I Can't Make You Love Me

by melissaeverdeen13

Heir Jackson Avery can't access his inheritance without being married. He pays off April Kepner's family so in return, she will be his wife. As they're thrown into a life they've never known, around every corner awaits something new; an unburied secret, a hidden heart. How much is too much before the burden becomes unbearable? How is it possible to be married and not fall in love?

9. Chapter 9

APRIL

After the door closes, I'm left staring at the cherry wood and wondering if I should go after Jackson. I take a step forward and let my fingers brush the knob, tempted to turn it, but I refrain. My feet stay rooted in place, listening to the car drive away and knowing that - even with how upset he is - Jackson will send for me in a few hours. I won't be stuck without a way home.

It's strange, thinking of the mansion as my home instead of this house where my family lives. But as I look around, it's clear I don't live here with them. Though my face is present in the frames on the walls, I didn't place them. I don't have a room nor more than one pair of shoes sitting in the entryway. I don't have a designated spot on the couch nor at the table. It's strange, feeling like I don't belong in either of the places that I should. I'm torn between both, which has landed me in neither.

I should've gone after Jackson. That's what a good wife would do, which only proves the fact that I'm far from holding that title. I should at least call him. But when I touch my phone, I come to realize that he might want his space more than he wants to talk to me. So, that's what I'll do for him. Married couples fight and that's okay. We can spend some time apart without it being the end of the world.

Plus, I'm not ready to leave this house after I only just got here. Whenever I'm with my mom and sisters, something feels set in place. I was ripped away from them so suddenly and without much consent, like a baby bird pushed from the nest. So, when I'm able to get back their comfort, I leap at the chance. "Honey," Mom says, calling me away from the door. I look at her over my shoulder, tucking hair behind my ear. "Come talk to me for a bit."

I run my hands through my hair nervously, having hoped to avoid this conversation at all costs. I'm not necessarily angry with her for exposing me - she could've done much worse than she did - but I'm not happy, either. I'm not sure if I planned on sticking with that lie forever. I know it wasn't trustworthy, especially given how much he values the truth, but anything would be easier than telling him what really happened.

Mom sits on one side of the couch and leans against the arm while I tuck in my knees on the other side. She studies me with a soft and sympathetic expression, and I find myself wanting to look anywhere but her eyes. I want to get up and run away from what's about to devolve. I can't let this happen - I won't allow these floodgates to open. "I'm sorry…" she begins. "I had no idea that I was getting you in trouble."

"It's fine," I say, downplaying it. "How could you know? It's not your fault."

"But honey, you lied to him," she states.

"Yeah, I know," I respond.

"Why?"

I shrug petulantly, like the teenager I was never allowed to be. "I don't really want to talk about it," I say.

"With me, or with him?"

"Either," I say. "Both."

"He doesn't know anything about what happened?" Mom asks. "All that you told him was that you had an appendectomy under the table."

"Yes, and I pulled it out of thin air. Is that what you're trying to get me to say?" I snap.

"Hey now," she says. "You don't need to take it out on me."

"I'm sorry," I mutter. "I just don't want him to know. Or… or… I don't know. Maybe it's not him knowing that's so bad, but telling him." My face falls as I pick at a thread on my pants and refuse to look up. "I talk about it, and it happens all over again." I shake my head and hair falls from behind my ears. "I don't want that."

"I know, baby," she says, reaching to cap a hand over my knee. "But no matter the circumstances, you two are married. And I think that's going to be the case for quite a while."

"Believe me, I'm aware," I say, chewing the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from crying. I don't want this to turn into a sob-fest. I just want to stop talking. "And that's part of the problem."

"What do you mean, the problem?" she asks.

"There's another half to the inheritance," I say. "And we're not getting it unless we have a baby."

I look up to gauge her expression, but I can't see through it. Her face is stoic, eyes glassy, but her thoughts are unreadable. "Oh," she says.

