Page 64 of Second Chance Vacation

Yanking open the accordion door, I am met with a wall of solid muscle. I know on contact that the moment I look up, a painfully familiar pair of blue eyes will be staring back at me. I can't let him see me like this. Diverting my gaze back to my seat, I take a step before he grabs my arm, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a hushed tone.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” I force a chuckle that I’m sure both Jackson and I know is fabricated at best.

Despite this, he loosens his hold on my arm, allowing me to go back to my seat. His stare burns into the back of my head, but I can't will myself to look back at him. In his brief absence, I somehow find a moment of calm that allows me to drift off, even if only briefly.

The moment we touch down in Georgia, I’m the first person off the plane. Savannah’s voice carries behind me, urging me to wait. Despite this, I grab my suitcase from the attendant and rush to the Uber I had called when we were coasting.

I can't breathe when I'm around him.

I need to leave now.

The moment I step foot inside my apartment, I lose the sliver of ability I had left to hold it in.

The wood presses against my back as I fuse to my front door the moment it locks behind me. Instantly, I break out into an uncontrollable sob.

It's Jackson.

It's my mom.

It's Hannah.

It's every person who's ever mattered to me inevitably leaving in one way or another…and it’s all my fault. A guttural cry escapes my lips as I slide to the floor, collapsing to the ground.

I barely get in the door.

TWENTY-SEVEN

JACKSON

“It’s great to have you on the team, Jackson. Your dad speaks highly of your work ethic.”

Seeing Mr. Park being so formal has got to be one of the weirdest experiences I’ve ever had. From the moment I took my first breath, the Parks have been a fixture in my life. They’re my parents’ closest friends, so his talking about my work ethic feels comical. I have to remind myself that I am here for my first job post-law school, not sitting on the beach in Panama City throwing back Bud Lights with the man standing in front of me.

Mr. Park’s grin shows his years, and yet he still has the spirit of a twenty-five-year-old. His short black hair is perfectly styled. It’s gelled into place so firmly that I’m sure a jackhammer couldn’t rustle it. The crow's feet by his eyes show a lifetime of joy and laughter. The perfectly steamed Tom Ford suit leaves me feeling underdressed. Seeing him as a boss will take some getting used to. I’m used to seeing him in cargo shorts and a polo.

“It’s great to be here, sir.”

He struggles to hold back a laugh before it pushes to the surface.

“Was that hard for you, Jackson?”

“Very much, sir.” I laugh awkwardly, unsure of how I am supposed to respond.

“Stephen.” He rolls his eyes, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “I’ve seen you run around naked. It’s hardly time for formalities.”

“As a baby.”

“You were nineteen.”

He would remember the time I got so drunk that I stripped down to my skivvies and skinny dipped—alone—in the ocean outside the beach house…with my parents twenty feet away.

I wince.

“What I would give to erase that from your memory.”

“I think most of us would like to erase that from our memory. I could live without the visual.” He laughs.

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