“Hey, I did have a six-pack. Anyway, It’s just fiction . . .” He had a dreamy look on his face. “It has to be . . . You swore on my life . . . I got drunk because you are the slowest reader on this planet, and . . .” Two seconds later, he passed out.
I took a deep breath and sat down next to him on the bed. To those crazed fans at the bar, he was the enigmatic J. Colby. But to me, he was still the same Jase. As I caressed his face, he became an innocent ten-year-old boy again, sleeping peacefully. I left him fully dressed but covered him with the comforter, kissed him on the forehead, and walked out of the room.
Andrea walked in from the balcony. She had kicked off her shoes, but she was still wearing her black dress pants and white silk blouse with a plunging neckline. She was sexy and sophisticated. She looked like she belonged with Jase.
“Is he out?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“So you’re her? From the book?”
I nodded. “Listen, can we talk?” I said.
“Sure.” She walked to a table with an open bottle of wine. She held it up. “Would you like a glass?”
I shook my head.
She poured herself one and then sat on the arm of the couch while I stood near the door. “What do you want to talk about?”
I hesitated. “Does he drink like that a lot?”
“No, I’ve never seen him do that. He rarely has more than a glass of wine or two.”
“Okay . . .”
“Why, are you worried about him becoming . . .” Her face softened. I realized, as Jase’s agent, she probably knew the book intimately.
“I guess. I feel really strange talking to you about this. Jase told me you two have a . . . relationship.” I waved my hand around like I was trying to look for the right word.
“It’s over.” She smiled. “Listen, I love the story. That’s why I was dying to rep him and sell this book. Our relationship started with business and will continue with the business, but that’s it. It’s impossible not to sound crass here, so I’ll just say it. Jase and I were just using each other. That’s it.”
“But you have to have feelings for him. I mean, he’s amazing.”
“Emiline, I’ve been around the block a few times. I have no interest in being in a relationship with a man who’s in love with someone else.”
“Oh.” The word left my lips like a breath. “I have to get back to California. You and Jase will be in New Orleans next week, right?”
“Right. What are your plans?” she asked. “I mean with Jase? What will you do?”
I thought her line of questioning was nosy, but then again, she basically knew every personal detail about Jase and me.
“I don’t know. It took me many years to figure out how to let him go.”
“I bet.”
“Now I have him back. I think I just want to keep him safe, right here, with a little bit of distance.”
“The two of you are a lot alike. It’s no surprise that you grew up together. You both have a lot of fear, but I understand what you’re saying.” She smiled. “I think it’s important to recognize the risks he’s taken.”
I nodded. “Of course I do.” I was a hundred percent sure what she was talking about. I was still afraid that if Jase and I finally gave in to the force driving us together, we would crash into each other so hard that we’d break apart into a million pieces, impossible to put back together. My plan would keep us safe.
“I’m heading back to Ohio tomorrow for one last thing, so I’ll be there for at least another night before I fly home to California.”
“I’ll let him know. Which hotel will you be in?”
“The DoubleTree in New Clayton. Why?”
“In case the charming J. Colby wants to send flowers for your help tonight,” she said, with a laugh and a wink.
“Thanks, Andrea.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
I left the room and walked back to my hotel in the cool night air. When I got back to my room, I finally dug the book out of my backpack and settled into bed.
From All the Roads Between
I felt gutted to know Jackson had written a book all those years ago that I had never known about.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” the young woman who worked behind the counter asked.
“How . . . how much is this book?” I asked, out of breath.
Taking it from my hands, she said, “Well, let’s see what it says.” She opened the front cover. “It’s a dollar twenty-five.”
“Okay, I want it.”
“Sure, ma’am. Do you want me to bring it to the front for you?”
“Yes, but I also need to pick out some shoes.” The book would leave me with eight dollars and seventy-five cents. I found some black sneakers that had the slip-resistant soles I needed for waitressing. The price tag said nine fifty.
“Oh dammit.”
“What is it, ma’am?” the girl asked from the counter.
“I’m seventy-five cents short.”
She looked behind her to make sure no one was watching and then turned back to me and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cover it. Come on.”
She took my ten dollars and handed over a bag for the book and shoes. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy the book. I think my mom read that one. Yeah, as a matter of fact, I know she did. She said it was sweet.”