"Yeah, and obviously that's not happening," I say, barely moving my lips.

She strokes my knee with her thumb, moving in circles in an attempt to soothe me. It doesn't work, though. It only irritates me further; I move my leg so she can't touch it anymore. With the threat of the memory encroaching, I feel the unignorable need to be alone. To push away the people closest to me so I can forget about everything again. Seeing my mom's face like it is right now reminds me of how it looked the night it happened. All of the happiness leading up to the event was wiped away and left a barren slate. It's still so easy to remember how empty my chest felt after everything was said and done. How I empty I was in general. How I never thought I'd climb out of the depression that followed, but somehow I did. I had to. There was no other choice. So, now, I'm afraid that going back and reliving it will only make me sink back down. And what will be the driving force to pull me out this time? I'm afraid nothing could. I'm afraid that if I bring the memory back, I'll succumb to the familiar darkness that comes with it.

"I should go and see if Libby needs help," I say, attempting to stand before Mom takes my elbow and lowers me again.

"Honey, we should really…"

"No, thank you," I say, gently pulling my arm away from her. "I'm gonna go see if Libby needs help."

I retreat into the kitchen where my sister, none the wiser, is pouring sauce into a saucepan on the stove. I don't say anything; I just lean against the counter with my hands braced behind me and stare ahead, dazed. "You alright?" she asks, turning to strain the noodles in the square marble sink.

"Yeah," I mutter.

"Where'd your hubby go off to?" she asks, shaking the colander.

I blink, a bit disoriented, still half-stuck in that snowy winter night from five years ago. "I… uh…" I clear my throat. "He went home."

"Why?" she asks, then laughs. "Too good for our poor man's spaghetti?"

"No," I say, eyebrows furrowed. "He just… he… he didn't feel very good."

"Oh," she says. "That's too bad. Well, I'm glad you stayed. Are you okay? You seem a little weird."

I shake my head a bit as an attempt to clear it. "I'm good," I say, forcing a smile. "I'll go set the table."

Mom comes in a few minutes later, having just hung up the phone. "Kimmie and Alice don't want to sleep over," she says. "I'll be back in a minute, they're just around the corner."

"I'll go," I volunteer, standing up straight and jumping at the chance to have a moment alone.

"You sure?" she asks. I nod. "It's number 831; blue house with white shutters. They'll be so happy to see you."

I put my shoes on and zip my jacket, shoving my hands into the pockets as I walk towards the house my mother described. The brisk air is refreshing as it washes through my system, and I take a moment to center myself, planting my feet firmly on the ground. Tonight, I'm playing the role of 'daughter' and 'sister'. Later, I'll play the role of 'wife.' It's confusing, to say the least, keeping them straight. It doesn't feel like the three are allowed to join into one combined persona that makes up 'April.' I come to the conclusion, just steps away from picking up my sisters, that I don't have the slightest clue how to play that part.

"Sissy?" Alice gasps. "Kimmie, it's Sissy! Sissy came to pick us up!"

The door swings open and my two little sisters come bombarding out, crashing into me where I stand. I gather them in my arms and close my eyes with a smile, relishing the way it feels to hold them. I hadn't realized how badly I'd missed them, and it hurts my heart to see how much they've grown without me bearing witness. "You two are so big," I say, cheeks squished from how tightly they're squeezing me. "So big!"

The mother of their friend steps onto the porch and her eyes flash with recognition as she looks at me. "I didn't expect you," she says, and the tone of her voice is hard to read. "I knew you were their sister but…" She nudges her glasses up and straightens her shoulders. "You're married to Jackson Avery now, aren't you?"

"Yes," I say, suddenly defensive because of the way she said his name. I can tell by her tone that she doesn't think highly of the man I've unexpectedly grown protective of.

"How nice," she says, flashing a smile that tells me she thinks it's anything but nice.

"Jackson is the bestest," Alice says, still clinging to me. "Maybe he could come and play here next time!"

