Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(80)

“Jack . . .” she says in a clipped tone, tears building in her eyes. “Just . . . can you go? I don’t . . . I don’t want to take it out on you. And I don’t want to be around anyone right now. Certainly not AJ Ranger.”

I grimace. “I can’t leave until you promise you’re not going to delete your book.”

She’s staring a hole through the laptop. “It’s none of your business. My decisions are my own.”

“Dammit, Emily, they don’t have to be, though! Just talk to me. Tell me exactly what hurts. Let me be here for you,” I say, my voice pleading now.

She’s fed up. Her thighs are flexed like she’s trying to grind the pain away under her heels. “I want to be alone, Jack. I want to deal with this in my own way like I always do.”

I bend to catch her gaze. Something inside is warning me to stop—but I don’t because now I know what it’s like to have Emily in my arms, to be on the receiving end of her glowing smiles, to be someone she wants to talk to, and I can’t lose her. I won’t. “Do you actually want to be alone? Or are you just uncomfortable with someone seeing you in a moment of vulnerability?”

Her eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t hide yourself away because this is hard and new and hurts.”

She scoffs. “I don’t think a man in your position gets to offer that kind of advice.”

My head kicks back. “And what position is that?”

Emily’s voice lowers. “Jack. For years you have hidden your entire incredible writing career because you’re afraid of what’s going to happen if you step into the spotlight. You only told me tonight, years after knowing me, because you were finally comfortable and ready, but you’re demanding vulnerability from me when it best suits you. That’s. Not. Fair.”

Silence falls for three beats after her words. And dammit, she’s right.

“What are we doing right now, Emily?”

She laughs a harsh laugh. “I don’t know. I have too many feelings at the moment, and I just want to be alone to process them.”

“Is this how it’s going to be? Because I thought we were becoming more to each other.”

“And I thought you agreed we can take it slow.”

The world is spiraling around me. Every word I think comes out. “Maybe we should have stopped to discuss what slow meant. Because it seems like what you want is friends with benefits. And I can’t do that. I need more.” It’s true—but I regret saying it immediately. Now is not the time. I know this, and yet I can’t bring myself to stop pushing.

She takes in a huge breath, and then it trembles out. I have no idea how the night ended up this way.

“Jack,” she says, anger mixed with sensitivity. “I don’t think we should discuss it tonight. It’s best you leave and that we take time separately to figure out what we want.”

I stare at her, feeling the space between us grow and grow and grow. This is what I’ve always wanted to avoid by getting close to people. It’s why I never opened up to Zoe. Because then there was potential to feel this same ugly feeling that would attach itself to me as a kid when I’d watch my dad shut the door on me.

I feel sick watching Emily walk to the door and put her hand on the knob. But she doesn’t open it yet. When I walk to her, expecting her to let us leave this without another word, she looks up at me. The fire in her eyes is gone, and my chest loosens a little. “I’m angry right now—but not at you. I’m hurting, and . . . I don’t know how to deal with it yet. If you stay, I will say more hurtful things I’ll regret later, and I refuse to do that to you.” She reaches out, takes my hand, and squeezes it. “We need to take a breather because it’s a new situation for us both. It’s not goodbye. It’s reevaluating. Agreed?”

Some of my tension subsides. “Thank you for that.” I squeeze her hand in return. “But if you decide you need me later, I’ll be here in seconds.”

I open the door to leave, but standing on the other side, key in hand and bags beside her, is Madison. Her tearstained face smiles weakly at us.

“Honey, I’m home,” she says in a singsong tone that doesn’t match her tears.

Emily doesn’t even wait to ask questions. She nearly barrels through me to get to her sister, where, despite the fact that her own world is falling apart, she wraps Madison in a hug.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


Emily


I watch Jack walk away, and in an alternate universe, I go after him. It feels wrong to see him leave.

Five minutes ago I just wanted him gone. I didn’t want to deal with this . . . this . . . heartbreak while he was looking on. I didn’t want to have to process the fact that I poured my heart into something, and Colette stomped all over it while a wildly successful author was looking on. I wanted to wallow in my anger and use it to build myself back up, brick by furious brick.

But if Jack stayed . . . I would have broken into a million little pieces, and what if what he saw was too much for him? Likely, he thought the last time I broke down in front of him was because of alcohol. I don’t know how to tell him that this pain is always hovering just below the surface these days. It’s not alcohol induced. It’s raw and it’s lurking and I’m not nearly as capable of handling my shit as I seem.