Jackson Read Free Page B

when she’d learned her mom’s cancer had returned. Jackson making love to her and then spending hours afterward sharing whispered secrets in the dark.
    And then, at last, came the memory of that final morning, when she’d rolled over in the predawn light and found his side of the bed empty. Normally they’d wake up at the same time—often still tangled up in each other—but that morning her gently grasping hand had brushed against nothing but a scrap of paper.
    She’d read that note so many times in the following days that the words were still burned in her mind:
     
    Charlie—
    This wasn’t how I wanted to do this. There are a hundred things I know I should say, and a hundred more I want to say but know I shouldn’t. But the truth is I know none of them will make this right. I knew the moment I met you that this would be a mistake, that I’d only end up hurting you, but I couldn’t help myself. I was selfish. I still am. Which is my only consoling thought—that you’re absolutely better off without me. I wish I could give you a better explanation than that, but I can’t, and for that I’ll be forever sorry. I can only say that I hope you find happiness. I hope you live all of your dreams, big and small. And I hope you find that man who can love and support you the way you deserve to be loved and supported. I’m sorry I ever let you believe that man might be me.
     
    Her eyes burned even now, remembering those words and the sharp confusion that followed. Remembering the pain that had swept through her when she’d tried calling his number and found it disconnected. Jackson hadn’t just left her—he’d completely disappeared. Removed every trace of himself from her house and her life.
    All except one , she thought, looking down at the atlas. But it looked like he was here to finish the job.
    But before she could take another step into the room, she realized he was looking at her— staring , more accurately. As she was staring at him. Her cheeks went hot and she quickly glanced away.
    Jackson cleared his throat. “Rough night?”
    She risked a glance up, confused, then realized he was gesturing toward the papers scattered on her coffee table.
    And end tables.
    And floor.
    In fact, the whole room was a disaster. She had files stacked on every flat surface, and among them sat the half-empty cartons of the Chinese food she’d forced herself to order when she’d realized she hadn’t eaten all day. She also counted at least four coffee mugs on various end tables.
    And that was just the room—that didn’t even take into account how she looked. She’d pulled on her sweats the moment she’d gotten home from the office, knowing she’d be up all night at this. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head—though she was just realizing that a number of tendrils had come lose and hung like wavy octopus legs down her ears and neck. The only makeup she wore was the mascara she’d thrown on on her way out the door this morning, and considering how many times she’d rubbed her eyes in the last hour, she wouldn’t be surprised if that was all over her face by now. No wonder Jackson had been staring at her.
    It doesn’t matter how you look , she told herself, crossing to the coffee table and clearing off her things. Why do you even care what he thinks anymore? The weak part of her mind answered immediately: Because when the guy who dumped you shows up at your door, you want him to know exactly what he’s missing. The only thing Jackson would be thinking right now was, Thank God I escaped this when I did.
    The atlas was still tucked beneath her arm, but now that it was time to give it to him, she was having trouble handing it over.
    “Charlie…” he said softly, in a tone that was almost apologetic. It made her heart ache unbearably.
    She had to be strong. Just hand it over and push him out the door before she dissolved into a pathetic mess of tears at his feet.
    “Here,” she said, thrusting out the