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“I have our luggage. Do you want to get changed first?” he asked.
I turned, taking in the sight of him before me. “Unless you want to go first?” I offered.
Jackson’s eyes slid closed and he shoved his hands through his hair. When he looked back at me, I could see the frustration bubbling under the surface push through. It danced across his face and body like heat on pavement in the middle of a summer day.
“Katie,” Jackson sighed. “Go get ready for bed.”
The authority in his voice pushed me into action, and a few moments later, I exited the bathroom, having washed my face and brushed my teeth. Jackson must have changed while I did because he was in his lounge pants and a white t-shirt. He was standing in front of the sofa near the window I’d been looking out moments before.
I stepped toward him only to pull up short when he said, “We need to talk.”
He didn’t look mad or upset. He looked…resigned, maybe?
“Katie?”
I nodded, walking toward him.
Time to break his heart.
I hoped that I stopped hurting him or that people and life stopped hurting him for being with me at some point. Or he got smart enough to kick me to the curb to save himself. I was no longer strong enough to leave him to protect him.
He sat on the sofa and guided me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. “First, I wanna apologize for what happened last weekend.”
I shook my head, but Jackson said, “There was no excuse, darlin’. I lost control and scared you, and it snowballed.”
“I agree it snowballed, but I pushed myself too hard and should have spoken up sooner. So, I’m at fault as well,” I explained.
Jackson pressed his forehead to mine. I let my eyes drift closed as he did. He whispered, “I still shouldn’t have lost my shit and punched the wall. That was childish, destructive, and uncalled for.”
“Tammy says outbursts will happen.” My eyes popped open as I reminded him.
Jackson grimaced but nodded. His eyes were still closed.
I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Jackson, I need to tell you something. It kept me from agreeing immediately to Morgan and Charlotte’s offer.”
“I know, Katie.” Jackson’s voice was barely audible, but even though he spoke so softly, I heard him like he was screaming it through a megaphone.
I scrambled from his lap, wrapping my arms around myself. “What…umm…what do you…how do you know?” I asked, stuttering and tripping over the words.
Jackson got up, walked to me, and put his hands on my upper arms. His thumbs swiped back and forth over the front of my biceps in what I assumed was meant to be calming but only caused even more anxiety than his admission. How did he know?
“How?” I asked again.
“I came out of the bathroom the other day, and when I didn’t see you and you didn’t answer when I called, I texted you. I heard your computer ding. You’d dropped it on the side of the bed, and it was barely hanging. I grabbed it so it wouldn’t fall, and that’s when I saw the screen. You’d left your messages open on the screen.”
“So you ran?” I asked.
Jackson nodded first and then shook his head no at me. “Yes and no. I started to. I was standing in the garage, in my leathers, with a backpack full of clothes. It was a colossally stupid idea. I hadn’t told the team because I didn’t want to take anyone with me. I’d talked myself out of being so idiotic before you texted me. Even though you lied, and it hurt, I knew running wasn’t an option. Especially not the way I was going about it. Then you and Morgan texted. When he asked if I could help, I agreed. You and I weren’t in the best place because of what had happened the day before, and I thought it would give us a chance to regroup.”
“So you know I’m pregnant?” I asked softly.
He nodded, then asked, “Did you…Have you seen a doctor?”
I pulled him back to the sofa and sat down sideways. He did the same, our knees touching. “I saw Liam that day and the one before. I saw him the day before you left to come here, but there was a huge accident, so the lab was backed up. The next day, when he texted me the results, I went back in to see him.”
Jackson had clasped our hands together when he first sat down, and his eyes dropped to stare at them. I didn’t think he would respond, but he asked, “Is it…is it his?”
His voice was thin but filled with fear, and the hesitant tone and cadence broke my heart. I pulled one of my hands from his, placing it on his head. I threaded my fingers through the soft locks on the back of his head.
