Close to You (22 page)

“But you do like him.”

Allie groaned again. “Yes.”

“A lot?”

“Apparently so.”

“As in, you want to see him again soon?”

“I see him every day.” Allie pulled a piece of pizza toward her and picked off a slice of pepperoni. She
really
didn't need any more complications in her life. “Most importantly, I'm not free.”

“Does Jackson know that?”

She shook her head. “I was about to tell him and then . . .”

“But then you look into his eyes, your knees buckle, and your little heart goes pitter-patter, and he makes everything seem okay, and you forget all of those things?”

Well, that and the fact the person sitting next to her had chosen that exact moment to knock on the door.

Allie sighed. “Something along those lines, pathetic though it may seem.” Especially when he was looking at her with those heavy-lidded eyes.

“It's not pathetic. Derek put your heart in a blender and chopped it up into little bitty pieces and then he—”

“I know. I
was
there.”

“Sorry. Anyway, for a start, it's no surprise you're emotionally vulnerable right now. The combination of Derek drop-kicking your self-esteem to the moon, then showing up for Grant's campaign, and an unexpected Veronica visit is quite a combination.”

Since when did her usually blunt friend start talking like a shrink?

Allie cracked one eye open to make sure this wasn't a weird dream in which Kat had been replaced by Dr. Phil. As far as she was aware, Kat had never used the words
emotionally vulnerable
in a sentence. It was kind of scary.

“But, putting all that aside, you and Jackson have something real. Seriously. Everyone can see it.”

“You're not hearing me, Kat. I can't have anything with anyone. Real or not—not until the court decision comes through and assuming it's in my favor.”

Her friend pursed her lips. “You need to give your lawyers a rocket. What's it been—two years?”

“Next month.”

“That's ridiculous. They're billing you for doing absolutely nothing.”

“Derek and his lawyers keep delaying everything.”

“Call them. Tell them to fight back. Hard. I bet you a squil­lion dollars they could have this sorted within weeks if you threatened to take your business elsewhere. Instead, you've probably got some little pimply intern sitting on your file charging you a couple of hundred bucks every time they write you a letter about another delay.”

“You're probably right.” She was. She'd call them in the morning; it was ridiculous.

“You know what else I think I'm right about?”

“What?”

“I think you like the delays. They give you something to hide behind because as long as you're still technically ‘married,' you don't have to take a chance on another guy. You have an excuse not to grapple with putting your heart back out there.”

Seriously? Kat thought she wanted to live in limbo? “You think I like this? You think I like being legally attached to a guy who cost me everything? I can't even touch my own bank accounts because he and his lawyers convinced some stupid judge I might pilfer the so-called marital assets.”

“I'm not saying you like it, but I think you've grown used to it, even comfortable, and I definitely think it's less scary than the alternative.” Kat reached forward and pulled the tub of mousse toward her. “The rest of your life is a long time to be afraid of getting hurt. At some point you're going to have to take a chance again, Allie. And sure, you might get hurt. But you also might find the love of your life.”

“I'm pretty sure Jackson isn't the love of my life.” He
couldn't be. Who fell in love in two weeks? That only happened in cheesy Hollywood rom-coms.

“How sure? Sure enough to not tell him the truth in all its miserable glory? Sure enough to let him leave and not spend the rest of your life wondering if you missed out on something that could have been great? Tell him the truth. Tell him the scary, ugly truth, and let the chips fall where they will. Nothing good ever comes out of hiding stuff this big.”

“I tried to tell him. You showed up!”

Her friend raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows at her. “What about all the other times you could've told him when I wasn't anywhere near you? Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you guys lost together, just the two of you, for like six hours?”

She was right. Again. It was like getting pummeled by Yoda. “I'll tell him. Tomorrow. I promise.”

“Um, if I say something, do you promise not to get mad?”

“What?” What else could there possibly be?

“Have you ever thought maybe you're never truly going to get past this until you confront Derek?”

She felt her whole body flinch. Absolutely not. She was never going back there. Running away had worked fine so far.

Twenty-Four

J
ACKSON'S SENSES WERE STILL SPINNING
as he limped back into his hotel room. What was that? He leaned against the wall of his room to take some weight off his screaming ankle. He knew one thing it was: a world record for the number of almost-kisses in the space of fifteen minutes.

What was happening to him? The last couple of hours felt like they'd been lived by someone else. He wasn't even familiar with this guy who ordered half a pizza menu for a girl he wasn't even dating. It wasn't like he even needed his phone, and he could've managed overnight on the Advil in his travel bag and gotten the stronger stuff in the morning.

And then when she'd broken down—the vulnerability in her face had sucked him in like a black hole . . . The memory of how perfectly her body fit into his arms, molded into him, was enough to make him contemplate finding a glacial lake to jump into to cool down. Thank goodness Kat had shown up before he could get himself in some serious trouble. Every
instinct told him kissing Allie would have been undoable. No going back.

