Lydia Martin would not break. And if she did, it wasn't going to be a boy who broke her.
She'd been saying this as a mantra for weeks now, maybe even months. It wasn't going to break her that Jackson had broken up with her. It wasn't going to break her that he wanted back his things. It wasn't going to break her that he'd been turned into a murderous lizard. It wasn't going to break her that he'd died twice in the same day. It wasn't going to break her that after everything they'd gone through, his family was moving to London.
In the beginning, it had been easy to pretend it wasn't happening. They had weeks before Jackson actually left the country, and that was plenty of time for them to be together. The Whittemore's furniture was slowly disappearing as they shipped it overseas, but that was fine. They spent more time in Jackson's bedroom than anywhere else, or out of the house altogether. Then Jackson's parents had left to prepare their new house, but even then it hadn't changed much. Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore had never been home much anyway.
But then Jackson had started packing his things, and the house had been emptied and locked up. He'd shown up on her doorstep with nothing more than a suitcase, just enough for him to last his final week in the states. For seven days, she had him all to herself. And then it was over.
They cruised down the highway as slow as she could manage, Lydia driving with Jackson in the passenger seat. She didn't want him to miss his plane, but at the same time, every inch of her was hoping to put it off just a little longer. If anyone noticed the car's sluggishness, they didn't say. Jackson was staring out the window, and Sadie was fiddling with the cuffs of her sweatshirt in the backseat. She'd insisted on coming along in case Lydia didn't feel up to driving home. Which was ridiculous, of course. She was perfectly fine. It was only an airport, after all.
"Ooh, that reminds me," Sadie said, in response to absolutely nothing. She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a CD case, which she promptly handed to Lydia. "I made a playlist for the drive."
"No."
Jackson's voice was bored as he plucked the CD from Lydia's hand. He tossed it behind him, where Sadie had to dodge it with a disgruntled look.
"What? Why?"
"Because knowing you, it's just 'Werewolf of London' fifteen times on a loop, and that joke wasn't even funny the first time."
Sadie pouted, but did not argue. The CD disappeared back into her purse, and they continued the drive in silence.
As they began to pass the highway signs directing them to the different terminals, Lydia felt a surge of panic. Up until then, she hadn't allowed herself to really process what was going to happen once she parked the car. They would help Jackson with his bags, maybe stay with him while he checked in, and that that would be it. He would walk through security, and he would never come back. She wouldn't even be able to see him get on the plane.
And now her window of opportunity was closing. They were crossing the parking lot. They were handing over his luggage. They were walking past all the stupid little souvenir shops and heading for security.
"Well, I guess that's everything," said Sadie.
She was still playing with her sweatshirt sleeves—the way she always did when she was uncomfortable. But she put on a brave smile.
"I actually do have something for you—don't look like that, Jackson, I'm being serious."
Sadie reached into her bag again, and this time she pulled out a small, leather-bound book. She handed it to Jackson, who leafed through the first few pages out of curiosity. Lydia could see that it was filled with hand-written notes.
"A Year With Werewolves," Jackson read, flipping back to the first page. "By Sadie Bennet."
"Geez, Sadie, you wrote him a freaking book?" Lydia peered over his shoulder at the title page, and forced out a weak laugh. "You know most people just go with a keychain."
"It's not a book. Not really anyway. It's just study notes and stuff—things to keep in mind once you're over there. It's everything we've learned since last summer—creatures, mythology, werewolf philosophy..."
"So it's Werewolves for Dummies," Jackson said coolly.
Sadie pursed her lips, hiding a grudging smile. "Yeah. Just in case London makes you too much of an idiot to remember everything you learned over here."
"I don't think I'm gonna forget any of this any time soon."
There was a heavy moment of silence—one where they all stopped to think about the things they had seen over the last year. It was not a good thought.
Jackson shot a sideways look at Lydia, and cleared his throat.
"Uh…thanks, Sadie. Really. I appreciate it."
"Oh, yeah. No problem."
