Page 104 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Jackson: Okay.

The simplicity of it loosened something in my chest.

We texted in small pieces throughout the day, short replies at first that gradually grew less short. The words came back to me slowly, like thawing fingers. Jackson complained about Jason almost setting the grill on fire and sent a blurry picture of Rick asleep on the couch with his mouth open. Small things. Normal things. And slowly, without realizing it was happening, I started answering with more than one-word replies.

My cat stretched lazily beneath my skin every time his name lit up my phone.

By midafternoon, Jackson had clearly realized I wasn’t myself.

Jackson: You sound tired.

Me: I am.

Jackson: Bad night?

Me: Bad day.

A beat.

Me: Anniversary of my mom and sister.

Me: I don't really want to talk about it.

The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

Jackson: Okay.

That was all. No follow‑up. No soft sympathy. Just acceptance. And then:

Jackson: We’re having a small bonfire tonight. Backyard. Just the guys, Lia, and me. You don’t have to talk. You can sit by the fire and say nothing and I’ll be right there.

Jackson: Or I’ll come sit with you. Your call.

I hesitated. Part of me still wanted to curl deeper into silence and stay there for another week. The idea of people felt too loud. Too bright. But the idea of Jackson…

Me: Yeah. Okay.

Jackson: I’ll pick you up in twenty.

The evening had turned cold, so I pulled on torn black jeans, a red tank top, and a gray hoodie. I didn’t bother with makeup or trying to fix my hair, just left it loose around my shoulders.

Fifteen minutes later I heard the engine before the lights swept across the window. I grabbed my jacket and headed out before I could change my mind.

Jackson was already climbing out of the driver’s seat when I stepped outside. The moment he saw me, something in his expression eased, a relief so real it landed hard in my chest.

“Hey,” I said.

He crossed the distance in a few long strides and pulled me straight into his arms.

“I missed you,” he murmured into my hair, rubbing his cheek against me.

I didn’t realize how much I needed his hug until it happened. My arms wrapped around him as I pressed my face against his chest and inhaled. God, he smelled good. Woodsmoke and pine and that particular warmth that was just him. My cat soaked it up like she'd been starved for it.

The hollow place inside me didn’t disappear. But it loosened around the edges.

When he finally leaned back, his eyes searched my face, taking in the loose hair, the dark circles beneath my eyes. His thumb brushed beneath one eye before he tipped my chin up and kissed me once. Slow. Warm. Careful in a way that made my chest ache.

He pulled back.