Page 119 of And Now, Back to You

“Jackson,” I whisper, and he shifts, his head rolling from one shoulder to the other. I reach forward and scratch my fingers through his hair, trying to wake him gently.

He leans into my touch with a low grumble, then jolts forward, half launching himself from the chair.

“I’m not leav— Oh. Hey, Delilah.” A massive yawn splinters across his face. His drowsy eyes dart quickly to the security guard behind me, then back again. I get the distinct impression I’ve wandered into the middle of a feud. “Is everything all right?” He pushes his glasses up and rubs at his eyes. “Is your grandpa okay?”

“Yeah, he’s doing well. He’s in good hands and he was—he was able to communicate.” I pause. Jackson blinks blearily at me from what must be a horribly uncomfortable chair, his hands against his thighs. “You’re still here.”

He nods. “Yeah. I’m still here.”

Except he says it like a question. Like he’s not sure where here is, but he’s happy to see me regardless.

A throat clears behind us and Jackson scowls. “People are allowed to wait in the waiting part of the lobby,” he says, his voice carrying.

“Not when it’s past visiting hours,” the security guard calls back.

Jackson rolls his eyes to the ceiling. I hold out my hands for him to take, a hum of warmth spilling over when he grabs them without hesitation.

He steps into me, gathering me in his arms and lifting, holding me so tight I can barely take a breath. It’s exactly what I need. My feet dangle at his shins and I tuck my face into his neck. He smells like snow and spice. The sheets we were tangled in when we woke up this morning.

God. This morning feels like a lifetime ago.

If I had the capacity to think about it before we left the lodge, I would have worried how this might go. How it would be for us, back here. So much of our time in the mountains felt like a bubble. Now reality is pressing at the edges, threatening to burst this fragile thing we’ve found with each other.

“Thank you for waiting,” I whisper.

He hums and rocks me a little bit. “Will you let me take you home now?”

“Please.”

The walk to the news van is slippery and cold, Jackson’s hand firm in mine as we manage the pedestrian bridge that leads to the garage. I don’t know why, but the snow almost seems more treacherous here in Baltimore. Something about the ice and the wind and the glow of the streetlights. The shadows of the buildings, towering around us as the wind howls. The city itself, silent and watchful.

Jackson opens my door and helps me in with his hands at my waist, hesitating as I buckle my seat belt.

“What is it?” I ask, shivering at the icy wind that licks through the crack in the door. Jackson shifts his body so he’s taking the brunt of it, his forearms braced against the top of the van. He reaches into his pocket, then drops three boxes of off-brand candy fish in my lap.

“Found these in the gift shop while I was waiting.” He pushes off the door. “Thought they might make you feel better.”

He shuts my door without another word and jogs to his side, jamming the key into the ignition with a muffled curse. I clutch the candy to my chest and try not to cry.

The drive to my house in Hampden takes three times longer than it’s supposed to, both of us shivering as the shitty heater creaks and groans and tries to keep up with the plummeting temperatures outside. By the time we pull up in front of my white picket fence, my shoulders are in my ears and I’m daydreaming about the flannel sheets on my bed.

Jackson keeps the engine rumbling.

“I think I’ll drive this home,” he muses, peering out the windshield at the pink-dappled sky. “I doubt my Honda could make it and I don’t want to give Denise another reason to see me again tonight.”

“Denise?”

“Our very patient friend from the hospital lobby.” His blue eyes are searching from the driver’s side of the van. “I think this is where we go our separate ways.”

I knit my fingers together in my lap, running my thumb along the edge of one of my candy boxes. “That’s right. I guess this is officially the end of us working together. Our assignment is over. We made it.”

“Completely intact, no less.”

I don’t know about all that. It feels like I’ve carved a piece of myself out and handed it over, trusting him to keep it safe. There are a million questions buzzing around in my brain—Do you feel it too? Do you want to see what this could be?—but for once, I silence them. I’m too tired and too soft, my shell cracked open. I’m afraid of the things that might come tumbling out if I let them.

There will be time to discuss the important things. But it’s not right now. Right now, I think I just want one more night of ignoring the logistics and the labels.

“I don’t want you to take the van.”