All For A Woman

by melissaeverdeen13

What would life look like if Jackson hadn't stood up at April's wedding? He realizes he loves her - enough to let her go. But when April and Matthew move to Chicago, the place where Jackson has made his new life, everyone involved is hit with the fact at how shallowly the old feelings had been buried. April wants her old best friend back; but at what price?

1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone! So this is my first time writing a Japril multi-chapter, and I'm super excited about it. I hope you guys like it, I'm still working diligently on finishing it. I have about 6 chapters done so far. I'm not sure about my posting schedule, but you won't have to wait too long between updates - I can assure you of that! Enjoy, and don't forget to leave reviews. :)

JACKSON

Nice. You just ruined Kepner's wedding.

Steph's words ring through my head as I sit there on the pew next to her, staring ahead. First Arizona, then Meredith and lastly Cristina, walk down the aisle, but I barely catch sight of them. My head is spinning.

Earlier today, April asked me to be here. She stood in front of me with her hair in a million rollers and asked me to be here, so I came. Because I'm her best friend, I came. I'm here because she wants me here.

But if it were up to me, I'd be as far away from this barn as I could possibly be. It's ripping me apart to watch the love of my life get married to someone else who will never know her like I do.

There's a collective rustle in the room as everyone stands, so I stand, too. It means she's coming, and my stomach sinks and churns with anxiety. I can't believe I'm watching this happen and essentially letting it happen. I thought I was better than this. I thought I knew myself better than this; I wanted this for us. I wanted us to work. I want her.

But I stand. With my hands folded at my waist, I watch her float down the aisle. She doesn't cast a look my way - there's no reason she should. She makes a slow beeline for Matthew who's staring at her like he's seeing the sun. I know the feeling.

When we all sit, the minister starts to speak. I have no idea what he's saying not only because of my atheistic background, but also because the ringing in my ears is now too loud to ignore. I feel like my head is going to explode.

During the prayer, while I'm staring at the floor with my eyes wide open, Derek's phone rings and jars me out of my zone. My heart is beating a million miles per hour. I can't let this happen. I can't. I'll regret it for the rest of my life if I let her get away.

My throat tightens, but I keep a straight face. A slight smile, even, when Steph pats my leg.

Then the minister says, "And you, April and Matthew's closest friends and family, are here today to bear witness to their union." My smiles fades and twitches off of my face. They both turn out to the audience and April can't keep that sweet smile off of her face; she's practically bursting. I'm staring hard at her. I can't tear my eyes away. "Will you promise to love and support their marriage in all the days to come?" I can see Steph nodding in my peripheral vision, but my face is deadpan. "If so, please respond 'we will.'" I can't promise that. And I won't.

A chorus of 'we will' reverberates throughout the room, but my voice isn't one of the many. I can feel Steph's eyes on me, studying my face and wondering why I didn't speak.

I turn towards her and open my mouth. "I…"

"What?" she asks.

My eyes search her face and my stomach twists with guilt, but I know I have to do this. There's no way I can leave this barn without her; without April.

"I'm sorry."

I stand up, straighten my suit jacket, and get noticed immediately. With their hands still latched together, both April and Matthew turn around to look at me as the minister stops speaking, and my mouth goes dry. Her eyes are wide and wondering; neither of them have any idea what I'm doing and I realize that I don't, either. I'm an Avery. I'm not the guy who stands up in the middle of a wedding and runs off with the bride, that's not me. That can't be me.

I love April. I love her too much to ruin her wedding, because I know how important this day and this tradition is to her. She deserves someone like Matthew who will be a reliable, dependable guy without any unpredictable facets of who he is. I, apparently, can't be that for her.

So I sit down.

Everyone exchanges glances with one another and I feel Steph's eyes on me, burning confusion. I can't look at her, though. I know now, that after this we'll be over. Whether or not she ends it, we will be over.

April and Matthew kiss and get married. Butterflies are released, but the box in my hands was already empty at the time I sat down. So now the lid hangs open while the butterflies float and hover around all of our heads, trying to find the door, trying to find a way out of this barn forever.

