Jackson Read Free Page A

anything?
    “Is it worth money?” she asked finally. She’d sold almost everything of real value she had to help with bills after her mom passed, but she’d never suspected that atlas might be worth anything significant. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”
    “Please, Goose. I’ll pay you whatever you want for it.”
    Maybe it was the use of his old pet name for her, or maybe it was the look in his eyes—desperate, and unlike anything she’d ever seen in his face before—but she found herself stepping aside and letting him into her home.
    The moment he was inside, he turned and locked the door behind them.
    “Where is it?” he asked.
    “Wait in there,” she said, setting the coffee pot on a side table and gesturing toward the living room. “I’ll go grab it.”
    For a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he nodded and went into the other room.
    What are you doing? Charlotte asked herself as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. You shouldn’t have let him in. And he hasn’t even given you a real reason for why he’s here. But the look she saw in his eyes haunted her, and she knew, no matter what was going on, that she wouldn’t have had the heart to turn him away. Because you’re an idiot. And he still affects you, even after what he did.
    There was a lump in her throat by the time she stood in front of the bookcase in her room. She found the atlas easily. Bound in leather with gold embossing on the spine, it stood out amid her collection of ratty paperbacks and well-read travel books. The atlas was designed to look like an antique, but inside, it was quite modern. While there were a handful of prints of gorgeous, hand-drawn maps like the one in her kitchen, most of the images were contemporary and up-to-date. She’d spent hours poring through the pages.
    The knot inside of her twisted as she let the atlas fall open in her hands. She’d loved this gift. Not just because it was from the man she’d thought herself madly in love with—an acknowledgment that stung, even now—or because it added to her ever-growing collection of one day maps. But because she’d been able to tell that the previous owner of this atlas had loved it too. Jackson had purchased it used, and the previous owner—whose name was an illegible scribble on the bookplate inside the front cover—had left his mark on every page. On some pages, it was little notes; on others, it was mysterious stains; and on still others, it was small sketches of birds or constellations or, in one case, a naked woman.
    This atlas had a heart, and she’d felt like the previous owner had been a kindred spirit. She’d liked to imagine that he’d carted this book around with him on his wild adventures, and every mark on these pages was a souvenir. Maybe that faint brown blotch on page 103 next to the map of the United Kingdom was a drop of some fine British tea, or that tear on the corner of the map of Nepal came from the wind whipping the page out of his hand on the side of Mt. Everest. She knew every mark in this book, had invented a dozen stories for each.
    She didn’t want to let it go.
    But maybe it’s better this way , she told herself. Even after all this time, look how much Jackson still affects you. It’s better to cut all reminders of him out of your life completely.
    She repeated that to herself as she descended the stairs. She’d give him the atlas and get him out of her house. He didn’t deserve any more of her time than she’d already given him. He doesn’t deserve the atlas, either , said a small voice in her mind, and while part of her agreed, she just wanted this over with so she could get on with her life.
    But when she reached the living room, she felt herself waver once more. Just the sight of him in her house again was enough to take her breath away, to bring a whole flood of emotions and memories back to the surface: Jackson kissing her for the first time. Jackson holding her close and brushing away her tears