise.

On those
pages, the stories that made up my life were written.

That
thought was absolutely surreal.

The only
breaks I had were when Jackson brought me food or when I called Cody—twice a
day. His voice made my heart ache to be with him, yet his happiness was
obvious. He said he missed me, but I knew he was not counting down the hours,
nor did I want him to be. He was having fun at soccer camp and visiting with
Briggs and Charlie.

At the
end of the three days, I talked to Rosie during the car ride back to my
building and then I slipped into my covers just after 2:30 a.m.—barely
coherent. She had helped with Cody’s pick-up earlier that day since his soccer
schedule was tricky to orchestrate with Briggs and Charlie. She’d asked about
the latest with Jackson—as if she had some sixth-sense that more had happened
between us, but I didn’t have the energy for that conversation. Instead, I
yawned, and promised her a rain check convo. She, of course, was not satisfied with
that answer, but when I fell asleep with the phone still to my ear, I could
only hope she understood.

I don’t
even remember hanging up.

BAM.

BAM.

BAM.

I sat
straight up in bed, confused at the sound that seemed to echo through my dark
room. I rubbed my eyes and threw the covers off, straightening my tank top and
sleep shorts as I walked to the front door. The strong,
pounding
 
rattled
the chain at the top of the
panel.

As my
fingers unlocked the last of the bolts, a cold chill ran the length of my body.
In my delirious state, I hadn’t looked out the peephole. I hesitated as my hand
hovered over the doorknob, but it was too late.

The door
flew open.

I opened
my mouth to scream as his face registered a second too late. His hands were
around my throat before any sound could escape my throat. He pressed his thumbs
into my trachea. Black spots blinded my vision in a way that was much too
familiar.

“You
should have kept you mouth shut, you lying wench. Nothing happened to you that
you didn’t deserve. You’re the one who thought you could keep him a secret from
me—hide him from me—but
that just shows
how stupid you
are. How stupid you’ve always been. No one believes you, Angie. You’re pathetic.”
He dug his nails into my skin. “It’s your fear that gives you away every time.
It’s
how I found you—it’s how I’ll always find you.”

I pushed
at him, twisting under the pressure and pain trapped inside me. Tears squeezed
from my eyes as his hands tightened around my neck. My body sagged limply as
his strength overtook me.

This was
it.

He was
killing me—again.

Bam.

Bam.

Bam.

I jumped
up, my body shaking so violently I feared my bones might crack as I gasped for
breath. I touched my face, wet with tears. Then I heard the sound again.

It was a
dream—just a dream.

Yet
somehow, it was more than that. I walked dizzily to the front door, hesitant to
even look out the peephole. I pressed my palm against it, trying to take in a
full breath.

Dirk’s in prison.
I reminded myself.
He can’t be here.

I peered
out—fear still clinging to me like a wet, sticky substance.

I took in
a shaky breath in recognition of the face that stood on the other side of the
door.

I undid
each lock with hands that trembled so hard they missed the chain latch—twice.
The knob turned and opened, and a very agitated Jackson stepped inside an
instant later. I crossed my arms over my chest, not realizing until that very
second that I was still in my camisole and sleep shorts.

“Angie,
I’ve been calling you for over two hours,”—he started gruffly, but stopped
mid-sentence. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes
scanned my
face,
concern etched onto his every
feature.

As his
arms reached for me, I took a step back, trying to get my bearings through my
sleepy delirium. The image and feeling of Dirk’s choking hands around my throat
blurred the lines between reality and fiction. Jackson’s gaze sharpened as I
retreated, but his voice calmed considerably as if he was trying to talk
someone down off a ledge.

“Angie,
why are you shaking like that sweetheart? Talk to me—
please
.”

I nodded,
blinking several times as if to
convinced
myself it
was really Jackson that stood before me now and no one else.

“I…I had
a nightmare,” I whispered. “It was…so real.” I shuddered again
..

His arms
encircled me, holding me tight for several minutes. Neither of us spoke a word.
Finally, he moved me over to the couch then grabbed a thin blanket off my bed
and wrapped it around my shoulders as he pulled me close. I covered my face
with my hands as I rested against his chest. I breathed deep as the details again
invaded my mind like images of a horror movie—one that was much too close for
comfort.

“Can you
tell me about it?” Jackson asked softly.

I calmed
myself, as his hand rubbed my arm in gentle repetition. “Dirk was here—at my
apartment. I heard knocking and opened the door without checking to see who was
there. He choked me, before I could even scream or cry out. And then he…” I
shook my head as another shudder went through me.

“He what?”
Jackson said, anger lacing his tone.

“He said
I should have kept my mouth shut—that I’m just a weak, pathetic liar that no
one will ever believe.”

Jackson’s
arms tightened around me as he kissed the top of my head. “Sweetheart, he’s the
one who is pathetic, not you.” He kissed my head again and smoothed out my hair
as it hung loosely down my back and around my face. “He can’t hurt you
anymore.”

If only that were true.

He still
lived inside me somewhere—within every fear I owned.

“Do you
have these nightmares often?”

I shook
my head. “I used to have them almost every night—but they’ve only just come
back recently.”

“You’ve
been working too hard, Angie. What time did you get in last night?”

I bit my
lip, not wanting to answer him. Jackson had left around ten, only after I
assured him that I would be leaving as soon as I finished up my last couple of
paragraphs. Sally had gone home hours earlier, yet somehow in the quiet
solitude, I’d found my second wind. Jackson had already stayed hours later that
normal, waiting around for me, but I knew he was tired. He had kept the same
hours I had all week, attending more meetings than I could even keep fathom.

“What
time, Angie?”

“Around two.”

He
exhaled hard. “No wonder you didn’t answer your phone! You were still asleep.”

I sat up
straighter and looked at him—suddenly conscience that I hadn’t yet brushed my
teeth, a stale taste on my tongue. “Is today Saturday? What time is it?”

His mouth
curled on one side, though I knew he wasn’t exactly amused. “It’s almost noon.
You were supposed to meet me at my place at nine—for breakfast, remember? When
you didn’t answer my calls I assumed you were just running behind, but then…”

My heart
flooded with warmth at his unspoken words.

“You were
worried about me?”

He lifted
my tangled bed-head hair, and let his fingers run through the strands gently,
making my belly swim with sensations that felt brand new to me.

“Yes,
Angie. I was worried about you.”

I
swallowed hard, hearing the emotion in each syllable that Jackson so rarely
shared. A giddy pleasure built inside me as I watched him. I pursed my lips
together, trying to keep the smile off my face—but resistance was impossible.

“That’s
funny—my distress is funny to you?” he asked, his voice laced now with
mischief.

Uh-oh.

“No
Jackson—
don’t
,
please
!”
I shrieked, scrambling to get off the couch as he pulled me back toward him,
poking at my ribs and tickling me so fast my head spun.

He
laughed as I squirmed. Unfortunately, he had a hold of my foot before I could
re-direct him. He laughed even harder as my hysterical giggles started in. I
was helpless when it came to tickling. Cody had learned this long ago.

“Say it,
Angie.”

“Mercy!
Mercy!”
I cried out between
breaths.

“And?”
He baited, trapping my left foot in his hand, half my
body on the couch,
the
other half on the floor.

“I’m
sorry—I shouldn’t have stayed…that long when I told you I was leaving.”

He
dropped my foot.

“Okay,
and that, sweetheart is an apology I’ll accept.”

I stood
up and punched him in the arm then escaped quickly toward my bedroom.

“I’m
taking a shower,” I called over my shoulder. “Do not come in.”

He kicked
back against the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”