I go home that night to my apartment; my apartment that's as empty as it usually is, but tonight it feels different. It feels like someone else should be here. Before April, I always preferred being alone than being with anyone else. But after I knew her, being together was always my first choice. As I kick off my dress shoes and trudge to the fridge, I wish that she were here now. I find myself wishing that even though it is the most impossible thing at this point. She's married now. Whatever relationship or lack thereof that we had been playing with before is over now and will never be reinstated again. I know how seriously she'll take her vows. And I doubt that we'll ever be so much as friends again not because of her, but because of me.

I lay down on the couch and finish a beer, hoping that it'll make me feel less heavy, but it does the opposite. I can't get her off my mind, and before now I had been doing my best at convincing myself that I was over her. I had been seeing Steph for a while and it was common knowledge that April and Matthew were going to get married. So why am I feeling like this now? Like a complete and utter failure for letting someone like her pass me by?

I should've said something. When I stood up, I had already fought half the battle. I should've just opened my mouth and said something.

But the look on her face told me everything. She was shocked, embarrassed and downright afraid of what I had been about to do, and I don't think she even knew what I had in mind. It was clear she didn't want me standing; she wanted me sitting and playing the part of dutiful best friend audience member. So I played that part for her.

Both my standing and my sitting were for her. She got what she wanted.

As I lay there on the couch still dressed in my upscale suit, those words play over and over in my mind.

She got what she wanted.

But did she?

All I can see now is April looking frayed and shellshocked, bursting into the curtained room where I sat shirtless after walking out of that explosion with the little girl in my arms. As I came away from the fire, I had heard her vaguely in the back of my mind shouting my name so loudly that her voice wavered and broke. I had to power through, though; at that moment she couldn't be my first priority. And when she pushed through those curtains and started pounding on my chest out of fright and rage, I had no idea what to make of her and her whirlwind of emotions.

Even more complicated was when she came back the second time, her hair splaying out of its ponytail and her face looking more beaten and torn than I've ever seen it, and I was the one who had come out of an explosion alive. She told me she wanted me; she stood there in front of me while she was engaged to be married and I was seeing Stephanie and told me that I was the one she wanted. She told me, not that long ago, that if I could give her a reason not to get married to Matthew, she wouldn't do it.

And I stayed silent then. I didn't speak up in time, and the moment got lost. The moment got lost and she got married, and I'm left here in my empty apartment lying on the couch with an empty beer bottle, dressed to the nines with nowhere to go.

I know I need somewhere to go, though. I can't stay here, not after all of this.

In the hospital on Monday, I run into Steph coming out of the elevator. We exchange blustery apologies, and avoid eye contact at first. But I know what I have to say, and I'm not going to be the guy who just runs away from it.

"Look, Steph, about the wedding-"

"Don't worry about it," she says, but her face gives her away. Her attempt at monotone has had the opposite effect; every emotion is showcased on her face. Humiliation, anger, confusion and sadness. And I did all of that to her.

"No, it was wrong, I didn't know even what I was going to do…"

"I think you did," she says quickly. "And I think it'd be best if whatever we're doing here? Us?" She gestures between our bodies with one hand. "If we just ended it. We're not going anywhere, especially now. And I think we both know that."

I debate arguing, but realize it's pointless to try and keep this alive. "You're right," I say. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too," she says, and then stalks off.

I stay where I'm standing and stare ahead with wide eyes until I'm snapped out of my trance by Owen, who's rushing by while tying on a trauma gown. "Avery, we need you in the pit. There's a nasty GSW to the face coming in, and I need you there. With Kepner gone, the ER is a mess." I'm thrown a yellow gown but still feel like life around me is happening in slow motion and I'm not playing a part in it. "Avery! You better be behind me."

I shake my head slightly and work on tying the strings around the back of my neck and waist. I try to throw myself into my work during the day, but I'm out of it and unfocused without a clear thought until the end of my shift comes. Owen catches me as I'm on my way out with a concerned look on his face, even as I try to walk faster to get out of talking with him. "Jackson," he says, matching my stride. "Where were you today?"

"Huh?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "I was with you in the pit this morning. Then I had a consult at 3, but after that I was in OR 2 with-"

"Not what I meant," he clarifies, then taps his head. "I meant, where were you? All up in your headspace. You don't seem like yourself. Is everything okay? I heard about…"

I frown. "You heard about…? What?"

He sighs like he knows he shouldn't have said that. "I heard you stood up at Kepner's wedding."

"Yeah, I stood up. Then I sat back down. Nothing happened."

"Did you want something to happen?"

