Owning It (Metropolis #3)(40)

But there are so many thoughts racing through my mind.

I'm trying to figure out what's really bothering me about what Jackson just revealed.

Am I upset that he didn't tell me this from the get-go? No. Because how do you tell someone about something like that? Am I angry that he kept it a secret this whole time we've been talking? Not really because I know Jackson well enough to know he wasn't doing it to hurt me.

If anything, it feels like he's peered into my soul, and I don't have a way to make him forget the things he's seen. But as exposed as I feel right now, it's also kind of nice knowing whatever the reason was that he reached out, at least he did. And I know that's not the only reason he's still here.

As the tears roll down my cheeks, I keep my head turned away from him. He's already seen my weakness. He doesn't need to see me like this, too.

"I need you to go," I tell him.

"Are you upset?"

I nod. "Yes, but please just go."

"We need to talk about this."

I know he means well, but I have to put my foot down. "No. Just go, please. I don't want you to see me right now."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He turns me to face him, and I'm so fucking mad that he's seeing me cry, but like with him knowing about my uncle, there's something nice about not feeling totally alone.

I collapse against his chest and burst into tears.

What am I doing? I don't cry in front of people. Ever. Or at least I do my best to keep it together even when I'm about to fall apart. But it's like the reality of what's happening with Uncle Randy has slapped me in the face all over again and made me feel so vulnerable.

Jackson's body against me makes me feel comforted. Secure.

I wrap my arms around him, clinging to him.

"Do you really want me to leave?"

"Please don't."

Because I need someone here right now. I need him here.

I don't think I realized how much I needed someone until he said that. Until he awoke this hurricane of emotions within me.





17




Jackson


"Shh. I got you," I tell Derek as I thread my fingers through his hair. How long has it been since he's let go like this? Since he gave in and acknowledged the pain inside of him? Since he leaned on someone … since he was real? Not that I don't think Derek is genuine in a lot of ways. He does like to joke and have fun and fuck, and that's great, but he uses those things to pretend that's all there is to him. It's easier than letting someone inside. 

And I want to be there, I realize. Even if it's just as a friend. I can't take on more than that, not with where I am in my life, but I want to be his friend. Like I said on his voicemail, I want to have experiences with him.

His shoulders shake as he clings to my shirt and he lets out months, maybe years of pain.

"I know what it's like to let all that shit fester. It'll become a cancer, eating away at your insides." I know because in a lot of ways, I do it myself. I've always done it myself. I know what it's like to be the strong one all the time but somehow, doing this, holding Derek doesn't feel like added weight. More like it fits around all the other stuff, giving it something soft to be surrounded by.

There's something about him that twists me up. That calls to me on this strange level that I've never really experienced before. I wasn't lying when I told him I don't know what this is, but I sure as hell know I'm not walking away from it.

I kiss his forehead, feel him tremble. His grip on me tightens, and I wonder if he's ever let anyone hold him like this. If he's ever let anyone take care of him. Damned if I don't want to be the one to do it.

I continue to hold him, tighten my grip on his hair. Tell him I'm here and that I have him. That I'm not going anywhere.

"Dude. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm crying all over you." Derek tries to pull away but I tighten my grip even more.

"Nope. You're not going anywhere either. I'm not letting you pull that shit on me anymore. You're staying right here until I feel like you're ready to go." Because sometimes we all need someone to snap us out of it, to call us on our shit.

"Bossy Jackson is back." He wipes his eyes.

"Bossy Jackson has always been here."

He tenses up, and I think he's going to try to pull away again, but then he just nuzzles deeper, gets closer. "I … in a lot of ways, he's all I have. I don't know how to lose him."

"Fuck." I curse quietly and kiss his head again. "I know you don't. Jesus, you have a big heart in there. Don't know how it fits in such a little body."

"I don't know how to respond to you when you say stuff like that to me. It's like it doesn't compute. People don't talk to me that way."

"I talk to you that way," I tell him. "And anyone who doesn't is a fucking idiot, and they don't know you."