"Maybe," I say, one hand on the back of her head as I stand up and direct both my sisters down the stairs. I turn back once they're out of earshot and say, "Do you have a problem with my husband?" My tone is clipped and clearly means business. I'm not sure what's come over me, but there's a deep rage that's running through my veins due to the notion that she thinks ill of him.

"No," she says coolly. "None."

"Good," I say, nodding curtly. "Have a good night, then. Thank you for hosting them."

As we walk home, a sister's hand in each of mine, Kimmie looks up with curiosity on her face. "Why did Myla's mommy ask about Jackson?" she says.

"She was just curious," I answer.

Alice gasps dramatically. "Is he at our house? Please, please, please say yes!"

"No," I say. "His tummy was hurting, so he went home."

Instantly, they both droop. "Aw," Kimmie says.

"I wanted to play with him," Alice says.

"Next time," I say, opening the front door. "Go on in. Shoes need to be off and hands need to be washed. Spaghetti should be on the table."

"Sissy, sissy!" Alice says, slipping out of her tennis shoes. "How about we do a sleepover with you tonight!"

"Sleepover, yeah!" Kimmie cheers. "Please, please? You can sleep in my bed."

"No, mine!" Alice says. "No, wait! All of us in the big, extra bed!"

"Yeah, like we used to do!"

As I look at both of their eager faces, there's no way I can possibly say no. I haven't spent a night with them in forever, and I miss them terribly. Though it will be strange to stay a night away from Jackson, it's worth feeling connected to my family. It's a feeling I've been lacking, and maybe by fulfilling the need it'll allow me to be more present for him. "Sure," I say, and they both jump up and down with glee. "Just give me a second to call Jackson and tell him."

"Can I talk to him?" Alice asks hopefully.

"No, you go get washed up for dinner," I say. "I'll just be a second." Both of them scamper away, and I lean against the wall while taking off my shoes and pressing on his contact. The picture enlarges to fill the screen - one of him by the water in the Maldives as he's wearing my sunglasses and grinning widely - and I smile slightly at the sight of it.

"Hello?" he says, answering after the second ring.

"Hi," I say, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. His tone is so businesslike; he hasn't spoken to me like that in weeks. "Um, it's me."

"I know," he says. "Are you ready to be picked up?"

"Um… no, actually," I say. "That's why I'm calling. I think I'm gonna stay here tonight."

There's a slight pause before he says, "Oh."

I can tell he's trying to keep an even keel, but what I said upset him. I try not to let that bother me. He can be upset. I'm upset, too. I resist the urge to ask him if it's okay, because of course it is. I don't need to ask for permission to do anything. "What are you doing tonight?" I ask, hearing a din of sound underlying his voice. "Where are you?"

"I'm out with an old friend," he says, and I can't stand the cordial way he says it. How are we the same couple who was all over each other for no one's sake but our own on the islands just a handful of hours ago? I don't recognize those people anymore. Now that we're back in Chicago, everything has returned to the way it began and I hate it.

"Oh," I say. "Fun. Who?"

He clears his throat uncomfortably. "Alexandra Grey," he says. "You've probably not heard of her."

Quickly, as if I've been learned in smartphones for more than just a couple months, I pull up Google and search both of their names together. What comes up is a handful articles that list this 'Alexandra' as Jackson's old flame - one he was always seen at clubs with, never exclusively dating but it's implied that there was something sexual going on between them. Seeing this, my body lights on fire and I'm sure my skin must turn a deep shade of red. "Nice," I say, clipped. "What are you doing, then?"

"We're at Studio Paris," he says, and I recognize that as the name of a nightclub.

"Jack, would you get off the phone and come back over here?" a female voice says.

I grit my teeth and let a long gust of air escape my nose. That voice paired with the stories I just skimmed knocks me off the rickety foundation I'd built and everything crumbles down. "Guess you should go," I spit. "Jack."

"April, listen," he begins, but I don't let him finish.