I glance in his direction with a look of disdain and wonder why I'm entertaining this conversation with Owen of all people. I barely know him and he knows nothing about my past relationship with April or the way I feel about her now. I want to keep it that way.

"I don't really feel like that's appropriate," I say, watching the pavement as we continue to walk toward our cars. Suddenly, I feel like I must have parked ten miles away from the door. "You know, I've been meaning to talk to you about something." Lie. What I'm about to say crossed my mind less than 12 hours ago, but it's something that I haven't been able to shake. Owen raises his eyebrows and nods me on. "I'm going to start looking for jobs elsewhere," I say.

The statement drops like a bomb. His jaw hinges open just slightly and he scrambles for what to say. "Oh…" he stammers. "Can I ask why?"

"You can," I say, speaking professionally. "My growth has stopped here. I'm looking to continue practicing somewhere else. New scenery, new hospital, new people. It's nothing against Grey Sloan or any of the staff, I just need…"

"To get away," he finishes for me, nodding slowly.

"Yeah."

He clears his throat. "I respect your decision," he says. "There's nothing I can say that could keep you here, is there?" I shake my head, finding it hard to look over to see what the expression on his face looks like. "Didn't think so." There's a period of silence between us, and I only look up when I finally reach my car. "You know, Jackson, there's gonna be someone out there like Kepner for you-"

"Don't," I say sternly, my jaw setting firmly. "Just don't. I've said what I needed to say, I told you what I'm doing, and that's all that needs to happen here." I raise my eyes up from the wet, dark pavement. "Okay? I'm sorry. I don't plan on staying much longer. I'll still be on the board, of course, I just can't practice at this hospital anymore. This is my 2-weeks notice." I take a long breath. "And that's all I have to say about it." I press the unlock button on my keys and brace my hand on the door. "Thanks for understanding." I get in my car and drive off without looking back at the hospital that had once felt so much like home to me. Anymore, it doesn't harbor anything besides bittersweet memories that I'll never get back. And I know it'll only get worse once April and Matthew return from their honeymoon; that's why I need to get out before that happens.

I wonder what she'll think when she comes back and hears, inevitably right off the bat, that I don't work at Grey Sloan anymore. I wonder if she'll try and call, and then I wonder if I'll pick up the phone.

I tell myself that I won't.

After searching around, getting referred, and two interviews, I land a job as Chief of Plastics at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago. As soon as I get the call, I work on getting boxes together to start packing up my apartment. After tying up any loose ends that I have, I put in my final leave at Grey Sloan and spend three days packing up my place and preparing to get out of here.

My mother keeps calling from Boston, and I continue to screen her calls. I don't need her input on my decision because I already know what she'll say. She'll echo what everyone else has been thinking, except in a more strongly-worded manner that will just make us fight. After it happens and I explain everything once it's calmed down, she'll understand. And she'll probably support my decision. But right now, I don't need the added stress of dealing with her.

As I'm wrapping and boxing up the plates in the kitchen cupboards, I hear a knock on my door. Instantly, my stomach sinks wondering who it could be. "Who is it?" I call out.

"It's me."

I grip the counter hearing her voice. April is the last person I would expect to show up at my door; plus I thought she would still be gone on her honeymoon at this point. I thought I was going to be able to leave this city without having to hear from her.

"Please let me in."

I debate on what I should do. I already gave myself away; there's no pretending I'm asleep or not home at this point. The resentful part of me wants to continue packing and leave her out there confused and wanting, just so she can experience a little bit of what I've been feeling for the past week. But the other part of me - the part that stood up at her wedding - knows that I'm going to walk over to that door and let her inside.

She's standing there in a loose-fitting burgundy shirt and dark jeans, wringing her hands. Her hair is in loose waves around her shoulders, and her eyes are nervous and searching the moment I open the door. "Hi," she breathes.

"Hey," I say.

"Can I come in?" she asks.

I don't know how much she knows, but once she steps foot past the doorway she's going to have a million questions. I'm not sure if I'm ready to answer them, but as much as I want to deny her entry into my house, the only thing I want is to sit with her on the couch and have a conversation.

"Sure," I say, and turn around to lead the way.