He rested his head against the cool wall of the entranceway, trying to order his scrambled thoughts by inserting some logic into the equation. Everything that was rational and sensible was screaming at him there was only one way this crazy thing, whatever it was, could go. Total disaster.

From the moment he walked off the plane, Allie had thrown him off-balance. Nothing should have surprised him by now, and yet the day's revelations had him questioning everything he thought was important. The whole reason he was here seemed to be fading into insignificance.

He couldn't let that happen; too much was riding on his success. Not just for him—for his family and the people back home he needed to make good on his word that he would get their money back.

And yet, sitting in that burger joint, watching her take hit after hit from her mother, none of it seemed that important anymore. All he wanted to do was sweep her up in his arms and make her feel safe, protected.
Loved.

The final word bounced around in his head, ricocheting like an emotional bullet. Sure, he believed in love theoretically. His parents had it. Nick and Beth too. He just never really thought of it applying to him. Not like that. Not in a way that meant he suddenly felt compelled to give up everything to pursue it.

He'd never said the
l
-word to anyone. Not even Nicole. He'd been determined he wasn't going to say something he wasn't sure of. His relationship with Nicole had initially been mutually beneficial and fun, and sure, there had been moments
when he thought he might love her, but in a purely abstract kind of way.

The truth, if he cared to admit it, was that when she left he'd been angry, yes. Humiliated, yes. Betrayed, sure. Heartbroken, even. But that was over losing his business—not Nicole. The hole in his life when she left hadn't been nearly large enough for their relationship to be close to the real thing.

Hobbling over to the couch in his small living area, he threw down his crutch, collapsed onto its edge, and pried off his one shoe. The generic white hotel ceiling stared down at him. He tried to reconstruct his life around these overwhelming feelings by first imagining telling his uncle the truth. That he didn't care about Tolkien at all. That he'd only come because he wanted the financial support for BabyZen. He tried to imagine calling his parents and telling them he had given up on this new business idea because he'd met a great girl and was sorry if that meant they lost the farm.

And then what? She lived in New Zealand; he lived in America. What was he going to do? Marry her? The idea seemed so ridiculous he laughed out loud, until it started settling into the crevices of his soul—even reaching down and transforming into images of waking up beside her every morning. Of getting to fight with her for the rest of his life. Of cute, auburn-haired, green-eyed children—
Stop it, Gregory!

He lurched up off the couch and started hopping toward the bathroom. A cold shower—that would be a good place to shock him back to his senses, which clearly he'd left behind in the paddock when he fell off that blasted horse. Of course. That was it. He'd taken another blow to the head; the second in two
weeks. An undiagnosed concussion was what was wrong with him.

His shoulders relaxed. That had to be it. He didn't have feelings for Allie—not real ones. He just had a few neurons that had gone AWOL on him, shaken loose in the fall. A shower and a good night's sleep would get them back in line.

Despite his best attempts, the sad excuses dropped away hollow. He didn't have a head injury. He was just flat-out crazy about the girl.

Limping into the bathroom, he opened the shower door and twisted the cold tap on full. Time for a dose of reality. Sure, he was attracted to her. Sure, he liked her a lot, but that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Going to the other side of the world for a few weeks and finding “The One” wasn't reality. It was fantasy. In a few weeks' time, it would just be a memory. As long as he didn't step out of line and do something that would load him with even more regrets.

He let the door swing shut. Propping himself up against the bathroom sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked haggard—evidence of the sleep he hadn't gotten since his fight with Allie.

He didn't want to be that guy he'd been with Nicole ever again. The one who squashed what he knew to be right in the name of convenience and pragmatism. He wanted the next girl he kissed to be more than something. He wanted her to be everything.

God, help me.
The three words wound their way up from somewhere deep, quieting his troubled thoughts. He'd made such a mess of his life at this point, it would actually take divine intervention to make the crooked paths straight.

I was afraid of what it would mean.
His uncle's words came back. That pretty much summed it up: he liked to be in control. He operated by logic, what he knew and could see. Relinquish control of the steering wheel? Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't know how.

You've spent the last decade in control and where has it gotten you?
The question bounced around his head, its truth striking at him.

I do believe. Help me overcome my unbelief.
The words echoed up through the decades. Ones from a Bible story that had made no sense to his eight-year-old self, but now captured him.

The sound of his phone ringing split the moment and jerked him back to reality. Beth's ringtone. Turning off the water, he grabbed his cell from his pocket. One day he'd tell her about how her little brother went to New Zealand and almost lost his mind. She'd love it.

“Hey, sis.”

“Hey.” Her voice was tense. “You somewhere you can talk?”

“I'm in my room. What's up?”

“Actually, it would be better if we Skype. Can you do that?”

“Sure. Just give me a couple of minutes to get set up.”

Exiting the bathroom, he hopped back across the bedroom using the backs of furniture for support. He pulled his laptop out of his bag and hooked it up to the hotel's Wi-Fi.

They must have received the foreclosure notice. That had to be it. He looked at the date. May 12. Surely not. Andrew, the bank manager, had gone to school with his parents. He promised he'd give them until at least the end of May.

