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“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’m just thinking—that’s life. Bad things happen to good people. You can’t control it. You can just roll with it. It’s like ice cream and drownings.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Ice cream sales and deaths from drowning increase on exactly the same curve. Doesn’t mean eating ice cream if gonna make you drown, though. It just means it’s summer.”
I looked away, but this time, it was Axel who had more to say.
“Remember the fundraiser? You and I were stressing the fuck out about the protestors. Then Jessa came and you just…lit up. You hopped on board the solution train. She came up with a great idea, and we made it happen. It was magical.”
My heart wrenched in my chest remembering that night. That was the night I’d realized I couldn’t resist claiming her as my own anymore. The night I stopped caring if coworkers and colleagues saw us. Because our passion was too great to be contained.
“That’swhat a good relationship is about,” Axel went on. “Because whether or not you’re with her, bad things are gonna happen. People are gonna drown regardless of how little ice cream they eat. What does matter is who’s at your side and how you weather the storm. Together.”
I sat on his words for a few moments, letting them sink into me. He had a point. But the reality his words encouraged was terrifying.
“I liked you two together,” Axel finally said. “A lot. Way more than you and Harper.”
“Yeah. Well, I fired Jessa, so that’s been ruined.”
“So what are you gonna do about it?”
“Nothing,” I told him, turning back to my computer. “I’m going to sit here and rot and fester in the consequences of my actions with whiskey at my side.”
Axel laughed—a real, deep belly laugh. “I don’t believe that shit for one second.”
“It’s what I’m supposed to be doing, right? She was the leak. Her roommate works forBig Apple.What else can I say?”
Axel rolled his neck in a slow circle, his gaze fastened to the far wall. “Do you ever think it might have been Francis?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore. Other than I’m positive it wasn’t Jessa.”
Axel clapped his hand on my shoulder. “All right. Get back to your festering and rotting, since that’s clearly what you’re going to do.”
His sarcasm was back, along with his wink. He knew the truth as well as I did.
When it came to Jessa, I couldn’t sit still for long.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
JESSA
My flight touched down in Louisville on Sunday afternoon. Not even a week away from Damian and the Fairchild brothers and I still felt disjointed and lost.
The disjointedness was made worse by the fact that I was headed home to Oakville, for the first time since August. I hadn’t wanted to come really, but with the holidays right around the corner, Jeremy had started to unload an immense amount of pressure for me to come home and touch base with the family.
God bless my older brother, he tried so hard for us to be one of those Hallmark families. Even though we were better fit for one of those failed reality TV shows that followed a dysfunctional family around and then never got renewed for a second season.What a Fucking Mess with the Waltons –that’s what they’d name our show.
Between the holidays and Jeremy’s mounting pressure, I felt like I had no other choice. Besides, I’d skipped Thanksgiving, and Jeremy’s Martha Stewart energy was ramping up to dangerous levels. My fashion course had already paused for winter break, so I had a few uncharted weeks ahead of me with no plans, no direction.
Why not create the next episode ofWhat a Fucking Mess with the Waltons?
Though I didn’t want to be completely aimless over the winter break. I planned to work ahead for my final portfolio project, so there would be no chance of missing important deadlines or not being prepared. That was the big silver lining in being fired. My final portfolio was coming together, and I was so proud of it.
Except I was the only one who was proud of it.
I just had to get myself used to that idea. Strange how after so many years, I still expected those closest to me to share my excitement.
But Damian had proved I couldn’t trust anyone. His dig about my sketchbooks during our return trip from the Hudson Valley was etched into my heart. It was clear he’d never supported me. Not truly. He’d only tolerated my fashion inclinations as an inconvenient side gig with some pleasant results.