"Just sleep with her, Jackson," I say, letting the words tumble from my lips without control. "I know that's what you're trying to do. So, just do it. I don't care." Then, without waiting for a response, I hang up and shove the phone back into my purse. I leave the bag hanging on the hook so I won't be tempted to check it, then go into the kitchen to join my family for dinner.

I feel guilty as I sit with my family because all I want to do is get up and leave. I want to go home to the mansion and make things right with Jackson, though I'm not entirely sure how I would go about doing that. Why in the world would I tell him to sleep with another woman? Why did those words come out of my mouth? Am I really that stupid? What's stopping him from actually doing it? What could I possibly offer him that she can't? I'm guessing she's a nice lay, no strings attached, no emotions. Just what he wants. When, after having sex with me, he has to launch into a full-out therapy session. What man wouldn't choose the former?

My mom keeps looking over, her eyes searing right through me - all during dinner and afterwards, too. As I'm helping clean up the table, she lingers near me and I can practically hear her thoughts. She wants to pick my brain and get to the bottom of why I won't tell Jackson the truth, when it's really not that complicated. I already told her the reason. I don't want to relive what happened. I don't want to share it. By speaking it aloud, my abstract memories are allowed a heartbeat. By leaving them behind, I've left everything in its grave. I'm not about to willingly exhume it.

"Sissy! We have to show you how the new TV works. You're not gonna believe it!" Kimmie says, tugging on my wrist after she and Alice have both had a bath.

"Movie! We can watch a movie!" Alice adds.

"I don't think so," Mom cuts in. "It's past 9. It's time for little girls to get to bed."

"Aw, but mommy," Alice whines. "Sissy's here! And it's Saturday."

"It's late," Mom says, not giving in. "Time for bed."

"Then can Sissy at least sleep with us in the extra bed in the guest room?" Kimmie asks, hopeful. "Please?"

"April isn't going to sleep yet, but I'm sure she'd love to join you when it's time," Mom says.

"No, I think I'll turn in now," I say, stretching and yawning for emphasis. "I'm really tired."

Creases appear on Mom's forehead; I know she wants me to stay up. She wants to have that deep conversation, but I won't budge. I'm not looking to spill my guts any more tonight than I already have. "Oh," she says. "Of course. Good night, then. I love you all."

I get settled with the girls in the guest bedroom, lying in the middle of them like I always used to. They curl into my sides and I pull them close, pressing a kiss to the top of their ginger heads and breathing in the childlike way they smell. Like L'Oreal shampoo and something sweet that I've never been able to put my finger on. It's comforting, though, and it reminds me of how things used to be. Back when we were poor and had only each other and the ratty clothes on our backs, but somehow I had less on my mind then than I do now. I wasn't necessarily happy, but I had less to worry about. My worries were tangible and controllable; every day, I had to figure out how to put food on the table for the little ones. I had to make them look presentable for school, I had to pay the bills, I had to get a good night's sleep for work. I resist the urge to laugh at the fact that, in retrospect, all of that is simple compared to my worries now.

Now, I have a husband to think about. As my two sisters sleep peacefully beside me, I'm wide awake with thoughts of what Jackson might be up to. Is he in bed - our bed - with Alexandra? Are they at her place? Is he enjoying it? Does he love her? Does he love me? Is he thinking about me at all?

I screw my eyes shut tight and shake my head subtly, not enough to wake them. I've never been the type to obsess over a man and I won't start now, though it seems too late. I can't stop going over what I said to him - I told him to sleep with her. I can't get past that. I'd like to think that, even though I essentially gave him permission, he won't do it. It was in the heat of the moment and he had to know I was upset. He knows better than to betray me like that. Or, at least, I would hope so.

