Page 13 of The Sandover Beach Billionaire

Ah, so we’re not talking about shells anymore.

Jenna crouched down again and Jackson tried to steady his breathing. He had known that Jenna was angry with him, or still thought of him in a negative light. But until hearing the pain in her voice, he hadn’t understood how he had hurt her. She stood, another shell in her hand, this one spiky and white. Jackson swallowed as her shoulder brushed his.

“This one is my favorite.” Her voice was quiet, and Jackson wished that he could see her eyes, but she had her chin down.

“What’s it called?”

“It’s called a Lettered Olive. Another predatory mollusk. They spend a lot of time burrowed down in the sand, hunting food, so the shell isn’t as rough or worn as some of the others.” Jenna dropped the shiny gray shell in a bag.

“Is this something you do often? I mean, when you’re here On Island.”

She knelt in the sand, turning over shells and tiny pieces of driftwood. He almost repeated the question, thinking she hadn’t heard him. But then she spoke, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

“It was something I did with my mom. Almost every weekend growing up. She taught me all the names and told me about each one.”

Jackson felt a shudder of grief. He could hear the way loss coated her words. Jenna’s mother had reminded him so much of Jenna. Well, how she had been back when they were in high school: full of easy laughter, smart, kind, and vivacious with a sharp wit. Jenna’s mother had the same kind of unabashed laugh that Jenna did—or that he remembered. Jackson had yet to hear Jenna laugh. Jenna even had her mother’s dark blue eyes. He had always loved those eyes, the color of the sea on a stormy dusk.

Jenna now seemed so much heavier, with sharper edges. He got the sense that it was protection or self-preservation, not meanness. He knew her marriage ended somewhat recently. Then had lost her mother and had to come back home—it would be a lot for anyone. It made him want to push harder to get past the walls she put up. She was hurting and Jackson wanted nothing more than to soothe the ache. Even if she never wanted more from him than friendship, he could at least offer that.

He wanted to crouch down beside her and put a comforting hand on her back. But he could see the tension in her from where he stood. She had opened up slightly, but if Jackson pushed, she would run. He could sense it. She still may not know that he had spent time with her mother the past few years. It felt wrong to tell her now. Like he would be discounting her grief somehow by acting like he had any right to share in it. The words he wanted to say died before they reached his lips.

He cleared his throat. “How do you decide which to keep and which to throw back?”

Jenna stood and met his eyes. He couldn’t read her expression as she studied his face. “Can I ask you something? Why do you care? I mean, what are you doing here, standing with me on the beach, asking about seashells? Shouldn’t you be bagging groceries? Or ruining someone’s reputation?”

Even though her words stung, she gave him an easy opening. Jackson ran a hand along his chin, realizing he probably needed to shave again. Focus.

“I had this all planned out. For a long time, actually. It’s much harder than I ever thought it would be to apologize to you. Which is odd, since I apologized to Rachel. That felt much easier somehow.”

“Wait—you apologized to Rachel? And she forgave you? Is this your roundabout way of apologizing to me now? Because it wasn’t much of an apology.”

Jackson knew this would be hard, but Jenna seemed determined to make it as difficult as possible. “I did. She did. And I haven’t gotten to the apology yet. I’m working up to it. Clearly, this isn’t something I’m particularly good at.”

“Surprising, considering you’ve had a lot to apologize for over the years. At least when I knew you. Probably more later.” Jenna’s eyes blazed.

She knew just where to aim her verbal attacks. Jackson knew that he deserved it. Though it was surprising. Jenna hadn’t ever been cruel. He’d never heard her say an unkind word. Except to him, this week. He knew that he had messed up with Rachel, but had underestimated how much Jenna still took issue over it. Unless he had done something else that he didn’t remember? Entirely possible, he thought with shame. He spent most weekends in high school drinking. A lot of his memories were fuzzy.

Though it was a risk, Jackson touched Jenna’s shoulder. She stiffened, but did not pull away. “Look, Jenna—an apology can’t make it right. I can’t fix what happened with Rachel or any of the other stupid things I did back in high school. For what it’s worth, I am sorry. Truly. I didn’t mean to hurt her or hurt you. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t make the same choices. About that or a lot of other things. I’m sorry.”

Jackson had thought through this scenario in his head many times as he went over the apology again and again. His real-life version hadn’t turned out terrible, though it wasn’t particularly great. It was honest, and he hoped that she could see that in his face and hear it in his voice.

He licked his lips. “I hoped that maybe we could start again.”

Jenna pulled away. “Start what again? We were hardly friends back then. You did something awful to my sister, now you’ve apologized. Good. I hope you feel better.”

Turning away, Jenna stormed down the beach. He watched her go, standing there among the empty shells, thinking that maybe the mollusks’ way of eating each other was more civilized than the ways people hurt each other. Only when she disappeared over the crosswalk did Jackson realize that Jenna had left her shoes behind. He carried them to his house and left them just inside the back door next to his own. Looking at them together, he could almost imagine that Jenna didn’t hate his guts and that she belonged right here, beside him.

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