Page 126 of Burn With Me

“You didn’t just fail. You traumatized a little girl who will have to live with what was done to her for the rest of her life!”

“Jackson, I’m okay,” Ginny says softly, pulling my attention to her.

Our eyes lock, and even though she only has one to seethrough, it’s shining with strength as she nods slightly and repeats herself. “I’m okay.We’regoing to be okay.”

Her will to make those words ring true chases away the anger that’s building in my chest. It’s believable now, the hope shining through her features. But it makes me wonder what will become of us once the adrenaline of our situation recedes and leaves us stripped raw.

We need time to process. Time to grieve. Will we be able to do those things together? Or will we constantly remind each other of everything terrible that’s happened in the last few days?

Ginny spends the rest of the night and the next day resting before the hospital discharges her. As much as I don’t want to leave her in the care of her parents, I’m kept busy by the never-ending phone calls ranging from dealing with business things to the press asking for my comments about my uncle’s death.

So busy that I avoid my aunt until the reading of the will on Wednesday.

Ginny squeezes my hand as Robert parks outside the lawyer's office. “Are you sure I should be here?”

It’s the first time we’ve spent more than an hour together in days—the first time Christine has left her side or let her out of her sight. As much as I want to do nothing more than dote on her as she heals, it’s clear that Christine and Calvin finally taking responsibility for everything is what Ginny needs right now. And if that’s what she needs to heal, then I’m not going to deprive her of that.

“He confirmed it’s you that Scott added to the will. You have a right to be here. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” I run my thumb over hers to try and soothe her nerves. I don’tknow why she’s so afraid of seeing my aunt, but it’s caused her nothing but anxiety since I picked her up earlier.

We’re not in the waiting area of the office long before my aunt arrives. She waltzes through the doors like a cool breeze on a summer day. Stunning, as always, even with the heavy weight of grief present on her face.

The comfort I feel at her familiarity is quickly doused by the man who follows her inside.

“Why ishehere?”

My aunt stops, taking in Ginny’s appearance and landing on our joined hands. Her tone is soft and has no bite as she replies, “I could ask the same.”

Ginny tenses beside me as Tyler draws up next to my aunt, his hand finding the small of her back. “I’m just here for moral support, Jackson. Calm down.”

“Worst thing to say to someone who is the furthest thing from calm,” Ginny says under her breath.

Tyler’s eyes snap to her, a slight smirk pulling at his lips. “You’re right, gingersnap. I’m sorry.”

A door opens behind us, the weathered face and graying hair of George Wilkins coming into view as he steps out and takes a look between the four of us. “All ready?”

Ginny and I sit on one side of the long table in the room, with my aunt and Tyler on the other, his hand never leaving her back as he helps her into her chair. Even when he sits, I notice it still rests above her knee.

It makes me think of how I always feel the need to be touching Ginny.

Anchoring her.

“Right. Well, everything is pretty standard. Scott took care of all the funeral preparations already. As agreed in the divorce, Sadie, you’ll get the penthouse and the beach house in Malibu. He left the Holland Park residence to Jackson since the business has offices in London, as well as the home in the Hamptons. And the apartment at The Bryant was left to Guinevere Mills.”

Ginny’s breath catches, and she turns her wide eyes to me. “He left me the apartment?”

“Of course, he did,” my aunt says under her breath.

George looks at them both over his readers before continuing. “There is also an account set up to maintain the bills for each residence. Jackson, he made you the executor to oversee the allocation of the funds. However, there is a stipulation.”

My aunt lets out a soft laugh. “And, of course, he’d still be trying to control things.”

The statement is said fondly with melancholy. We share a small smile before directing our attention back to George.

“At no time are you allowed to cut your aunt off from receiving any of the money set aside for the residences. Doing so will make your place as executor null, and it will immediately transfer to her…and she has no such stipulations.” George chuckles.

“As if I’d ever do such a thing,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes, vaguely offended that my uncle would think I’d do that to my aunt.

I’m tired, and everything is beginning to catch up with me. I feel like I could sleep for a week, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

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