I barely sleep, finding that I can't get comfortable in the way I used to sandwiched between them. I've grown more accustomed to being pressed against Jackson's hard form, legs curled around his, his arms encapsulating my body. Being in bed with my sisters has become foreign much in the way being with him was in the beginning. So, when the sun peeks over the horizon, I carefully slip out of bed and get dressed to leave after writing a note saying I'll be back soon. I don't bother calling for the car but instead take public transportation as far as I can, then walk the rest of the distance to the mansion.

During the walk, my mind is clear and focused. Though I hadn't gone into full detail over the marred memory last night, it's still on the forefront of my mind and I want it out. And the only way to get it out is to share it with Jackson - the real thing, what he wants to know so badly. I know he deserves to know. He bared his heart and all I gave in return was smoke and mirrors. It's time for that to change. So, with a mission in mind, I buzz in to the house expecting to see him, but I'm met with silence instead.

I expected him in the front room with a cup of coffee and breakfast, but I find it empty. I wander through the first floor without calling out and end up running into Antonio - who gives me a look that makes my stomach churn. "If you're looking for your beloved, he's still in the master bedroom," he says, voice slippery.

"Thanks," I say, backing up while still looking his way.

"We missed you in the household last night, Mrs. Avery," he continues. "Where might you have been?"

"With my family," I say. "I slept over with them. They missed me. I-I missed them."

"It was unfortunate, both of you being out so late," he says, eyeing me. "Mr. Avery didn't return until only an hour or two ago. It was quite cold without the married couple here."

"Oh," I say, not sure how else to fill the silence. "I… um, well, I'm gonna go find him now."

"I'm sure you'll have much to discuss," Antonio says. His feet aren't moving but his eyes trail me as I leave the room, and as soon as I do I can't help but shudder. He gives me the creeps for too many reasons to count.

But following his advice, I find my way up to the master bedroom where Jackson is. The door is cracked a bit, and before I go in, I stand outside and spend a moment bracing myself with deep breaths. This is a big moment. I'm going to tell him everything. After this, there's no going back. I'll have given a piece of myself to him that no one else has.

"April," I hear from inside, just as I was about to push open the door. "Are you going to come in or just stand there?"

I push on the door and it swings open. Jackson is sitting in the armchair near the window, dressed in the clothes that I'm sure he was out in last night. He smells like a nightclub and something is off-kilter about him. He's not usually one to seem disheveled, but right now he does. It's unsettling, to say the least. It forces me to think that something must be wrong. He meets my eyes but his are cloudy, saying much more than the silence can. Suddenly, this doesn't feel like a conducive environment in which to tell my secret. There's poison in the air, and I think I know why.

"Did you sleep with her?" I ask, my entire body having grown tense. Every muscle is rigid as I cross my arms and pressing my lips tightly together.

Emotion flashes across his face and it gives me all the answer I need. He opens his mouth but at first no sound comes out - it takes a moment for his thoughts to gather and combine to make something coherent. "April, you gave me permission over the phone."

I start crying instantly. Not debilitating, racking sobs, but silent tears that slip down my face as I stare at him. I start to shake, body trembling, as I say, "How could you?"

"You told me to," he says, still sitting as I stand. The power imbalance is clear but newfound. I'm not usually the one with the upper hand.

I can't help but gape, wondering how he could think that's the right thing to say. "I didn't mean it!" I shrill. "I was upset. I just said it to say it."

"What happened between Alexandra and me didn't mean anything," he says. "It was a meaningless blowjob at a nightclub. We've done it a thousand times. It's not like there were feelings attached."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better," I say, scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes. "You're a pig, Jackson. Why would you take what I said seriously?"

"You're my wife!" he bellows. "All this time, you've asked me to take you seriously because of that, and suddenly I'm not supposed to?"

"You're supposed to think with your brain, not your penis," I growl. "I'm sure you loved it. I'm sure she gave you everything I can't. Emotionless sex! That's perfect, isn't it? That's just what you want."

