I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2) (25 page)

A week after Cole and Penelope stopped by—a week after he’d all but ripped out Mollie Carrington’s heart, and his own in the process—Jackson stepped off a plane into the Houston airport. He exhaled long and slow, waiting for the sense of arrival, the sense of home.

It didn’t come.

Of course, he wasn’t here to stay, not yet. He still had to finish things up in New York. Had an apartment to sell. Wanted to give Cassidy a chance to find his replacement.

No, this trip was half house-hunting mission, half job negotiations. Not that Jackson gave a shit what he got paid. Hell, he’d pay them just to be a part of the team again. But Jerry had wanted him to come down to sign the paperwork, make everything official. So here he was. In Texas.

Again he waited.

Nope—still not the expected sense of rightness.

Shit. Penelope was right. Already he
did
miss his New York friends.

Pushing away the creep of doubt, Jackson began making his way through the hordes of travelers. God, he hated airports. That was all this was, he decided: annoyance with air travel. At least he could skip baggage claim; since he was here just for the weekend, he was making do with a small carry-on.

Jackson had just passed through the security gate when he saw her. He skidded to a halt, his blood running ice cold. Fury quickly followed.

Madison
.

Very slowly, as though walking through mud, he made his way over to his ex-wife. She was wearing a demure white dress and knee-high brown riding boots, her hair pulled into a high ponytail.

“Hi,” she said with a shy smile.

He didn’t move. Not when she lifted on her toes to kiss his cheek, even though the familiar scent of her perfume made him want to sprint back in the other direction, TSA rules be damned.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Don’t be obtuse. I came to meet you, obviously. Figured I could give you a ride.”

“How’d you know what flight I was coming in on?”

“Jerry told me when you were getting in. I figured it out. I hoped I wouldn’t miss you.”

“I wish you had,” he said as he continued walking toward the cab line.

“Hey!” she said, her voice sharp with surprise. “I’m the one who got you this job. The least you could do is be a tiny bit polite.”

Jackson spun around at that, and she ran into his chest. He stepped back, desperate to get away from her. “Why did you get me the job, Madison?”

She frowned. “Because you wanted it.”

He shook his head. “You haven’t done anything selfless in years. What was in it for you?”

“Nothing.” People were starting to stare, and she licked her lips nervously. “Let’s talk about this in the car.”

“I’m not getting in a car with you.”

She scoffed. “Is this because of Mollie? You’re still using my sister to get at me?”

Jackson felt a burst of fury.
“Don’t.”

“She’s my sister,” Madison snapped. “I’m allowed to say her name.”

“Yeah? How’s your sister doing, Maddie? You call her lately?”

“No, and I’m not planning on it. One might say I’m a bit upset to learn she slept with my husband.”

“
Ex
-husband. And although I think she’s better off without you, you should call her.”

“Jackson, I really don’t want to talk about Mollie right now.”

“Why’d you get me the job?” he asked again.

“Stop,” she hissed. “You’re like a dog with a bone—”

“Tell me and I’ll let you give me a ride,” he interrupted.

She paused, studying his face.

“The truth, Maddie,” he said.

Her chin lifted. “The
Housewives
producers want me back. Ratings plummeted after I left, and they know I can bring viewers back in. Especially given all of the…
stuff
we’ve been through.”

“
Stuff
like you telling the world I cheated on you.”

She shrugged. “We both made mistakes.”

Jackson stared at her. What the hell had happened to the girl he fell in love with? Had he done this? Had he turned her into this media-seeking diva?

“I see,” he said slowly. “So you’re no longer an athlete’s wife, but being the wife of an assistant coach is close enough.”

“Well, I don’t expect us to mend things right away, but let’s be practical about this. This will get us what we both want. I can get back on the show, you can get back on the field—”

“That’s not what I want.”

The truth rolled over him a few seconds after the words were out.

He didn’t want this. It wasn’t right. None of it was right. Not the job. Not the location. And certainly not the woman. He’d left everything that was
right
back in New York.

“What?” The sweet façade was completely gone now, leaving her looking tired and a little mean.

He stepped forward, lowering his face closer to hers so there’d be no mistaking his meaning. “I said, that’s not what I want.”

“Of course it is,” she said. “Football’s all you ever wanted.”

He held her gaze. “No. Once I wanted you more than I wanted football.”

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job of showing it,” Madison snapped.

“I know,” he said, holding her gaze. “And I’m sorry about that.”

She blinked, clearly at a loss as to how to respond to his words. Eventually she said, “And I’m sorry about…everything.”

He smiled. “Good. So we’re done, then.”

She smiled back in relief. “Yes. Thank God. Now can we please go to the car? I’ve been here for over an hour, and it stinks in here, and—”

“No, you misunderstood,” he broke in quietly. “We’re
done
. All the way done.”