His hands roamed through his hair; there had to be a way to buy them some more time.

The familiar sound started trilling and he hit the button before it could squawk out more than a few notes. It took a few seconds for the video feed to flicker onto his screen but when it did, he saw four people scrunched into the screen. His sister and parents up front, with his brother-in-law in the back, the top of his head cut off by the edge of the screen.

Beth's eyes were red rimmed. His sister would be taking this hard. She loved the farm with every atom in her being—in a way he never understood.

“Surely we can convince them to give us more time.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized it. “I mean, the economy is bad, there are farms for sale all over the place. There's no way they'd get for it what they want. We'll convince them it's in their interests to hold off for now.”

The faces on the other side of the screen registered a combination of confusion and understanding.

His father spoke first. “Son, this isn't about the farm.”

“Then wh—”

His question was drowned by his sister bursting into sobs, then clasping her hands over her mouth.

“I'm afraid your mother has some bad news.”

“Wh—”

Suddenly he knew without any of them saying anything. The big C. All of his grandparents had died of some form of it.

“No.” He shook his head. “No. No.” Like maybe if he said it enough, it wouldn't be true. The pizza churned in his stomach.

She was only in her late fifties and lived the epitome of a healthy life. She'd never smoked and rarely drank; she exercised and ate well. She wouldn't touch anything marked
diet
, adamant it wasn't “real” food.

“What kind?” Jackson forced himself to ask.

“Ovarian.”

The same as his grandmother. “Can't they just . . .” His voice trailed off. It wasn't the kind of question a son ever wanted to ask his mom, but surely doctors could take them out? It wasn't like she needed them anymore.

Assuming they'd caught it before it had spread further, but even if it had, they had gold-plated health insurance. That was the one thing he hadn't failed them on. He sent them a check every year to pay for it; it would cover the best treatment there was.

“Has it spread? Where have they referred you to? Do you have a treatment plan yet?” The questions tumbled out of him. “I'll get online right away, do some research as to the best places. I'm sure I know some people who could make recommendations.”

For a second the silence coming from the other end of the connection was so eerie he wondered if someone had accidentally hit
MUTE
.

“Hello?”

His mom shook her head. “We're sorry, Jackson. We're so sorry.” Her voice shook.

“Sorry? For what?”

“There were some bills that needed to be paid and . . .” Her voice cracked and then broke.

“I don't understand.”

His father, normally a man of few words, was now one of none. It was Beth who finally managed to pull herself together enough to talk.

“The last check for insurance you sent . . .” Then she broke too, but not before what she was trying to say started seeping in.

He looked at his parents. “You didn't pay it? You don't have health insurance?” He could barely force the words out.

“We . . .” His father looked away for a second and swallowed. When he turned back, his face appeared to have collapsed on itself. “We have some. We just downgraded.”

“You
downgraded
.” He repeated the word stupidly, still not able to absorb it. He had chosen that package specially—had it tailor-made even, back when he had an insurance broker to make sure the policy would cover not only this exact scenario, but all the others that had seemed most likely. An accident on the farm. Heart problems, which also ran in the family.

“Does it cover
anything
?”

His father's face seemed to collapse even more. “It did. But between all the tests and the specialist visits and everything else, it'll be maxed out soon.”

“What do you need for treatment?” He couldn't even bring himself to ask what the so-called urgent bills were that might end up costing his mother her life. If it turned out the money had gone to call the vet or fix the ancient tractor again—when he'd tried to buy them a new one last year—he might lose his mind.

“We—”

“What will it cost for treatment?”

His father's face seemed to drop even lower. “Almost a hundred thousand. At least.”

Maybe they could send her to India. Or some other second- or third-world country. He was sure he'd read an article somewhere about how cancer treatment was much cheaper in some places because the government wouldn't let the drugs be patented.

“Jackson, I'm not going to India. I want to be here, in my home, with my family. We've placed it in God's hands.”

He hadn't even known he'd been speaking out loud until his mother's voice cut through his thoughts.

“Did you consult God before you decided to spend your health insurance money on something else?” His words came out demanding, harsh. He wanted to reach across the ether and pull them back. “I'm sorry, Mom.”

“It's okay. You have every right to be angry.”

He stared at the screen. His sister and brother-in-law were now partial figures in the background.

“When?”

His mom shook her head. “Jackson, it's okay. You can't—”

“When would you need it by?”

His father sighed. “The doctor said to have the best chance of success, she would need to start treatment within the next month.”

“Okay, then.”

This was his fault. If he'd done right by them, they never would have been put in the position where they felt they had to make the choice they had. His family would've had enough money to pay for the stupid vet bill, or electricity, or fertilizer, or whatever it was.

If he'd sent them even a quarter of the money he'd squandered on designer suits, buying a nice condo, and being seen at
the right places to woo more investors, this wouldn't have happened. Instead he'd justified it all as an “investment” so he could eventually write one big check and cure all their financial woes, instead of just helping them keep their heads above the water.

He was going to fix it.

No matter what it took.