They looked at each other, fidgeting for a few seconds until Sadie stepped forward to hug him. It was a short, awkward embrace, but they both pulled away smiling.
"Alright. Well, have fun in London. I'm still super, super jealous. And uh…call if you need anything."
"Yeah, I will. Thanks."
"Right. And uh…oh! If you get a card in the mail, or like a phone call from my mom, just roll with it. Even if she says something crazy like uh, 'Are you sure you don't want the car?' Or 'Thank you so much, that was really sweet of you, Jackson.'"
Jackson raised an eyebrow, and Sadie shook her head.
"Really, don't worry about it. Just nod and tell her that it's alright until she hangs up the phone. I've got it under control."
"O-kay. Fine."
"Fine. Great, so uh… Bye, Jackson. I—I hope you have a really great time in England."
"Thanks. Really, Sadie. For everything."
Sadie nodded, and with a tight smile, began to back away. She shared a look with Lydia—cautious to leave her alone, but also pleading for an exit—and then jerked a thumb over her shoulder. She would be there if Lydia needed her, but would give her the privacy of a goodbye.
A goodbye.
Lydia smiled fixedly, patting Jackson on the shoulder. "Thank you for playing nice."
"Hey, it wasn't all a lie," he said with a shrug. "You know we were actually friends once."
He looked after Sadie with a bitter smile. Lydia knew that he'd meant it to sound off-handed, but she could also see the sadness in his eyes. They had been friends once—all of them. Lydia, Sadie and Jackson laughing in the car on the way back from the beach, or bickering through a movie they'd rented as they sat on the couch. Maybe they hadn't been best friends, but they'd been happy. Life was simple.
Then there had been all the supernatural garbage—and Jackson's egotistical nonsense. Lydia didn't think Sadie would ever forgive Jackson for dumping her best friend. But she knew at heart it was more than that. It was Jackson's stubbornness that had gotten people hurt. It was his wounded pride that refused to accept help from his friends. It was the walls that he put up that stopped him from seeing straight.
He had done a lot in the last year that could not be undone. Sadie would never voice it in front of Lydia, but they both knew the truth. Sadie didn't know if she could ever truly be friends with Jackson again.
But Jackson wasn't the same person that he had been. He'd made so much progress, worked out so many issues. He wouldn't be a werewolf now if he hadn't. He was a new man.
Maybe that's why he felt like it was time to leave Lydia behind.
Lydia shook that thought away.
"So, what's your plan for the rest of the day? Do you get any time to yourself, or is it tea and crumpets from the moment you get off the plane?"
Jackson rolled his eyes.
"Don't remind me. I'm going straight from Heathrow to Fortnum and Mason to meet my parents for tea. As if I'm gonna forget that we're supposed to be English now."
"Well, maybe they just want to get all the touristy stuff out of the way. Then you can be a true Brit like everyone else."
"Yeah, sure. Like Mom's not gonna drag everyone down to Westminster once a week to take a family picture with Big Ben."
"Maybe you can make a collage for your Christmas card."
He gave her a sharp look, and she smiled. But it only lasted for a moment.
"I better get going," said Jackson, rubbing the back of his neck. "I still gotta get through security and all that."
"Yes. Yeah, of course."
Neither one of them moved.
"You've got everything, right?" Lydia asked.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."
"I can always ship things to you if you forgot something."
"Nah, I—I think I'm good."
"Okay. Good." Lydia hesitated, then leaned up to peck him on the cheek. "Text me when you land, okay? Just to let me know you made it."
But Jackson was shaking his head. He would not meet her eye.
"Lydia, we talked about this."
"I—I know. I'm sorry."
Of course they had talked about it. They had been talking about it for weeks. But that didn't make it any easier.
When Jackson's parents had received the news that their son was still alive, they had been overjoyed. There had been the ensuing enquiry of course—Jackson's father wasn't going to let the hospital off with telling him his son was dead when he wasn't—but they'd still been happy. So happy, in fact, that they'd decided to reevaluate how they spent their time as a family.