"I have no idea how you can say that," he says. "When I'm the one who gave you everything after what we did and all you did was lie. If anyone's betrayed someone, it's you, April. I made a mistake, I admit it. But you've been leading me on and keeping me at an arm's length for months. You said it yourself - you're my wife. When will you start acting like it?"

"When I can trust you!" I argue, fists bunched at my sides. "And how am I supposed to do that now?"

"Before this, what had I done to lead you to believe you couldn't?" he counters. "Take care of you, spoil you, listen to you, make you feel secure? Were all of those things so very damning?"

"You belittled, imprisoned, and pressured me, too," I say. "Don't forget all of that."

"Enough with the imprisonment shit!" he shouts. "I'm not keeping you here against your will, April. I can't stand it when you say that!"

"You can't stand it because it's true," I say. "I wouldn't be here if you hadn't forced me to be. You wouldn't have picked me if I weren't an easy target. This marriage was never built to last, Jackson, and you know it. Yet you continue to force it. And you have the audacity to get mad when I feel hurt over the fact that you were with another woman. How does that even make sense?"

"You told me to!" he says. "And it was just a blowjob, it wasn't-"

"She put her hands on what's mine!" I scream, unsure of where this is all coming from. My chest is heaving, face flushed, and I can't calm down.

"I've asked you time and time again," he says, lowering his voice. "I've asked you to let me in and you won't. And the time I thought you had, it was a lie. I felt tricked, April. I felt used." He stands up. "Don't try and pretend that you don't have feelings in this game, because I know you do. You have them just as much as I do."

I balk at his statement. "You sure have a funny way of showing it," I say.

Ignoring what I've said, he continues. "You won't let me in," he says. "And that's all I want. I want to know you, April. I admit, this started out all wrong. It wasn't right and it wasn't normal. But…" He's having a hard time saying what he wants to say, and rage is still boiling in my gut. "I just want to know what you're keeping from me. I want to take your walls down."

"You want, you want, you want," I argue. "It's always about what you want, isn't it?" I close my eyes for an extended moment and open them to say, "I came in here to tell you what happened to me. But how can you expect me to do it knowing that you went and slept with someone else?"

Anger toils his features and he has to look away. "I didn't sleep with her," he says. "I would never have slept with her."

"You let her suck your dick, isn't that enough?" I hiss. "You don't care about me. If you did, you wouldn't have done that."

"I was trying to convince myself of that!" he roars. "I didn't want to care about you, April, I didn't want this marriage to mean anything! But that's not a reality anymore and you've left me to figure it out on my own."

"I'm sure it was easier when you felt nothing," I say. "And I'm sure your charmed life will be just as nice once you get back to that place."

"Why do you act like I don't have feelings?" he says. "Why do you act like I'm some heartless prick?"

"That's what you wanted me to think," I say. "First impressions are hard to overcome."

"That was then," he says. "And since, I've told you things about myself that I don't tell anyone. I played the piano for you, April. I drew you. I haven't drawn in over ten years and I drew you. That's not nothing. It takes a lot for me to admit that that's something, and I'm admitting it because I have feelings!"

"About what!" I sputter.

"You!" he volleys back. "About you, April. For you." I blink hard, unsure of how to stomach this. "I don't think I made that hard to figure out on our honeymoon," he says.

"That was different," I say. "That was there, in the islands. Now we're here, and, well… it's different here."

"Why?" he says. "Why does it have to be?"

"Because," I say. "Because… there's no middle ground. Everything is completely right or completely wrong. There's no in between. I can't ever get things straight and life is confusing. I think I feel a certain way towards you, then I get scared. Then you go and let someone else put her mouth on you."

"And you'd like to be the only one who does that," he says.

I meet his eyes pointedly but I can't respond with words. He may have stolen the reply straight from my mouth, but there's no way I can put my voice behind it. I'm not ready yet. I'm not there. I don't know how he got to be so quickly. "I'd like you not to cheat on your wife," I say. "That's all I know right now."

