by Dylann Crush
“Which is a good thing, because I’m not fond of heights.” I turn around to check out my back view in the mirror. “Are you sure I look all right?”
Jenny mimes wide eyes. “Baby, you don’t look all right—you look fucking amazing. You’re going to knock him absolutely dead.” She pauses for effect, and then lowers her voice and adds, “Not to mention, you’re going to have that jackass ex of yours drooling and kicking himself seven ways to Sunday for letting you go.”
My face in the mirror reflects the conflicted feelings I’ve been fighting. I haven’t seen Jackson in quite a while. He missed the last couple of committee meetings—Mrs. Lockhart said it was because of travel with the football team and other commitments. It wasn’t until Jackson was absent that I realized with more than a touch of shame that I’d been enjoying torturing him, trying to make him suffer for what had happened when we were both younger. I hadn’t let him explain or try to apologize—if that was what he wanted to do—and by acting like that, I was throwing away not only my memories of that magical summer we spent together but all the years before that, when Jackson had been my sun, moon and stars.
Still, the idea of him looking at me tonight and seeing everything he’s missing isn’t unappealing. And Jenny’s right—not to toot my own horn, but I look hot. The green silk gown I bought for the ball is not only seasonal, but it’s the perfect shade for my coloring. The bodice is fitted around my bust line, dipping just low enough to be sexy without making the short trip to slutty town. The silk is shirred over my stomach, and then at my hips, it gives way to a sweeping, generous skirt that reaches down to the tips of my sparkly silver heels.
I planned to straighten my hair, but Jenny talked me out of it earlier. She helped me tame the frizz, so now my red curls cascade over my shoulders. She also helped me with my makeup, which is why my eyes look huge and luminous, and my lipstick is actually where it’s meant to be.
Taking a deep breath, I glance at the clock. “I should probably start downstairs soon. Mrs. Lockhart asked the committee members to be on hand a little early.”
“I don’t know how you’re going to wait until nine.” Emma grins at me. “If it were me, I’d be walking around, checking out every guy in the place to see if he’s CapGuard90.”
“This was our plan,” I remind her. “By nine o’clock, all of my official committee duties will be done. Then I can enjoy meeting him.” I pause and fiddle with my necklace. “I can’t wait. But at the same time, I’m nervous as hell.”
“But you’ve been talking for almost a year now, and you like him, right?”
I nod slowly. “I do. He listens to me—well, you know what I mean. He pays attention to what I’m saying, and I always get the feeling he understands me. We have so much in common—and I love his sense of humor, his kindness, his thoughtfulness . . . but he can be a little dirty sometimes, too, you know? Especially recently. It’s as if knowing we’re going to meet gave him the push to be a little . . . flirtier.”
“Dirty and flirty is definitely a good thing.” Jenny waggles her eyebrows. “They’re in my top five must-haves for a man.”
“But you don’t know anything about him other than what he’s told you? Like exactly where he lives on the west coast or his job or . . . how old he is?” The slight wrinkle between Emma’s eyebrows is the only indication of her concern.
I shake my head. “He said something about being in security. And I got the sense he lives in the Pacific Northwest, maybe, by the way he talked about the weather.” I sink down on the edge of the bed. “Oh, my God. What if he’s, like, grandfather old? What if he’s not beginning-of-First Avenger-Cap, but end-of-Endgame Cap?”
“Hold on.” Jenny sits next to me. “First of all, this might sound ageist, but it’s pretty unlikely a much older dude is going to be hanging out on a fan site for those kinds of movies. Second, the things you read us from your chats didn’t sound like someone much older than us.”
“How are you going to know him?” Emma tilts her head. “He didn’t describe himself at all?”
“No. We decided that we’d meet beneath the mistletoe that’s hanging under the grand archway—I suggested that spot—and he’ll be wearing a Cap T-shirt under his tux. That’s my proof that it’s him.”
“It’s going to be fine. I bet he’s handsome and built and sexy.” Jenny gives me a side hug. “And the two of you are going to fall madly in love and raise lots of little Cap babies.”
I stand up and take a deep breath. “Okay. It’s time for me to go down. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck.” Emma winks at me. “You’re a catch, babe. Go wow them all.”
I manage a weak smile as I pick up my small evening bag and leave the room, heading for the elevator.
It’s showtime.
It’s a testament to Mrs. Lockhart’s brilliant management that the ballroom reflects a vibe that is classic Christmas—and everything is running flawlessly. Along with the rest of the committee, I’m down there early, but there’s not much for us to do. I linger around the deejay’s table, chatting with him and making sure he has what he needs.
“Darcy.”