Jackson's resurrection was the Whittemore's second chance. It was time for a clean slate, and that meant getting away from everything and starting fresh.
They'd toyed with the idea of long distance for a while, but there was a difference between being a few towns apart and a whole ocean. They couldn't hop on a plane every few weeks to see each other, even if they could afford it—not with school and full moons and everything in between. Even with phone calls, they would be eight hours apart.
They were fated to become a statistic. And they didn't want to watch themselves fall apart.
So that was the end. The moment Jackson got on that plane, he would be gone forever. No texts, no phone calls, no Christmas cards.
A new start.
But Lydia didn't want a new start. She didn't want a new anything. The past few months—the past year had been a constant battle just to keep what she had. The whole world had already shifted beneath her, and she had stopped just short of crumbling. She had been attacked, she had been friendless, but she had survived. And now life was trying to take everything away from her again.
She knew what everyone said about Jackson. She knew that he was sometimes heartless, that he was manipulative and self-centered and egotistical. She knew that Jackson Whittemore was a broken boy at best.
But not everyone knew the Jackson Whittemore that she did.
Not everyone had seen him open up about his real parents, and how much it hurt that he never got to know them. Not everyone had seen him crumble under the pressure his adoptive parents put on him, the standards that he set for himself. Not everyone knew that he still had nightmares about not having control of his own body, watching himself kill and slaughter innocent people while he did not have the power to stop.
Lydia didn't know how she ever could have thought of walking away from Jackson. He was her first love, her first everything. They'd been through too much together to turn back now. Their connection had literally saved his life—and he had died twice to save hers.
She wasn't supposed to know that, though. Sadie had been dodging questions since the night of the lacrosse final, and Jackson had never brought it up. But Lydia knew. She had seen the self-inflicted wounds when he'd bled out on the lacrosse field. She had seen his tiny nod before Derek and Peter Hale charged at the warehouse. He had voluntarily died to stop himself from hurting anyone—from hurting her.
How was she supposed to let go of someone who loved her enough to die?
"I can't do this."
"Lydia…"
"I know! I know we talked about it, and I know I said I was fine with it, but I'm—I'm not! I'm not fine! I cannot just stand here and lose you all over again!"
"Lyd, this is not the same thing," said Jackson. He was half laughing, but it was a hollow sound. "I'm not dying this time."
"That's what it feels like."
Jackson gave her a pitying look. He dropped his carry on to the ground, and pulled her into his chest. This was where she belonged. Her face buried in his shoulder, with Jackson's arms around her waist. This was the only place that felt safe.
"I don't want you to go," she whispered to his sweatshirt.
He stroked his hand over her hair. "I know. But I can't stay."
Lydia nodded. She was being stupid, and she knew it. This was why they'd talked it out beforehand—made decisions before they could become choked up with goodbyes. It was time for her to be level headed. It was time for her to be real.
"Just lie to me. Please."
Jackson pulled out of the hug, looking down at her for a moment. And then he nodded. He swept a piece of her hair behind her ear, and then cradled her face in his hands.
"Okay. Remember when I tried to break up with you last year? And I said all that stupid shit?"
"Yeah."
"I didn't mean any of it. I was still in love with you. It wasn't over then. It still isn't over."
Lydia bit her lip, halfway between laughing and crying. She closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to keep them from watering.
"If you're a werewolf, I'm a werewolf."
Jackson snorted, and kissed her on the forehead. "God, I'm gonna miss you."
And that, she knew, was true.
He gave her one last kiss on the cheek, and then picked up his bag.
It took all the strength in her body to open her eyes again—to watch him walk away from her into the crowds of holiday travelers. She stood there for an eternity as he made his way through the line, as he walked through the barrier, as he disappeared into the crowd.
Then he was gone.
Lydia Martin would not break. And if she did, it wasn't going to be a boy who broke her.
But still, she thought—as Sadie rushed over to her with a hug, and her knees began to buckle beneath her—that didn't mean she couldn't cry.