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Chapter 15

I’m sitting on the floor near the bedroom closet—half in, half out—two cardboard boxes torn open, frayed packing tape hanging. The contents of the boxes are strewn across the carpeted floor.

I started with the box holding my high school yearbooks. Flipping through those and running my fingers over signatures of people I used to know and people I can’t remember knowing was a rare and fun pastime. Then I opened the other box and found my cap and tassel from graduation and a few of my senior pictures, plus a framed one from my senior prom. I leaned the frame against the wall, admiring how handsome and strong Jackson was even then. I was small and buried in layers of bright pink fabric. That was the only time I ever saw him wear a tuxedo.

I stand from my cross-legged position and slide aside a few hangers containing my mother’s clothes—seasonal storage—and find a few dress bags crammed in the back. Through the plastic window on one, I spot a flash of pink. I unearth the garment bag and lay it over my bed, unzipping it to reveal the contents. A smile finds my lips. So many good memories. The night I wore this dress feels like forever ago and yesterday just the same. It’s funny how time can do that.

“Think it still fits?”

I start at the low voice, surprised to find Jax in the hallway. His hair is damp with sweat, his T-shirt sticking to his back. He rolled his short sleeves over his round shoulders, revealing thick upper arms. An electric drill dangles from one hand and he uses it to point toward the end of the hall. “Forgot to unlock the door going outside up here.”

His gaze flicks to the dress and then to me before he steps into my bedroom and inventories the stuff littering my carpeted floor.

“Damn.” He sets the drill on the floor and trades it for our prom picture. His smile curves his beard as he studies the photo. “I look like a baby.”

“So do I.”

“No. You look hot.”

When his eyes hit mine, I bite my lower lip, everything that happened in the past few days a confusing whirlwind.

“Try it on.” He tips his chin at the dress on my bed.

“No way!” I shout and then let out an uncomfortable laugh. He laughs with me as I shove the dress into the bag and zip it closed. “I don’t know why Mom kept this.”

But I do. She called when she was cleaning out my room and I couldn’t picture it not hanging there, so I asked her to keep it.

“That was a good night.” He returns the frame to the floor and lowers himself onto the seat at my vanity, dwarfing the delicate white chair. And yet he doesn’t look the least bit out of place in my bedroom. I suppose because he never was out of place in here. Even now.

I sit on the bed. “It was a good night.”

“Remember Monica and Nate fighting like cats and dogs?” He shakes his head. “Man, they were horrible.”

“Totally the wrong people to share a limo with!” I laugh as I remember our best friends back then.

“Thank God we dropped them off first.” His smile fades and his eyes grow dark.

My heartbeat relocates between my legs thanks to my photographic memory of that night. Photographic and pornographic.

“Thank God I paid that driver for an extra hour.” His voice drops an octave. “I see that color pink and it’s all over. Man.” He pulls a hand down his face and then shakes his head. “I haven’t thought about that night in a long time.”

“Same. I started looking through some of my old things and when I came across the prom photo I kind of couldn’t help myself.” I hang the dress in the back of the closet. Waaaay in the back. When I kneel to pick up the prom photo, a palm cups my elbow and helps me stand. Jackson’s playful smile is gone.

He skims that hand down my forearm and takes my hands.

“Dance with me, Mini.”

There’s no music, and I’m not wearing shoes, and Jackson smells like sunshine instead of cologne, but I agree. He wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me so that I’m standing on his steel-toed boots. I loop my arms around his neck and run my fingers over his shorn neck as he sways side to side.

“I can’t believe you cut your hair,” I murmur as he warms my waist with his rough-yet-tender hands.

“I can’t believe you care.”

“I care.”

“Do you?” I sense he’s not talking about his hair.

“Why didn’t you text me back?” I ask as he moves with me.

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