40. Haven't Told Her

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SKYE

My head is spinning and my gut churns.

How could I be so stupid? Everyone knows Jackson Ford isn't the monogamous type. Sticks calls him playboy all the time—what did I think that meant? That he's just really into board games?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He told me he was interested in someone. The magazines said he was cheating on his girlfriend. Everyone jokes about him being a player. And even then, he explained all of that away and I believed him. Because I wanted to.

Because I'm an idiot.

Deep down, I knew it had to be just a fling between us, but I got caught up in his weird magic. My brain went out the window every time he smiled at me.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

When he introduced me to his family, I started to think I meant something to him. But I should've known better.

"I know what that looked like," he says, his eyes pleading, "but nothing happened."

The sky above us is darkening by the minute, with dark clouds looming overhead. It's as if the world is physically manifesting the tension between us.

"You don't have to explain anything to me." I shake my head and look down at my hands. "We never said we're exclusive."

"Fuck," he curses, threading both hands in his hair and tugging it. "Skye, he came on to me. He thought that I would help him with his career if he did me sexual favors."

Don't fall for it, Skye. He's charming and he uses those puppy dog eyes to confuse you. He can always explain away everything.

I narrow my eyes at him.

"I rejected him, I swear," he says.

You rejected him with your pants off?

"That didn't look like a rejection to me."

"Skye, please." His lower lip trembles and he brings a hand to his hair, grabbing it in a fist. "Please believe me. I didn't understand what he was doing until he cornered me and pulled my pants down. I was telling him no."

I pause, taking in his words.

"You were telling him no... and he pulled your pants down?"

"I know it sounds far-fetched, but I swear it's the truth."

"What the fuck," I curse under my breath. "You promise me that's what happened?"

He nods frantically.

"Yes, yes, I promise."

As much as I don't want to be played, the sincerity in his eyes tells me it's the truth and I trust him. The feeling of hurt and betrayal in my chest begins to morph into something else.

"Okay," I say, straightening up and wiping tears from my eyes.

I take off stomping toward the bus, my fists balled at my sides.

"Wait," he calls, grabbing my shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"Wes just cornered you and touched you against your will, Jacks. I'm gonna kick his ass."

He chuckles and I try to pull away.

"Skye, you're like five feet tall."

"I'm 5'4" thank you very much, and I can totally take him."

I haven't actually worked out the plan yet, but having wrestled Ollie a million times in the past, I'm confident I could hold my own. At the very least I could get a solid punch in before he has a chance to react.

"You want to defend my honor, Buttercup?" he says with a smile.

"Why are you smiling? This isn't funny, this is serious."

"I'm smiling because you're trying to protect me. And that means you believe me." He holds a hand up and brushes a strand of hair from my cheek.

"Yes, I believe you. Now can I resume my ass-kicking mission, please?"

"I can handle Wes," he says, leaning his forehead against mine. "What I can't handle is you thinking I'd betray someone I love for some meaningless romp with that fame-chasing douche."

My eyes widen with his words.

Love?

Did he just say love?

"Someone you love?" I ask, my mouth suddenly feeling dry.

He laughs and wraps his arms around my waist, bringing his lips to my forehead and leaving a soft kiss.

"Well shit," he says with a smile, "I guess the cat's out of the bag. Yes Buttercup, I love you. So fucking much it hurts."

I'm frozen. Stunned speechless.

Jacks loves me.

It's like the words are floating in the air, not quite reaching my ears. Like they're not real—not possible.

Jacks loves me.

There are so many thoughts in my mind, so many words dancing on my tongue. Four in particular are caught in my throat—I love you too.

"You don't have to say anything," he says. "I mean it, I didn't say it because I wanted something back from you. I said it because it's true."

I'm overwhelmed by the moment, by the chaotic mix of heartbreak, anger, and astonishment I've just experienced, so I don't say anything at all. Instead, I grab his face, pull him in, and kiss him with everything I've got.

He responds with a surprised hum that tingles against my lips. His hands move to my hips and he pulls me flush against him. After a moment, the kiss breaks and we both gasp for breath.

"Does this mean I don't have to hold you back from killing Wes, now?" he asks with a laugh.

"I guess if you don't want me to, I won't. But he's not allowed in your trailer anymore."

"That's for sure."

He looks over my shoulder and I turn around to see Bruce standing there in his usual black shirt and slacks, looking stoic as ever.

"We should probably head inside," Jacks says.

It's only now that I realize that this entire interaction has been in the middle of an open parking lot for everyone to see.

"Oh, yeah." Jacks put a hand on my back guiding me toward the entrance. We head inside as Bruce holds the door for us.

In the lobby, Kaylani is waiting at the front desk. She turns to see us and smiles.

"Well what a surprise to see you both together," she says. "I'm just waiting for the concierge to confirm our dinner details for tonight. Are you two coming?"

Kay sometimes books group dinners for the crew between shows. If we don't go we're probably going to raise suspicion, but we're probably going to have to tell everyone about us sometime soon anyway.

Jacks would be okay with telling everyone about us, wouldn't he?

I push the thought from my mind. Just because Greg didn't want to tell people about me doesn't mean Jacks will be that way.

"Sure, count me in," I say.

"What about you, superstar?" Kay asks.

Jacks doesn't reply. When I look at him his expression has fallen and his mouth is slightly open as he looks past me toward the door. I turn to follow his eye line and I find the last person in the world I expected to see, standing there in a sweater with a bouquet of roses in one hand.

Greg.


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