Page 85 of I Just Want to be Yours

The bite in her voice makes me freeze. It’s the first time I’ve heard her anger slip through. “Wait, wait, wait,” I say, shaking my head. “Do you really think I’d cheat on you?”

She sighs, and I hate the defeat in it. “I think most guys in your position might.”

My jaw ticks. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

She lets out a huff. “I don’t know! I never thought I’d see pictures of you like this either, but here we are. And you didn’teven think it was worth mentioning. What else hasn’t been worth mentioning?”

“Nothing!” I run a hand over my face. This can’t be fucking happening. “Look, she was a fan who got too close. I was trying to let her down easy. I never know who the fuck anyone is. I don’t know if they work for a label, and I don’t know if they have a blog with millions of subscribers. The last thing I need is for some story getting out about what an asshole I am, but I would never cheat on you.”

There’s another fucking pause, and her silence is as sharp as a blade.

“Margot.”

“Okay,” she finally says, her voice coming out raspy and whisper-like.

“I said nothing because itwasnothing.”

“Okay,” she says again.

Damn it. I wish I could see her. I wish I could look her in the eyes and see what she’s feeling right now. If only I had just told her how I fucking felt when we were in New York. Maybe then she’d be more reassured. Maybe then she’d see this for what it is.

“Margot.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Jackson. I believe you. Or at the very least, I want to believe you.”

“You have to believe me.”

There’s a faint scoff on the other end of the line.

“You have to believe me because it’s the truth.”

“There’s truth in the pictures, too.” Her voice is quiet, like admitting that fact was something she didn’t want to do.

She’s going to make herself miserable over this. “Stop looking at the pictures.”

“How did you?—”

“Because you’re going to obsess over this, and it meantnothing. Nothing happened. I’ll tell Mya to remove the tag when I see her later.”

“The pictures aren’t the problem, Jackson. It’s what you’re doing in them.” Her sharp tone is back, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.

“I’m not doing anything in them!”

“You’re not exactly doing anything to stop it either!” she throws back. “How far did it go? What did she have to do for you to stop it? Did she kiss your neck? Did she reach her hand further into your pants? How far has it gone with other fans you wanted to ‘let down easy?’”

My heart drums in my chest. I don’t think we’ve ever fought like this. We’ve bickered, sure. But we’ve never done this, and I fucking hate it. I’ve let her down and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. My head pounds.

“Margot,” I say, my voice coming out more tired than I feel. “This is the first time something like this has happened, and I promise you, the worst of it is in those photos.” She’s quiet on the other end, so I keep going. “You know, I don’t think of you less while I’m away. I think of you more. I know touring is my dream, but it doesn’t feel like my goals are just for me anymore—and it doesn’t feel like my goals are just about music anymore. You’ve made me see the bigger picture.”

Another small sniffle cracks my chest. “And where do I fit into this bigger picture?”

“Wherever you want. Take up the whole damn thing for all I care. Just be in it.”

She forces a laugh.

“I’m serious. All that matters is that you’re in it. But for the love of God, please don’t ask me to become a fucking accountant.”

She laughs again, and this one sounds more natural. “You’re a rockstar, Jackson. There’s no pencil pushing in your future. You’d die.”

---