Her mouth dropped open. “But you just said—”

Jackson leaned forward and kissed her cheek, knowing that a dozen or more spectators had just captured the moment with their iPhones and not caring. He was done caring.

“Goodbye, Madison.”

She spun around as he started to walk away. “Jackson! The car’s the other way.”

He ignored her. Kept walking.

“Jackson!”

He didn’t stop. Not until he reached the ticket counter.

He waited patiently in line, ignoring the stares and whispers of the people around him. Suddenly he missed New York. Missed the anonymity and the fact that he didn’t have to be Jackson Burke there. He could just be Jackson. Or Burke. He could just be one of the guys—one of the
Oxford
guys. But more important—
most
important—he could be Mollie’s.

If she’d have him.

“Next in line,” called a harassed-looking airline employee.

Jackson stepped up to the counter as he pulled out his wallet. “Yes, I’d like a one-way ticket to New York, please.”

Mollie turned up the music in Jackson’s place as loud as it would go in an attempt to drown out the silence.

Riley had heard through the
Oxford/Stiletto
grapevine that he was gone for the weekend, so Mollie had headed over to pack up her stuff.

Not that she had a place to move to yet. She was still in Riley’s guest room, still trying to navigate the crazy world of the New York rental market. But at least this way, her stuff would be packed and easy for the movers to pick up once she found a place. And this way she wouldn’t have to see him.

Not that he was trying to see her.

She hadn’t heard from him. Not once.

And though her fingers had itched to text him every single one of the days they’d been apart, she’d resisted.

She’d talk to him again someday. Hell, maybe someday they’d even be friends again. She hoped so. But until her heart healed, she needed distance. And her heart wasn’t even close to healing.

Moving into the closet, Mollie scooped an armful of shirts off the rack and then unceremoniously dropped them into a box on the bed, hangers still attached. She repeated the move with her pants and shoved everything down. Deciding there was room for a few more things, she turned back toward the closet.

Then she saw him and yelped.

“Holy crap, Jackson,” she said, putting a hand over her pounding heart. “You can’t just loiter in the doorway of a woman’s bedroom.”

His brow lifted. “Loitering? I live here.”

She stared at him, and he stared back.

“You’re supposed to be in Texas.”

“I know.” He didn’t smile. Didn’t explain.

He looked good. Better than good. Jeans, a long-sleeved white T-shirt, brown boots. He looked like a Texan. It was a good reminder. A necessary reminder, since she was this close to flinging herself into his arms and begging him to take her with him.

She didn’t want to go with him. Even if he’d asked her to go,
this
was her home.
This
was her life.

But it didn’t matter. Because he hadn’t asked.

And yet he was here…

Jackson moved into her bedroom, barely glancing at her as he scanned the moving boxes. He walked toward the bed and gestured at the one she had just filled.

“This one ready to go?”

“Um…,” she said, thoroughly confused. Was he seriously going to help her pack? It could have been nice—
might
have been, had she not recently told him she loved him, only to be met with utter, terrible silence.

He glanced at her, pointed down at the box, and lifted his eyebrows.

“Yeah, it’s mostly good to go. I was just—”

She didn’t finish her sentence because he was already lifting the box and carrying it out of her bedroom.

“Jackson!” She followed him. “Wait, your shoulder—”

“I can handle a box of clothes,” he said, not turning around. “But for your giant vibrator, we’re calling the guys.”

Mollie was expecting him to carry the box to the front door, as though to get her out of his home all the sooner, but instead he walked into his bedroom.

“Wait—Jackson!”

She dashed after him just as he carried the box into his closet. “What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t answer as he reached into the box, grabbed the hooks of a few hangers, and lifted her clothes out. Without so much as glancing at her, he hung them on the empty side of his closet as she watched with a slack jaw.

He bent to repeat the move with more of her clothes, and she reached out, knocking them from his hand. “Stop it. What are you doing?”

Jackson straightened, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “Moving you in.”

“To your bedroom?”

“Obviously.”

He started to reach for the clothes again, and she knocked them down once more. “Would you stop? This isn’t funny. This isn’t
fair
.”

Jackson picked up her clothes, and this time when her hand shot out, he was ready for it, holding her wrist with one hand as he hung her clothes with the other.

“You’re not actually suggesting I live here after you leave, are you?” she said. “Because if this is some guilty-conscience thing, you can take your guilt and shove—”

Jackson jerked her toward him, her knees bumping awkwardly into the moving box just moments before his mouth closed over hers.

It wasn’t a hard kiss, but it wasn’t particularly soft either. It was just perfect. The perfect amount of sweet and hot, and…

She put her hands on his chest, shoving him backward. “Please don’t mess with me.
Please
. Just talk to me.”

