Failure to Match: Chapter 34

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

It was all I could hear, see, think.

I’d been sitting across Daniel Omori for the better part of an hour, and my brain was on autopilot.

It was polite smiles, polite chatter, polite answering of questions, and polite explanations of the services we offered at Charmed. I was going through the motions, but I wasn’t really here. I couldn’t pull myself to the present no matter how hard I tried.

I couldn’t remember how or why I’d crushed so hard on this man just a few weeks ago, because I felt none of it now. I felt absolutely nothing.

We shook polite hands after dinner, exchanged polite goodbyes and polite promises to keep in touch regarding the Immersive program. He’d be enrolling in July.

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

How dare he?

How dare Jackson put the weight of those words on me knowing he’d never truly own them?

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

Why? So in twelve months when I was desperately in love with him and he was thoroughly bored of me I could cry and beg him for the same thing?

A hundred million bucks said he wouldn’t do it. He’d let me go and I’d have to put all the pieces of myself back together so how dare he?

I could barely breathe on the car ride back. I was antsy, restless, jittery. It didn’t help that we were crawling through traffic.

What should have been a ten-minute ride took ten years off my life. Impatience clawed at my sanity, and I had to actively stop myself from ripping the car door open in the middle of the road. I was convinced walking would be faster.

My bones were itching by the time we turned onto Jackson’s street, and I was out of the car before it’d come to a complete stop. I ripped through the lobby and bounced on my heels as I waited for the longest, slowest elevator ride of my life to end.

I was in such a fucking hurry that I didn’t even see him.

My legs were moving before the chrome doors had fully opened, and I would have smashed headfirst into Jackson’s chest had he not captured me in his arms before it happened.

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

His lips smashed to mine, setting my whole world on fire. I snaked my arms around his neck and fisted his hair, our tongues colliding as he carried me inside. Doors flew open, they banged shut. His hold on me was savage, his kisses starved, merciless, almost… angry.

No, not almost. He was definitely angry.

Furious, from the feel of it.

The moment it clicked, he released me. I hit the cushion with a gasp, my stomach lurching from the unexpected drop. It took a few seconds for the blurry reds, warm chocolates, and bright colors of my surroundings to come into focus. There was only one place on his end of the penthouse that wasn’t all right angles and sterilized shades of grey.

The library.

My jaw snapped shut when I met Jackson’s seething, icy glare. He was towering over the couch I’d been dumped on, waiting for me to explain myself.

Shit.

Before I could even sit up (let alone string together a valid excuse), Jackson was on the couch, pulling my thigh over his lap until I was straddling him. His grip was unforgiving as he pinned my hips to his, and I had to keep a hand on his chest to allow an inch of necessary distance between our faces.

“How was your date?” His jaw ticked, barely prying open enough to allow the question.

“It was a business meeting.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Potentially. For work.” Was that really what he wanted to talk about? I felt like there was a much more pressing topic we needed to discuss. “How did you find out about… this?”

“Molly couldn’t take the guilt. You’re not hopelessly in love with him, then?”

“It was a business dinner.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

I sighed. “No, Jackson. I did not fall hopelessly in love with Daniel Omori over the two-hour business meeting we had where we talked about business.”

His withering glare thawed just a touch, some of the tension in his shoulders easing.

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

“Shouldn’t we be discussing how much trouble I’m in?” I asked.

“Do you still think Imogen was talking about him?”

No.

Both my palms were resting flat against his chest now, one right over his hammering heart. “Does it matter?”

Jackson’s throat worked as he studied me. The taut anger in his features had slowly started to wane, giving room to… uncertainty, maybe. “Molly said you read through her journals.”

Damn. She’d told him everything then. I chewed the inside of my lip, nodding.

He paused for a beat. “What did you learn?”

When I didn’t respond, he said, “I wasn’t aware she kept diaries and now she won’t tell me where they’re hidden. I have no idea what you know, and I need you to tell me. All of it.”

“I’m not sure if—” I swallowed, hesitating again. It didn’t feel right for me to start listing out all the abuse he’d suffered as a kid.

“It’s the least you could do after sneaking in here twice without my knowledge or permission, don’t you think?” he said bitterly. “The first time I could excuse. I’m fully aware of how cunning the Harrison sisters can be. They look homey and innocent, and they’re clever enough to utilize it to their full advantage. When I say that Molly couldn’t take the guilt, I mean she planned this all out and then pretended like she couldn’t take the guilt. She knew full well I’d never bring you in here, and that you’d never confess to your crime, so she forced our hands.”

Somehow, I was both surprised and not surprised by that. The sisters had to be cunning to get away with years of hiding everything they had from Richard—all of it regarding his only child, no less.

“However,” Jackson went on, “you weren’t tricked into the second trip. You did it willingly, knowing that if I wanted you in here, I wouldn’t have locked the door. So, tell me what you know. I’ve spent a good hour searching for the cursed things with no luck, and she won’t tell me where they are. It doesn’t matter how many times I threaten to fire her.” He paused to look around again, eyes squinting with suspicious displeasure. “She probably snatched them before confessing. Clever little witch,” he grumbled.

He had every right to be angry. He had every right to kick me out and fire the twins. I understood what their intentions may have been, but if Jackson hadn’t wanted me to know about his past, his trauma and abuse, that was well within his right.

