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He finishes serving up his own plate and comes around to sit beside me.
I can’t eat though. As I sit there in his T, my body too aware of his beside me, I turn into him just as he does the same.
‘Cait, I—’
‘Jackson, I—’
We both laugh and I blush.
‘Sorry, you first,’ he says.
‘No, you; it’s your house, your food, your hospitality...’
‘Nothing happened last night, in case you were, you know, wondering,’ he hurries out. ‘I’m not sure what you remember but I brought you back here because I didn’t want you alone when you were...were...’
‘Drunk?’
‘Yes, that.’ He gives me a one-sided grin. ‘Pippa helped bring you up here, got you into bed. I just...’
‘You just stayed to make sure I was okay.’
He breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Yes. Exactly.’
Oh, God, I want to hug him. I want to hug him and yet he broke my fucking heart. It’s so messed up and I don’t know what to say, what to do.
‘What did you want to say?’
I swallow down the swelling need inside. ‘I wanted to say I’m sorry for the state I was in...and thank you, for looking after me.’
His eyes scan my face; they’re all warm and compassionate and...so very close. ‘I told you; you don’t need to apologise.’ His voice is gruff and I can feel myself leaning into him, or is he leaning into me...?
‘I feel like I do.’
He shakes his head and looks to his plate. ‘No, you don’t.’ His tone brooks no argument and the spell is broken. ‘Now eat. We can talk after. Hopefully, this will make you feel better and...and then you can say what you really need to say. I deserve it and more.’
I know he’s referring to my anger and I’m so confused, the pounding in my head upping with the mass of things I want to say, and the crazy things I want to do even though I shouldn’t.
Just eat, like he says. Then worry about clearing the air. Hopefully, minus the hangover.
‘Do you have any painkillers?’
‘Oh, shit, sorry, yeah...’ He’s off into the kitchen faster than I can say thank you, and it’s killing off the shred of anger that remains—hell, it’s killing off every barrier I’ve put in place these last four months. ‘I meant to leave some with the water on the bedside table.’
Why, Jackson? I want to scream. Why do you have to care so much with one breath and push me away with the next?
I need to understand. If I understand, maybe I have a chance of getting through to him, of making him realise that we could have what Ash and Coco have, we could—
Stop, Cait. Just stop.
I pick up my fork and try to listen to the inner voice that’s still capable of talking sense. But as I look at the thoughtfully laden plate and chew over my food I can feel myself continuing to soften, to hope.
‘Here you go,’ he says, placing the pill packet next to me with a fresh glass of water.
‘Thank you.’ I smile, popping out two and drinking them down. ‘I really can’t believe you made me both fried and scrambled.’
‘Please tell me you like one?’
I give a soft laugh. ‘I love both.’