"I am sorry," he says, and by the depth of his voice I can tell he means it. It's a different story, though, whether or not I'm ready to accept that apology. He went behind my back and did something I couldn't see coming. It hurts, knowing he was with someone else. It hurts knowing he made that conscious choice. "But I'm not the only bad guy here."

I lift my head and frown, eyes roving his face. "You let her-"

"I know what I did," he says. "And I am truly sorry. You have my word that it won't happen again, ever. But you can't turn every argument back on me, April. I'm trying. I'm trying to be good at marriage, I'm trying to be a good husband for you. I know I'm not there yet, but you aren't either. The secrets have to stop."

I cross my arms again, closing off my chest. The key has been pulled out of the lock and tucked away again, the secret having sunken into the deep blue once more. It's no longer close to the surface and I'll make sure it won't be for a long time. It's clear neither of us are ready - I'm not ready to tell him and he's not ready to hear it. "My secret is my choice," I say. "You don't have the right to pull it out of me. It's mine. It might be the only thing I have that's truly mine. You won't take it."

"Why do you talk like that?" he asks. "Why do you make me sound like some master manipulator, when all I want is to know you better? To help you?"

"Why should I believe you when you spent all that time being icy to me?" I say. "You expect me to let you in so easily when you've barely earned your place. You don't know me, Jackson. I may share your last name, but you haven't seen my heart."

"Then why won't you let me?"

I turn around so my back faces him, staring at the carpet as I mutter, "I don't know."

Before our fight turned conversation can continue, a voice that I recognize as Calliope's sounds from the stairs. "Averys!" she calls. "You have damage control to do, Jesus Christ. My job is never done." She appears in the doorway and thrusts a copy of OK! Magazine in our faces. On the cover is Jackson pictured with Alexandra, both exiting Studio Paris last night. The headline says: ALEXANDRA GREY - THE NEW MRS. AVERY? READ HOW SHE'S REPLACING THE RAGS TO RICHES REDHEAD!

"Fuck," Jackson says, snatching it. "Fuck!"

"I don't know what happened last night, and I don't care," Calliope says. "And I don't know what's happening between you two, but I also don't care. Either way, this needs to be fixed. There are reporters at the gate and-"

"I'll talk to them," I say, standing up and setting my shoulders.

Both Calliope and Jackson give me strange looks. "That's not what I meant," she says.

"A statement straight from my mouth is all that will get them to leave it alone," I say. "I'll get dressed and give a comment."

"What are you going to say?" Jackson asks warily.

I shoot him a sidelong glance. "I'm going to save your ass," I say. "So, don't worry about how I'm going to do it. Just stay inside. If you come with me, they'll think I'm being persuaded."

No one follows as I freshen up in the bathroom, stepping out in a light sundress and white blazer. I put on shoes to walk the length of the driveway and Calliope joins me, sending me silent strength while matching my stride. She was right - there's a gaggle of reporters with cameras and notepads at the gate, all straining and snapping pictures once we both come into view.

"Mrs. Avery! Mrs. Avery!" they all shout, calling me a name that's so unfamiliar. I'm not sure if any of them are aware I also have a first name. "What do you have to say about what happened last night? Are you and Jackson over? What was the last thing he said to you? Have you met the other woman? How are you reacting to this news?"

My face doesn't waver and I try to stay as unflappable as possible. I get closer to the fence and make eye contact with each of them, wordlessly hushing the crowd. It's strange, feeling as if I have power over them. It's not something I'm used to. "I'm here to speak on behalf of the photos released containing my husband," I say. "And Alexandra Grey." They all wait in greedy rapture, clinging to my every word. I know they'll get everything, so I have to assure that I make no mistakes. "Their outing last night was a benign one," I say. "I had affairs to attend to and Jackson wanted a night out. I suggested he see one of his old friends from the scene, and they were together platonically. I've met her and she's a lovely woman, not one who would ever hone in on someone else's relationship." The last part comes out sickly sweet. "Mine and Jackson's marriage is doing very well. There's absolutely nothing to worry about. I'm sure we'll step out together sometime very soon. Thank you for your time." And with that, I turn on my heel and head back towards the house with Calliope at my side.

