Chapter Fifty-Nine
Jackson
She’s so small in my arms.
I forgot how that feels. The way she fits against me, the way her hair smells like that lavender stuff she uses in the shower. It hits me like a punch to the chest. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed her.
She’s shaking, her face buried in my chest, and all I can do is hold on. I don’t say a word. There’s nothing I could say that’d fix what’s been breaking between us.
So I just sit there, arms locked around her as if I let go she might slip away again.
It feels like forever before she starts to calm down. The sobs turn soft, quiet. Her fingers twist in my shirt like she’s scared I’ll pull back, and I’m not sure if I could even if I wanted to.
After a while, she tilts her head up, eyes red and wet, her lips trembling. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, you don’t gotta—”
She shakes her head fast. “No. Please. Let me talk.”
So I shut up.
She pulls in a shaky breath, wipes at her cheeks, and says it again, softer this time. “I’m sorry, Jackson.”
My name. Not baby. Not anything else. Just my name. That’s how I know she means it.
She looks down, her hands still gripping my shirt. “I’ve been drowning. I didn’t even see it happening. I thought I was surviving, that staying still was the only way to keep from falling apart. But I wasn’t living. I was just… letting him win.”
Her voice breaks, and I feel my chest tighten.
“I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you,” she says. “I kept thinking if I kept it all inside, maybe it wouldn’t be real anymore. But it’s like every time I did, I pushed you further away. And I saw it, but I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know how.”
She’s crying again, and it guts me.
“Brooklyn,” I say quietly, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “You don’t have to explain.”
“Yeah, I do,” she whispers. “You’ve been here, through everything, and I just shut you out. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was make you feel like you didn’t matter. I’m so sorry.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “You never made me feel like I didn’t matter.”
She gives a small, broken laugh. “You’re a terrible liar.”
That one hits too close to home. I try to smile, but it doesn’t make it all the way.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says again. “I was scared. Not just of him, but of everything. Of feeling. Of trusting that if I stopped being afraid, the world wouldn’t fall apart again.”
I lean in and press my forehead against hers. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, baby. You’ve been through hell. You survived it. That’s not weakness.”
Her voice shakes when she whispers, “But it’s been hurting you.”
“Yeah,” I admit, because I won’t lie to her. “It has. But that doesn’t mean I was ever gonna stop loving you.”
That’s when she really breaks. Her whole body trembles, her arms tighten around my neck, and the sound that comes out of her isn’t crying, it’s relief.
She buries her face in my chest again and breathes out, “I don’t wanna be like this anymore. I don’t wanna let him take any more from me.”
I hold her tighter. “Then don’t. We’ll figure it out, together.”
She nods against me, her fingers clutching my arm like she’s scared that if she lets go, everything will fall apart again.
We sit there for a long time. The clock ticks somewhere in the background, the kind of sound you only notice when the world’s finally quiet. I don’t know how long we stay like that, it could be mere minutes or it could be hours. It doesn't matter.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are still red, but there’s something there I haven’t seen in weeks. Something alive.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“For what?”
“For not giving up on me.”
I don’t answer right away. I just look at her, really look at her. Her face is pale, her cheeks blotchy, her hair a mess, but she’s never looked more beautiful because this is her fighting.
“You think I could ever give up on you?” I finally ask.
She smiles, small but real. “I think you almost did.”
I exhale slowly, nodding. “Yeah. I did. Not because I wanted to. Because I didn’t know what else to do. Watching you fade like that, it damn near killed me.”
Her lip trembles again. “I know. I saw it. I just didn’t know how to stop it.”
I reach up and touch her face, my hand resting against her jaw. “You just did.”
She looks down, tears slipping free again, but this time they’re quiet.
The silence stretches between us, soft now. Not heavy. Not the kind that suffocates. The kind that feels like breathing after holding it too long.
“Come on,” I whisper after a while. “You should get some rest.”
She shakes her head. “Not yet.”
I frown a little. “You sure?”
She nods, curling closer. “I just want to stay like this for a while.”
So we do.
I shift until we’re both stretched out on the couch, her head resting on my chest. I keep my hand in her hair, slow and steady, the rhythm of it grounding us both.
The TV’s still on, but neither of us are watching. The world outside feels far away.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself relax.
She’s not fixed. Hell, neither am I. But something’s changed. I can feel it.
The walls she built are cracking. The distance isn’t so wide anymore.
And when she finally falls asleep, her breathing even and soft, I whisper it against her hair, just quiet enough for her and no one else.
“I’m not goin anywhere, baby. Not now. Not ever.”
I close my eyes, holding her like she’s the only thing keeping me steady.
And for the first time in weeks, I believe it.
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