Right after kicking off her shoes, she starts in with the questions. "Why is all your stuff packed up?" she asks. "Jackson, what's going on?" I resume my place at the counter where I'd been packing. She stands an awkward distance between the kitchen and living room, seemingly unsure of where to put herself. "Are you… are you moving, or something?"

I place the last plate on top of the stack and make my way around the counter to sit on the arm of the couch. She stays standing across from me. "Yeah, I am," I state simply. "Chicago. Northwestern Memorial just hired me."

Her face screws up with emotions; her upset is written clearly in her eyes and the tension in her mouth. She's never been hard to read. "Why?" When she speaks, her voice wavers and her lower lip trembles, and though she's trying hard not to cry the glassiness of her eyes isn't hard to miss.

I start to speak, but she cuts me off. When I look back up at her, her emotion has changed from solemn sadness to rage.

"Why are you doing this?" she spits, baring her teeth.

I stand up and walk away from her. I shouldn't have let her in, I know that now, because she's following me. "Why did you stand up at the wedding? What were you thinking; what did you plan on doing?" She lets out a vehement sigh. "I spent my whole honeymoon - where I was supposed to be thinking about my husband - thinking about you. And what do I owe you? I don't owe you anything!"

I get a bitter taste in my mouth when I think about April and Matthew on their honeymoon together. Up until this point, I was the only one she'd ever been with. I know that it's chauvinistic to feel a certain sense of pride that I'd been the only one that's ever seen her, touched her, and now angry that's all ruined. She's his now. I not only hate myself for thinking this way, but I hate the fact that it's true, too.

"Of course you don't owe me anything," I say.

"Can we just resolve this?" she asks, throwing her arms up. "I don't want to keep going back and thinking about this."

"Then don't," I say.

"And you won't even so much as look at me now," she says, finally standing still. "Just tell me why you stood up."

"There's no big mystery behind it, April," I say. "There's not some big dramatic story that I know you'd love to hear." I try to fabricate a lie in my head as fast as I can, because there's no way I'm telling her the real reason - not now. "I was on a case at the hospital and I wanted to get back to it. I was just going to leave. I had better places to be."

She huffs and clenches her fists at her sides. "I don't believe you," she says.

I turn and face her. "Then why do you think I did it?" I challenge her, finally raising my eyes up to her face. If she thinks she's so sure about it, then I want to hear her say it out loud.

She opens her mouth, but no sounds comes out, so she shuts it again. She chews fervently on her lower lip and dodges the question. "And now you're just going to run away?" she asks, backing up slowly with her shoulders hunched by her ears. "You're just going to leave. You're leaving the hospital, all your friends, everything you know… just ditching it all? You're just going to ditch me like this?"

I clench my teeth together and can feel my pulse beating readily in my temples. "April, you're married. What else do you want me to do?"

She doesn't speak and I don't offer anything else. We just spend a moment standing across from each other in the same place, tempers blazing and emotions tightly bound. Breaking the stagnant pause, April turns around and shoves her feet back into her shoes and then rests her hand on the door handle as she faces me one last time. "Have a safe move," she says, her voice now somehow devoid of any feeling.

With pinched lips and a burning face, I match her. "Have a nice marriage," I say, and she walks out the door.

I move into an apartment downtown; one with a glass panes for walls along the front side with a view that looks out over Lake Michigan. It doesn't take long for me to get settled from one major city to the next, and fitting in at Northwestern Memorial isn't hard either.

I stay single. The people at Northwestern are different that the ones at Grey Sloan in that they aren't as interested in social relationships. Most of them are there for the medicine and the medicine only. Not that they aren't friendly, because they are. But some of them only to a certain degree.

I'm mostly glad for it because it makes dedicating myself to my craft easier. But since leaving home and everyone I knew, not having a circle of friends here has caused me to be lonelier than ever. My mom has come to visit a handful of times, but that's different than having an actual friend. When I work normal hours, which happens more often than not, I go home and work out in the gym facility in my building, cook dinner for myself, and then end the night on the couch. It's rare that I'll go out to a bar to hang out because I'm not a huge fan of going alone, and most of the time I'm so tired from work that I can't find the motivation to leave the house.

For two years, it's been like this. I have colleagues that I'm reasonably close with at the hospital, but no one who I regularly see outside of work.

I'm not necessarily trying to forget my old life, per se. It's not that easy. I'm just trying as hard as I can to move on to the next stepping stone; the next place I need to be to succeed. I miss a lot of things about Seattle, but I don't let my mind wander back there very often. I wouldn't trade my life here for whatever is going on back there, I know that for sure.

