He doesn’t respond. I know it’s futile to try to argue. Ashton tried to tell me hundreds of times that my father probably had a reason to leave, and how Neil might not be the best guy for me. Sometimes it doesn’t matter because you can’t see past the image in your own heart.

We lie here together, unspeaking. Two broken ships trying to find a way through rough seas. I close my eyes and settle back on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart as he tenderly holds me. And though I feel for his loss, I’m grateful he was spared.

He kisses the top of my head, and I move back so he can see the truth in my eyes. I need him to really hear what I’m saying. “I think you’re a wonderful man. From what I’ve seen you’re kind, loyal, trusting, and wouldn’t purposely put anyone in danger. You’ve comforted me and I saw how worried you were over the situation at your company.”

I grab hold of his face, forcing him to look at me. He shouldn’t carry guilt over something that wasn’t his fault. “You, Jackson Cole, are a man worth following. Those men wouldn’t want you to carry their deaths on your shoulders.”

“Those men should be alive,” he says almost inaudibly. Then he tries to move his head out of my grasp, but I’m not having it. I’m not done.

“True, they shouldn’t have died. No one should have to die, but would you have taken the bullet for them?” I raise my brow, already knowing his answer.

Without hesitation, he responds forcefully, “In a heartbeat.”

“Well, don’t you think they would do the same for you? I know loss too, Jackson. I’m living it now.”

I know he’s upset and hurt, but he’s failing to see that he wouldn’t want them to suffer if the situation were reversed. If it were Ashton and, God forbid, something happened and I was gone, I wouldn’t want her to live with that kind of guilt. I would want her to pick up her life and live on.

“You’re not telling me anything I haven’t heard before. Bottom line—I was there. I lived it.” His eyes narrow in anger. “I watched it happen and I couldn’t stop it. I fucked up and no one is going to tell me different. Their blood is on my hands. Did you kill your dad? No. So don’t compare.” His voice is cold, fused with frustration and defeat.

“You didn’t kill them either,” I whisper and drop my hands. A tear forms and I try to choke it down and hide my face from him.

I’m hurting for this entire situation and for my own guilt. No, I’m not responsible for my father’s death, but I never tried to find him either. I wrote him off. Some may think I was justified. Whether I was or not, I’ll never get that chance now. And now I’ve brought all of Jackson’s pain to the forefront. Regret is a shitty thing to live with and it seems both of us have an entire truckload of it.

“I’m sorry.” I feel him shift and his strong arms encase me.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You’re crying.” He releases his hold and turns my head to look at him.

What else is new? I’m emotional. With all the stress of the last few months and my lack of sleep, I’m a little frayed. The impending reading of my father’s will is wearing on me too. I want to get past all of this so I can get back to who I once was.

Swiping the tear from my face, I smile and retort, “No, I’m not.”

“I didn’t mean to be an asshole and ruin our night.”

“You didn’t, Jackson. I’m sorry I pushed.” I smile and place my hand against his cheek. “But I’m going to keep telling you how incredible you are, okay?”

His smile is soft, placating. It’s clear he doesn’t believe me. I wish he could see what I see. I shrug and give him a quick kiss. I’m not giving up on him.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

I put my finger up and hop out of the bed. “One minute. I just need to brush my teeth and all that good stuff.”

Seeing Jackson’s shirt on the floor, I grab it and throw it on, then enter the bathroom. I try to fix my now disheveled hair and quickly brush my teeth. I take a few extra minutes to get my head under control. He’s seen and been through so much. Are we both too fucked-up to work? No, if I think like that, I’m doing exactly what I always do. He’s not fucked-up, nor am I. We just have some healing to do.

Climbing back into bed, Jackson pulls me against his solid chest. “You look good in my shirt.”

I chuckle and smile at him. “You look good in your shirt too.”

His voice is low and oozes sexual promise. “You look even better out of my shirt.”

I laugh and shake my head. He effortlessly lifts me so we’re eye to eye and leans in to kiss me. It’s a slow, easy, and careful kind of kiss. It’s the kind of moment your heart will never recover from because you’re both saying so much. My head is spinning. I try to hold myself back. Between all the details tonight—the dinner, the earth-shattering sex, and then him finally opening up to me—Jackson has obliterated my walls.

He finally releases me, settling me into the crook of his arm. “Good night, baby.”

I smile even though he can’t see me. “Good night, Muffin.”

Our night together put us over some imaginary threshold. We’ve talked almost every day and we saw each other for lunch a few days ago. It’s been two weeks of laughter and falling into a nice rhythm together.

I grab the subway and head to his apartment, where he has another day of surprises in store for me. He’s standing outside waiting, and the sight of him causes my pulse to spike. His dark brown hair is in sexy disarray and his white T-shirt is tight, which lets me see his defined muscles perfectly. Butterflies stir in my stomach. It astounds me that we’re dating—he’s magnificent, commanding, sweet, and so many other things. I can’t keep my eyes off him when he’s around. The chemistry between us crackles like flames on a log. My body comes to life when he touches me—it’s a heady feeling.

As I approach he gives me a lopsided grin. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hello yourself.” I smile and he immediately reaches out, pulling me flush against him. “Do you always have to manhandle me?”

“Well, baby, I’m all man and I sure as hell love to handle you.” His eyes glimmer with humor.

Hell yeah he’s all man—every single fantastic inch of him.

“You’re ridiculous.” I shake my head.

“Yet you keep coming back, so I must not be that bad.” He smirks and gives me a long, panty-melting kiss.

Right here on 5th Avenue in New York City, he has once again rendered me helpless. Shoppers, families, cabs, and bikers all fade away as his lips move with mine. Jackson pulls back and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

I love how physical he is, almost as if he can’t keep his hands off me. It’s such a contrast to anything I’m used to. Whether it’s holding hands or something as simple as touching legs when we watch television, those small moments say so much. They’re unspoken words that show the true depth of what we’re both feeling.

“So what’s on our agenda today?” I ask with a light heart.

There’s happiness dancing in his eyes when he responds, “The park.”

My face falls at his answer. Jackson told me to make sure I was comfortable today. No heels, no dresses. He said to be sure I wore sneakers. I made him promise no military training exercises, no entering me for some kind of race or marathon, and no other strenuous physical activity that would have me aching for days after completion. After my ribbing about his love of running and exercise in general, I was a little hesitant, but he swore I would love today. I trusted him—first mistake.

“Why do I think I should’ve stayed home in bed?” I groan.

He laughs and pulls me tighter. “I wasn’t in bed with you, so that’s reason enough to get up,” Jackson jokes in my ear as we walk. “One day I’ll get you to agree to a mud run or something, but you’ll be happy to know I kept my end of the bargain today. They don’t have an obstacle course in Central Park—yet. And there’s no marathon.”