Page 71 of The Hookup Situation

“I know, babe,” she says. “And I understand why. All those voices in your head, it’s no wonder you doubt yourself. But you have so much more to offer than just your body, and he sees that, Jackson. He clearly loves you, too. He chased you for weeks, asking you to go places and do things with him, talking to you on the phone. He came to your show because he wanted to be there. He brought you soup when you were sick because he wanted to take care of you. He brought you home with him because he wanted you to be there. He wants you, babe. He wants you even though you fucking ghosted him for three weeks. If he wasn’t seriously in love with you he would have given up a long time ago. I know it’s scary, but I guess you just have to decide if he’s worth the risk or not. Maybe he will hurt you, I can’t promise he won’t. But maybe, he deserves a chance to show you how lovable you are.”

NINETEEN

PRESTON

“Hey,” Paris says, knocking on my door jam and poking his head into my room. “We’re about to light the candle.”

I nod from where I’m lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I haven’t been able to get Jackson or his words out of my head since the night of the party. All the things he said about not being good enough, for his parents, or for his past relationships, about nobody wanting him, and I hate that he grew up believing that what he had to offer wasn’t enough. That who he is wasn’t enough. It kills me that the people who were supposed to care for him and support him and encourage him, taught him to think so little of himself instead. Taught him that he wasn’t worthy of their time and attention. That the guys he was with didn’t see him for the incredible person he is. Because he’s never been anything but perfect to me. Not that he doesn’t have flaws, just that I want him anyway. I want to love him. I want to show him how amazing and worthy and valued he is. I want to show him that nothing could make me want him less and no one could ever mean to me what he does.

But it’s been three days, and he hasn’t called or texted, or shown up outside my door in the Hallmark style gesture of apologizing, so maybe that’s not something he wants from me.

I roll out of bed and head down the stairs for the yearly tradition of lighting a candle for Phoenix on Christmas Eve. We have the candle next to a picture of him and when we light it we take a few seconds of silence to just remember him, and tell him we love him, and miss him. Then we take turns sharing memories before we have supper. It helps us as a family feel closer to him around this time of year and it brings us closer to each other, too.

We gather in the living room, the picture on the TV stand, and Mom sets the candle next to it before she lights it, and we sit. The lights are low and there’s tears as we remember our brother, and our parents remember their son, but there’s smiles too as we share the moments where Phoenix made us laugh so hard our sides were splitting, or how he loved to give Paris piggy back rides, or the time he tried to convince me that Easter eggs were in fact the Easter Bunny’s poo and he came around and crapped in all the yards.

Our parents hug Paris and I afterwards and tell us how much they love us.

We enjoy our dinner and play a game together, then sit and watchSingle All the Wayon Netflix.

Mom and Dad head to bed after that and Paris and I stay up a little bit longer.

I’m in my room, changing into my pajamas when I hear a noise outside my bedroom window. It sounds suspiciously like singing, but we don’t get carolers where we are, and it’s just one person. It’s a bit muffled but I make out the beginning ofBlue Christmas.

A moment later I hear a thunk against my window. What the fuck? Is Paris playing some joke on me or something?

I move to the window, and my breath leaves me when I see Jackson standing on the front lawn, bundled up in his winter gear. He belts the rest of the song as I open the window. Fuck, it’s freezing out there. And it’s snowing.

He sees me and keeps singing. His voice is amazing, and I can’t help grinning while I listen, staring at him. Because he’s here. Fuck, he’s actually here. I swallow as tears fill my eyes. He gave me my Hallmark movie moment after all.

The song ends but he keeps singing with his own lyrics that have me laughing.

“And please let me inside because I’m freezing my balls off out here, and I know I was an asshole, but I swear I’ll make it right. But I won’t be able to if I die of hypothermia.”

The next voice I hear is Paris’s from across the hall. “For the love of god, Preston, let the man in so we can all go the fuck to sleep!”

I move downstairs and unlock the front door before swinging it open. The cold air hits me again and I shiver as Jackson moves through the snow towards me and warmth.

When he’s standing on the front porch he stops and looks at me. His cheeks are rosy and his hair is full of freshly fallen snow. He looks tired, and a bit uneasy, but beautiful, and I’m so fucking in love with him.

“I love you,” he tells me. “I love you, and I want you, too. Please —”

I step outside and grip his face, pressing my lips to his, cutting off his words.

He’s smiling timidly when I pull away. “Can we talk?” he asks, and I take his hand, pulling him inside. He removes his coat and shoes and then we head up the stairs to my room, where I shut the door.

He still looks nervous as he stands there, so I suggest lying down. We do, facing each other, and I reach over and stroke his cheek.

“You’re here,” I say, still unable to believe it.

“I’m here,” he says, gripping my hand in his. “I’m really, really scared, but I’m here.”

For the next hour, we talk. We talk about everything. About his childhood, his parents, his past relationships, the boy who cheated on him, all the boys who told him he was only good for a fuck, all the things that were running through his head while we were together, his feelings of unworthiness, of not being enough, his fear of being rejected. He even tells me about the panic attacks he’s had lately, and I listen, my heart breaking for him, because I hate that he was struggling so much and I never knew.

“I’m not very good at sharing emotions,” he admits, clearly exhausted when he’s finished, his body trembling, whether from fear or fatigue, or both, I can’t tell. “That wasn’t something we did in my family, and it kinda terrifies me.”

“Thank you for telling me all of this,” I say. I know that was hard for him. He’s opening his heart up, being vulnerable, and letting me in, when everything in him is telling him not to. “Thank you for trusting me. I know this is scary for you, Jax. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. I love you, so fucking much.”

He nods and I move in, brushing a kiss to his forehead.

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