“I’m very sorry,” I said. And I meant it. “I shouldn’t have snuck in here the first time, let alone a second.” It wasn’t about being “tricked” into it, either. “You’re right. The door was locked, and I knew that meant you wouldn’t want me in here. I’m really, very sorry, Jackson.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Just tell me what you know. I’m owed that much, am I not?”

“Fine,” I agreed, even though the mere thought of reciting any of it made my stomach lurch. “I know… I know that…” I trailed off, my gaze dipping down to where my fingers had started fiddling with the crisp collar of his shirt.

Where was I even supposed to start?

“I, um… I know that you’re good at art.” Nope. No. That didn’t even come close to the truth. I cleared my throat as I fought to contain the emotions swirling through my chest. “Scratch that. I know that you’re incredible at it, because this—” I gestured to my surroundings. To the furniture and books and every other thing that had a piece of his soul etched into it. “This is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Jackson.”

He was so, so beautiful. I couldn’t get over it.

I also couldn’t look at him anymore.

“I know that Richard was a monster and that you deserved better than both him and Beatrice. Hatred doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel toward them.”

I was tempted to tell him how glad I was that his father was dead, but that seemed just a tad insensitive.

Mabel had promised me that they’d buried him a few feet deeper than needed, ensuring a smoother, shorter trip down to hell. He fucking deserved it.

“I know how helpless Mabel and Molly felt when Bensen was fired. I understand that, no matter how hard he tried and what evidence he provided, no one would do a damn thing to protect you. Not when they found out who your father was.”

It was so cruel and unfair that it made me want to scream.

Richard had made one phone call—one—and Jackson had been dismissed from the hospital and sent home. Law enforcement and CPS had been instructed by their supervisors to close the case, and that had been that. Bensen had fought for weeks, until Richard had served him the legal papers.

He’d been given two options: continue screaming into the void and go bankrupt, or shut up. I couldn’t blame him for giving up, for choosing to protect his own family, even though Molly had mentioned how much guilt he still held onto.

“I know how sorry I am,” I continued. “I regret so many things I’ve said to you, knowing what I do now. I judged you too quickly and was so insensitive about your situation, and I’m honestly so angry at myself. I don’t care what Minerva’s reasoning is, no one should be forced into a relationship or a marriage they don’t want. No one. And I would’ve seen it earlier if I hadn’t been… I was just so burnt out. I couldn’t see or think straight, and… I can’t blame you for what you did or how you acted. I would’ve rebelled too, if I’d been in your shoes.”

For the first time since I’d started talking, I braved a glance up at him. His jaw was still tight, but his eyes were pure glass. My throat thickened painfully. I cupped his cheek and stroked it soothingly with my thumb. If he cried, I’d lose it.

“It wasn’t all your fault,” he managed quietly. “I didn’t have to be such a dick.”

I continued to caress his cheek, and when he put his hand over mine and turned his head to kiss my palm, my heart cracked in half.

“Keep going,” he whispered.

“I know why you don’t believe in love,” I murmured. “Better yet, I understand it. How could you, after everything you witnessed between your parents?”

How could he, when his own mother had told him outright that she didn’t love him? That she wouldn’t have given birth to him if she hadn’t needed to? Jackson was a sacrifice she’d made to secure the lifestyle she wanted, and she hadn’t allowed him to forget it.

I couldn’t imagine.

The amount of respect and gratitude I had for Mabel and Molly, for Bensen and Mikey, and for every other person who’d cared for him and shown him love was overwhelming. They’d banded together to protect Jackson as best they could, especially after Bensen was fired.

A good chunk of their scheming had been detailed throughout Molly’s journals. They had secret phones and pagers, a guy on the security team who monitored the cameras for them, and various methods of distraction and hiding spots for Jackson to utilize when his father was throwing one of his rage fits.

No wonder Jackson had kept every last one of them around.

“I know all of that, and I know about the abuse you suffered, but please, please don’t force me to say it out loud. I’m sorry I snuck in here and looked at things you didn’t want me to see. I take full responsibility for it, but… don’t make me list it all out.”

Maybe one of the reasons Molly didn’t want him reading the journals was because she hoped he’d forgotten some of it, and I didn’t want to remind him.

He swallowed roughly. “Fine, then we’ll just talk about the one.”

The one? Which one? “What d’you mean?”

“You said the journal talked about Bensen getting fired.”

I nodded, watching him carefully.

“Did it say why?” he asked.

“You showed up to your secret piano lessons in pain from… an injury, and he took you to the hospital.”

His jaw twitched under my palm. “And what was the injury?”

My eyes searched his, my heart stuttering as something softly clicked into place in the back of my head. “Cigarette burns,” I muttered.

He said nothing, just held onto my gaze and slowly reached for the buttons of his shirt.

I knew. Before his fingers had worked through the buttons, before they pulled the fabric apart to bare his chest, I knew.

My heart crawled inside my throat. Slowly, I dropped my hands. Slowly, I allowed my eyes to travel down. There, on the left side of his chest, were the small circles of marred skin. A dozen of them, at least. Etched right above his heart.

They were spaced out and organized to form a structurally perfect D.