Page 128 of Burn With Me

“Once upon a time, Scott would have answered that question with the same conviction. And then hedidput his hands on me. He threw a glass at the wall next to my head just steps from where we are now, and I will spare you the dirty details of what happened next, all while Tyler was getting the shit beat out of him in a random alleyway. Tyler could havedied! And yet you think I should have stayed?

“And you know what the fucked up thing is, Jackson? It’s that if he had told me he was sick, Iwouldhave because Ilovedhim. But he didn’t tell me because he loved me, too. And he knew he fucked up, so he let me go. Sometimes, you have to let things you love go because you know that if you try to keep them close to you, if you smother them, you will suffocate them.”

Her words come out cracked through fresh tears and thickwith warning tones. Is it a warning? What is she trying to tell me? That I’m no good for Ginny?

“I’m so sorry that I hurt you, Jackson. I never meant to. And looking back, I know it was wrong to cut communication. We’re family. I should have been better. You’re just always so hostile about Tyler–”

“I’m sorry,” I cut her off. “I don’t mean to be. He just irritates the ever-living fuck out of me. He’s always so fucking happy, and his parents are the reason my father…”

I trail off, having never admitted it out loud. What my real issue with Tyler is.

Never admitted that my father was so greedy he tried to get his hands on Tyler’s father’s business, and when Thomas Michaelson wouldn’t budge, he hired someone to scare the man, which resulted in a car crash that took three lives. Tyler’s parents—and ultimately my father’s, by his own hand. Because the guilt ate away at him until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do not finish that sentence, Jackson. You know damn well Tyler’s parents are not responsible for what happened to Simon. And Tyler sure as hell isn’t. He lost his father, too.Andhis mother.”

“Yeah, he tookthataway from me, too.”

Her eyes grow wide, breath catching before she reaches down to swivel the recliner to face where she sits on the matching sofa. “Jackson…. You’ve never mentioned…that you thought of me that way.”

Because by the time I realized I did, I was ashamed I’d jerked off to your photos. Talk about an Oedipus complex.

Shrugging, I look anywhere but at her, replying with, “You were the closest thing I had. Besides Grandma.”

She blows out a breath, sitting back as she wipes her eyes. “Well, moving forward, do you think we can at least try to act like a family again?”

Nodding, I lean forward, motioning for her to do the same. As we embrace, the tension bleeds from my body.Everything in my life feels like it’s been shattered into a million little pieces, and I don’t have any idea how I’m going to glue it all back together.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

But this seems like a good start.

Ginny

It seems fitting that the day of Scott’s funeral would be cold, gray, and gloomy.

Much like my entire personality right now.

Jackson has been…absent, for lack of a better word.

No. No, that’s the exact word I would use to describe his actions. Part of me can’t blame him. He’s dealing with so much. Even though Scott made all of his own funeral preparations, there are still so many things Jackson has to deal with in terms of the business and all the legalities of transferring things over.

If my texts don’t go unanswered completely, he replies with short sentences or just one or two words. It’s hard.

It’s hurtful.

All I want is him, and he keeps making every excuse to put distance between us. How am I supposed to feel about that? Scott is dead because of me. How could Jacksonnotfeel a little resentful?

It’s odd to think that just a few days ago, it wasmewho was the resentful one. Jackson turning out to be my stranger completely blindsided me, but now all of that anger feels so meaningless.

I want him. Pure and simple.

But he won’t let me close enough to tell him that to his face.

The clouds in the sky are fat and heavy with the promise of rain, and the lawn of Green-Wood Cemetery is teeming with a sea of black as people gather for Scott’s burial. As I get closer, I see the pure mahogany casket with the lid shut, covered in a spray of white roses and baby’s breath.

Jackson stands near the front of the crowd, looking so tired I’m worried he may fall asleep where he stands. Dark circles ring his unfocused eyes, and his skin has a sickly pallor against the pure black suit he wears.

My heart breaks at the sight of him.

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