Nothing followed me to Chicago, not even my old wardrobe. When I got here, I revamped my closet entirely with a brand new stock of clothes and shoes. My apartment is furnished with different things than back home; I've started over here in every sense of the word. I've flown to Boston a couple times for holidays, but it's never once crossed my mind to go back and visit Seattle just to drop in on what I left behind. I haven't done it up until this point, and I don't think I ever will.

Like every other morning, I get up and make my commute to the hospital and park a far enough distance away so I get a good walk through the parking lot in. I wave to the same people I wave to every other day, and make my way to the attendings' lounge where I set down my bag and change into my scrubs.

The head of neuro, Adam Gannon, comes in and hangs his coat up over a chair. I give him a good morning nod, and he raises his eyebrows in my direction. "Did you hear?" he asks, shrugging into his lab coat. "Chief hired a new head of trauma. Finally found a replacement for LaFountain."

"Oh, really?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Did you hear who it was, or…? I heard they were trying to find someone internally," I say.

He shakes his head. "It's not internal, but that's all I know. I heard some name being thrown around, but it didn't stick. Some consonant-sounding thing, I'd know it if I heard it again. You'll probably see her around today, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Her?" I ask, making sure I heard him right.

"Yep, hired a woman."

"Huh," I say, then notice the weird pause. "I'm not like...no, not like that. Not that I think there's something wrong with that, just…" I shake my head and come up with a lie on why female trauma surgeons make my mind hit a mental road block. "Doesn't seem like Chief to hire a lady."

"Yeah," Gannon laughs. "Old fucking misogynist, you're right. I wonder what happened there." He looks down at his watch. "I gotta get to rounds. Have a good one, Avery."

I wave him goodbye and pull my shoes on, leaving my lab coat slung over my forearm when I walk out of the lounge. I pull my arms through it as I walk down the hallway, consulting an iPad for what cases I have to work on today. I pause at the nurse's station and rub my hands together with hand sanitizer, leaning down on the counter with one elbow while scrolling with my free hand. I have a long day today performing two surgeries. One breast augmentation in the morning and one skin graft harvest in the late afternoon that'll last for hours on end, so I'll probably be here late tonight. I don't mind, though. Ever since I came here, I welcome the late nights because they come so far and few between in comparison to Grey Sloan, where I was working 12-hour shifts almost every day. I like the strenuous feeling of being on my feet all day and the catching minutes of sleep at a time in on-call rooms between surgeries. It's a grueling and exhilarating feeling that reminds me why I came to be a surgeon in the first place.

After the breast augmentation, I'm sitting at a table in the cafeteria when one of the other attendings, Halle Bryant, comes up to me and sits down. "Hey, Jackson," she says lightly, taking a bite of her sandwich. "How's your day going?"

I tell her briefly about my surgery I just got out of, and she nods along conversationally and tells me about the infant heart transplant that cardio is planning on doing later in the week.

"Oh, and some woman came up to me earlier and asked for you," she says. "By name."

"A patient?" I ask.

She shakes her head with her mouth still full, chewing before answering me. "No," she says. "At least I don't think so. She had clipboards in her hands, looked legit. Had on scrubs. I'd never seen her before, but there are plenty of people I've never seen before. Maybe she was from dermatology. She had nice skin, it would make sense."

"Why would somebody from derm be looking for me?" I ask, narrowing my eyes and taking a long sip of my water.

"Hell if I know," Halle says. "She didn't give a reason. I just told her you were in surgery and probably wouldn't be reachable until later tonight. I didn't know you had this break. Might not have told her about it even if I had known." She looks at me with a cheeky smile on her face and I do my best to return it. Halle's had an unabashed crush on me since I started here. We slept together twice, but it wasn't something I wanted to keep up. She didn't have any hard feelings when I told her I couldn't do it anymore, yet still flirts with me constantly even after the rejection. She's a rare breed of confident.

"Well, if she asks again, I actually am going back into surgery in a few hours," I say. "I probably won't be available." She nods. "Catch her name for me, though, if you can."

She stands up, having finished her sandwich. "Don't count on it," she says.