Jackson’s eyes shadowed with regret as he slowly released her wrist, lifting a hand to her face. The back of his fingers stroked her cheek softly. “Talk to you?”

She nodded.

“What shall I talk about?” he whispered.

“How about the fact that you’re supposed to be in Houston right now? It’s the only reason I came over.”

“I was in Houston,” he said.

“For what, an hour?” she asked.

“Probably about that, yeah.” He was watching her mouth as his thumb brushed softly over her lips.

Her breath caught at the tenderness in his touch—in his eyes.

“What happened?”

His eyes flicked up to hers. “You want the full story, or the important part?”

“The important part,” she whispered.

“I love you.”

The words were so quiet, so matter-of-fact, so shocking, that Mollie couldn’t speak. Couldn’t
breathe
.

“What?”

He slid his other arm around her waist. “You heard me.”

“I heard you, but what—”

He kissed her again, and this time it was hard. Maybe a little desperate. “Tell me I didn’t screw it up,” he said when he pulled back. “Tell me you still love me. That I still have a chance. That you don’t hate me for being the biggest idiot on the planet.”

When she didn’t answer, he murmured, “Mollie?” His eyes were pleading.

“I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “But I don’t understand. What about the job? I can’t move to Texas, and you can’t coach from here.”

“I told Jerry I don’t want it.”

She stared at him. “But Jackson, you
do
want it. You hate New York. And you’re a quarterback—”

“
Was
a quarterback. Now I’m a fitness editor for
Oxford
magazine,” he said with a wink.

“What if you change your mind? Or what if—”

“I might change my mind about the job. Someday. Maybe I’ll realize I want to do something besides journalism. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll take over Cassidy’s job someday. Maybe I’ll become an accountant or a barista. Hell, I don’t know, Mollie. I don’t know any of that. But I do know what isn’t changing anytime soon, and that’s how I feel about you.”

She opened her mouth, but he shook his head, talking faster now. “I messed up. I get that. I was clinging so fucking hard to what I thought I wanted that I didn’t give myself a chance to realize that what I wanted had changed. That I’d rather be a kick-ass journalist than a wannabe quarterback. That I’d rather be an awkward New Yorker than a comfortable Texan. Hell, one of these days I’ll even be able to wear a suit without feeling like I’m choking.”

She swallowed. “Wait, so you’re…I’m confused.”

He set both palms gently on her face. “You want me to talk your language? You’re my worm, Mollie. The creepy, mate-for-life variety. I’m here to stay, Mollie. Because of you.
You,
who’s always been there. And no, my romantic feelings for you don’t have the long roots that yours do for me, but that doesn’t make them any less intense. And they
are
intense, Mollie.”

Neither one of them spoke for a while, and his eyes slowly became wary. At last he said, “Mollie, is this…am I way off base here? Did your feelings change?”

She laughed softly. “Jackson, if I could change my feelings, I would have done it a long time ago. Say, like when you were married to my sister.”

“Ah,” he said knowingly. “Is that what’s holding you back? You feel like you’re betraying Maddie?”

“It’s just that this is complicated. I don’t even know what it would be like.”

“So we’ll figure it out,” he said, pushing her hair back. “We’ll figure it out one day at a time. We’ll take it slow, and—”

“Take it slow?” she interrupted. “Jackson, you’re moving my clothes into your closet.”

“Okay, so we won’t take it
that
slow.”

She started to step back, but he didn’t let her. “Mollie, I know you’re scared to death. I know you’re worried about your sister. I’m half terrified myself. But we can do this. I want to do this. I want this more than I’ve wanted anything.”

“More than football?” she teased.

To her surprise, he didn’t smile back. He merely stared down at her with a stunned expression. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little rough. “I want you more than football. I love you more than that too.”

It wasn’t much of a line. But it was the
exact
line Mollie needed to throw herself into his arms and kiss him. Frantic, happy kisses mingled with giddy laughs.

“I need the words, woman,” he said with a laugh as he tried to dodge her mouth.

“What words?” She went in for another kiss.

He gently tugged her hair, holding her still before their mouths could touch. “You know.”

Mollie smiled up at him. “Do I?”

“Mollie.” The pleading in his voice nearly undid her.

“I love you,” she said softly. “I’ve always, always loved you. Even when it was a really,
really
bad idea.”

“Thank you,” he said gently. “For loving me. Even if I didn’t know it, I’m honored. I’m humbled.”

“I don’t want any of that nonsense,” she said. “I just want your love.”

He smiled down at her. “I hope you’re sure about that. Because you’re going to have it for a long,
long
time to come.”