"That was good," she says once they're out of earshot. She takes my elbow and pulls me close as we continue to walk, saying, "Is everything okay, April? If you need to talk, I'm available. This family can be a lot to handle… I know. But Jackson, he really cares for you. I've never seen him act the way he does for you."

"She went down on him last night because I gave him permission to sleep with her," I state bluntly. "I was upset and he took me seriously. I feel double-crossed and betrayed. He cheated on me because I told him to."

"Oh…" she says, grip slackening a bit. "So, that's what's going on." I don't bother noting that what I said barely scratches the surface. I'm not about to spill my guts to her. "Look, April. He and Alexandra were an on-again-off-again thing for a while, but he's barely seen a trace of her for years. She's not exactly a bad person, they had fun together, but she doesn't do for him what you do. You bring out the Jackson I used to see when he was younger. You have to imagine how scary it is for him - to go back to the mindset he used to hold when his father passed away. By doing that, he's allowing that grief back in. Grief that, I believe, he's never fully dealt with. A version of him died when they put Robert under the ground, but you're bringing it back up. That's terrifying for him. So, please, I'm just asking you to be patient with him. Jackson is a great person once you get past the top few layers. He wants to show you that he cares for you, because he does. Deeply. You challenge him in a way no one has before. He's used to being the quickest in the room and you've made sure that isn't the case. He's enamored with you, April. And I think you feel somewhat of the same way towards him." She smiles softly. "It's nice to see him feel something for someone other than himself."

I look at her with unease, wondering how she climbed inside both my brain and his. It's clear she knows Jackson well, but she doesn't know my backstory like she knows his. I want to say something, but I'm not sure what. I'm tired of being combative, of always having a counterargument up my sleeve, but that's the only way I know to protect myself and what I'm keeping. What I've always kept.

"Just try," she says after a considerable amount of silence has passed. "He has his problems, of course he does. I'm sure you do, too. But if you just try to let him in, you'll see that he's nowhere near the person you first met. Under all this." She makes a wide gesture with her hands. "You should get to know who he really is, and I think he'd like to show you. I think he'd like to see what's inside your heart, too."

"It's not that easy," I say once we're back inside. "Everything isn't as cut and dry as you make it seem."

"So, take it slow," she says. "Baby steps."

I sigh and try to take her words to heart. Try not to be so stubborn and so closed off. I give a small nod and she leaves me alone in the foyer before I eventually head up the stairs and back into the bedroom, where Jackson is looking at his phone. I hear my voice coming from the speakers with the words I just said, and he looks up with a relieved expression on his face.

I take my heels off and cross the room, standing in front of him where he sits on the edge of the bed. I rest my hands on his shoulders and he looks vulnerably up at me, his eyes reading a thousand different emotions that his mouth could never say. Callie's advice rings through my mind - and as I look at him, I do see a different person than the one I met. I see a teenage boy who lost his father and all the comfort he had, left to fend for himself in a world he didn't ask for. I see a man who lost his passion and one who is dying to find it again. I see a person who is searching desperately for connection and has found it with someone who is intent on pushing him away. Looking at his face, I see my husband for everything he is.

I cup his jaw and he blinks softly, finally closing his eyes against my touch. He leans his cheek against one palm before opening his eyes back up, staring softly into mine. I move to kiss his forehead with purpose, pulling away only to wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him close for a tight hug. He breathes against me, grip secure around my lower back, and rests his forehead on my sternum. It's nice, having him near, and I think it makes him feel protected. It's probably been a long time since he was allowed to let his guard down.

"Thank you," he says softly. "I didn't deserve that."

I stroke the back of his head with my fingertips, soft and barely there. I stare out the window and take a deep breath as I say, "Yes, you did."