I roll my eyes as she walks away, and take the last couple bites of my salad. It wasn't great; I made it at home last night to bring in today and the lettuce got soggy overnight. I forced it down, though; it's never good to be on my feet all day without any food in me.

After checking in on a few recovering patients and going through some routine teaching procedures with residents, I gear up for my skin graft. It goes well without any complications, and I'm done an hour and a half before I thought I would be. I scrub out and am on my way to the attendings' lounge to gather my things when I stop dead in my tracks.

The lights in the hallways are dim at this time of night to help the patients sleep, so I can hardly be sure I'm seeing what I think I am. I see a woman standing by the nurse's station, faced away from me, looking down at a hospital iPad and scrolling through it. As I watch her, she shifts her weight to one slight hip and lets her shoulders deflate as she looks at something she must not be able to fully understand.

She has auburn hair that's reflecting the soft light of the hallway, bringing out the tints of blonde and deeper red, too. It's tied up in a half ponytail, like she couldn't be bothered to pull the rest of it through to hang loose. She's in turquoise scrubs - the color for attendings - with no lab coat. Probably because they haven't had a chance to monogram one for her yet.

I'd know the back of that head anywhere, no contest. I'm so gutted by the sight of her that my mouth hangs open and her name involuntarily escapes me. "April?"

She spins around quickly, iPad still in hand. Her eyes light up when she sees me; I hadn't realized how much I'd missed that reaction from someone. "Jackson," she breathes, and sets the iPad down before fast-walking the remainder of the hallway and then collapsing into my arms.

I let myself hug her as tight as I want to, and she doesn't protest. Her body melts against mine, with her head on my chest and her arms wound tight around my back; we're so close that I can feel her every inhale and exhale. My body, that has been so closed off to emotions for so long now, feels like it's going to go limp and crumple right here in the middle of the floor. I had no idea that I was capable of feeling so many things at once. With her in my arms, I feel inexplicable glee and blinding rage at the same time.

It's obvious which one wins out. I still haven't broken away from the hug, and I'm not sure when I plan on doing so. I reach up and touch her hair, running my hand over it and accidentally fraying some of it out of the ponytail. "You're here," I say. Those are the only words running through my mind. I never expected to see her again; no less in my hospital, wearing scrubs and looking at a chart.

When we pull apart, she wipes a tear from either eye. In typical April fashion, she takes a bit of her lower lip between her teeth and then nods warily. "I'm here," she says. "I've been looking for you all day."

I open my mouth but find myself not knowing what to say. It's hard to find words to say to someone who you thought you'd never see again. The feeling of her body against mine brings back everything I had purposefully lost. There's not a single thing I've forgotten about her; as I'm staring at April with the light behind her making the slight frizz of her hair more visible, all I can think about is our first time. Then the time in the men's bathroom. All the times in the on-calls rooms between surgeries, before rounds, and after everyone else had gone home. Times like this, right now, where we'd find a moment to slip away and have each other to ourselves.

I hear myself start to breathe heavier through my nose, and I wonder if she notices, too. I never wanted to feel like this again; trapped by my own emotions and feelings for another person. It infuriates me that she's able to do this to me - one tiny redhead is capable of making me feel so much that I don't know how to begin to work through it.

I have so many questions, but I can't bring myself to ask any of them. What I want more than anything right now is to be with her and get away from her at the same time. The easier one is always the latter, so I know that's what I have to do. I can't stand in front of her and hope to keep control of myself, because that hardly ever works.

"It's late," I say. "I should get going. I've had a long day."

"I know," she says. "I saw your name up on the board for two surgeries. How'd they go?"

I take one subtle step backwards, away from her. "I really need to get home," I say.

Her eyes widen. She realizes what I'm doing. "I was hoping we could talk," she says. "Matthew won't be here to pick me up for another hour - that's when I'm supposed to be done. Since I caught you, it seems like the perfect time now. Can't you stay?"

My skin feels itchy after her mention of Matthew. Seeing her here alone, I had almost forgotten that he would inevitably be part of the picture. The optimist in me hoped she had come here after coming to her senses and ditching him, but of course this isn't a fantasy world.

"I can't," I say. "I… I have a lot of stuff to catch up on at home." I turn around without so much as a goodbye, but can still feel her eyes searing into my back.

"Talk to you soon, then, I guess," she says. "It was good to see you, Jackson."

I don't respond. I don't think that I can.