A Life Ahead

“Childish,” Jackson repeated in a low voice, dropping the shirt back into the luggage, his jaw flexing as he stood to his full height.

“Yes, Jackson. Fucking childish.”

He leveled that cold look at me, and I refused to flinch away from it. I held my ground, looking into those eyes that had once held nothing but softness, but now they were made of steel. 

“You want to know what’s childish, Siri?”

“No, Jackson,” I muttered, my voice dripping with false sweetness. “Please, enlighten me.”

“This.” He gestured between us, his bicep flexing in his T-shirt. “This. Us. Whatever the fuck this is. You come to my bed at night, you hold me. Your head on my chest. You destroy my already crumbling walls. You come to my game, cheer for me, and act like I'm the only bloody man on the rink. But at the mention of people seeing us together, you act like I'm dirt under your shoe.”

I held my bag closer to my chest as if it would somehow shield me from all… this. “That’s different. You… you don't understand."

“Then make me understand!” he yelled, his cold walls shattering.

“I can't!" 

“Then stop fucking throwing that word at me if you’re not going to explain!”

“I already did!”

He huffed. “You did what? Explained? That shit you gave me about my teammates gossiping?”

“Yes, Jackson,” I spat, my chest heaving, my throat raw from yelling. “That shit is what I've explained.”

His shoulders were tense, his eyes hard on me. “Who cares if they gossip? Who cares about–”

“I do! I fucking care, Jackson! You don't unders–”

“That fucking word again!” he exploded, and the rage and hurt in his voice made me flinch. He stared at me with his eyes wide and red, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth might shatter. “You keep saying I don't understand, but you’re not telling me anything! What makes you think I won't understand? You just make the decision, and expect me to smile like a bloody idiot and be okay with it!”

“Can’t you see I'm trying to protect you?” I asked in a whisper, my eyebrows pulled together. 

“From what, Siri?!”

“Me!” I screamed, the word exploding from me, making my voice crack. My shoulders dropped, my voice doing the same. “From me, Jackson.” 

Jackson stared at me, his wide chest looking like it was about to explode, and the confusion and pain in his eyes made me want to take that word back. 

“From you,” he repeated softly, his voice rough. 

My eyes dropped to his feet. “Yes.”

“What does that fucking mean?”

“You know exactly what it means."

“No, Siri. I bloody don’t.”

“Look at you!” I snapped, dropping my bag and throwing my hands towards him. My eyes snapped back to his wide ones. “Look at you, Jackson. Rich, hot, captain of your hockey team. Everybody loves you. People scream your name when you walk onto the rink. Girls practically throw themselves at you, and the guys will do anything to get on your good side. You have your entire life ahead of you, and you think I'm just going to fucking stand there and watch people treat you differently once they see you associate with me?”

His face twisted, growing tighter, his arms limp by his sides. “What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about your reputation.”

That soft look that had bled into his eyes and voice was gone in an instant. “I don't bloody care about my reputation!”

“Well, I do!”

“Then stop!”

“I CAN’T!” The scream tore from my throat, from the deepest part of my chest, leaving me raw. “I fucking can’t, you bastard!”

We stared at each other, breathing hard, my fists clenched. I raised a hand and pointed a shaky finger at him. 

“You don't know what it’s like when people have decided there’s something wrong with you. You don't know what it’s like to walk into a room, and people have decided who you are even before you open your fucking mouth. I do. And I'm not letting that happen to you.”

“And who the fuck gave you the right to decide that for me?”

I froze. “W-what?”

He took a slow step forward, his hard eyes never leaving mine. He pointed a finger at me. 

“You?” Another step, and I had to take one back. “Who gave you the authority to decide what I'm willing to lose?”

“Jackson, lis–”

“No. You wanted me to stop being childish, right?” He stood, walking, stopping three feet from me. “Well, here I am. Being a fucking adult.” His voice dropped, but somehow it became harsher. “You don't get to tell me how to feel about being hidden, Siri.”

My jaw clenched so hard, I heard a pop. “I am not telling you how to feel.”

“No, Siri, that is exactly what you’re doing. Every time I tell you this hurts, you slap I’m protecting you to my face like I’m supposed to be fucking grateful.”

My hands balled into fists, my nails digging into my palms. My voice was a low snarl. “I never asked you to be grateful.” 

“No. You just expect me to shut the hell up and accept whatever scraps you’re comfortable with giving me.”

I gaped at him. “S-scraps?”

His expression didn't waver. It only grew harder. “Yes, scraps.”

My hands shook, my eyes burning. “Fuck. You.”

He scoffed harshly. “You already have. Apparently that’s the only time you’ll admit you fucking want me.” 

It hit me hard, right on the fucking chest. For a second, I just stood there, bleeding at his feet, and he did nothing. Did he know how much it took for me to come to him that night? For me to drop all my walls and just be… me? And he was going to throw it at my face like that? He was going to stand there and look at me with that fucking look in his eyes?

Damn him. Damn him to hell!

I took two steps closer to him, barely a foot away from him, and his intense heat slammed into me. I ignored it as I stared into those hard eyes.

“Yes, Jackson,” I spat, my voice coated in sugar. “That’s the only time I fucking want you. That’s what we agreed on, wasn't it?” My voice dropped, and I took another step closer until my chest was pressed to his torso, my breath hitting his jaw. “Just. Sexual.” 

He flinched like I'd struck him.