At the sound of the deep voice, I turn around slowly. Jackson stands there, looking so hot it’s probably illegal in ten states. His eyes travel down my body and back up again, and the expression I see in them is unmistakable need.
I want to press a hand to my pounding heart, but that would be a dead giveaway to my feelings, so I clench my fists and draw myself up.
“Jackson.”
“Christ, you’re beautiful.” His voice is hoarse.
I clear my throat. “Thank you.” And then, because it doesn’t seem to be enough, I add, “You clean up pretty good, too.”
One side of his mouth tips up. “Thanks.”
We stand there for a few seconds in awkward silence, waiting for something to break the spell. Behind me, the deejay speaks up.
“Hey, you two want to open the dance floor? I thought I’d play a test song. Check out the levels and all that. Got any requests?”
Jackson regards me steadily for a moment. “How about It’s Been a Long, Long Time?”
My eyes fly to his face, and my pounding heart skips a beat. My mind is whirling, but before I can say anything, Jackson offers me his hand, and I find myself taking it.
Guests are only just beginning to arrive—the earliest of early birds—but it’s mostly committee members and hotel staff in the room right now. Jackson and I have the floor to ourselves, and for the first part of the song, before the vocalist begins singing, Jackson makes good use of that space, whirling me across the floor with impressively fancy footwork. One of his arms is tight around my waist, holding me a respectable distance from his body. His other hand holds mine, our fingers linked together.
But once Kitty Kallen’s unmistakable voice pours out of the speakers, Jackson turns us to a shadowy corner of the floor. He snugs his arm tighter around me and brings our joined hands into our bodies. His gaze is steady on my face as those familiar words take on an all-new meaning to me.
“Darcy.” His fingers caress the back of my hand. “I can’t . . . I’ve been trying to tell you since I saw you again how much I regret what happened that summer. I mean, when I left. I don’t have a single misgiving about what happened before then.” He closes his eyes and swallows. “I don’t blame you for being angry with me. I knew what you wanted, and I know I didn’t handle it the right way.”
I don’t want to talk about this now. I just want to enjoy being in Jackson’s arms again, forgetting everything that’s passed between us before this moment. I want to pretend it’s seven years ago, and instead of leaving me, Jackson stayed, and we’re happy. But that’s not how things went for us, and all the wishing in the world won’t make it so.
“Why?” The single syllable leaps out of my mouth raw and bleeding. “Why did you do it, Jackson? If you changed your mind . . . if you never wanted me to come in the first place . . . all you had to do was
tell me. You only had to be honest with me.”
“It was never that I didn’t want you.” His fingers tighten around mine. “How can you think that, Darcy?”
“Being left abruptly and without warning by the man who’d professed his undying love for me might have had something to do with it.” I tug my hand away. “If you’re not going to tell me the truth, Jackson, then you’re wasting my time. And tonight isn’t about you. Tonight’s about my future, not my past.”
He doesn’t release me right away. “What if I said I wanted to be part of both?”
“If that was true, you’d come clean with me. You’d give me some explanation about what happened.”
Jackson frowns. “I’ve been trying to do that every time I’ve seen you. But I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter—that whatever I might say won’t be enough. I have a feeling that back then, you decided to hate me forever, Darcy, and you’re not planning to change your mind. So maybe I shouldn’t waste my breath.” His eyes darken. “If I knew the words to say to make this right, I’d say them. But I don’t.”
“I want to forgive you.” Tears are threatening, and I blink them back. “I miss you, Jackson. I wish I could believe that we could get past this and be friends again.” I think of CapGuard90, of the way his words make me feel. That’s what I want with Jackson—the same trust I have in a man I’ve never even met in real life. The realization gives me strength. “But I think it’s too late for us. We had our chance, and we missed it.” I draw in a deep breath and take a step backward. “Maybe we can be civil again. Maybe I can learn to be okay with seeing you at family dinners and on holidays. But beyond that . . .” I shake my head and walk away.
The ballroom is beginning to fill, and it’s easy to lose myself in the crowd. I don’t know if Jackson follows me, but it doesn’t matter. I open my bag and glance at the screen of my phone. I have a little over an hour before it’s time to meet CapGuard90 under the mistletoe—and I’m not planning to be late.
7
“I thought I might find you in here.” Emma grins at me in the mirror. I’m standing in front of the fancy dressing table in what is euphemistically called the ladies’ lounge. “It’s nearly nine.”
“Yeah, I know. I just wanted to make sure I look as perfect as possible.” I toy with one of my curls before glancing back at my friend. “I saw you on the dance floor, by the way. You and Noah Spencer were really burning it up out there.”
Emma’s cheeks pink slightly, and she looks away. I’m only teasing a little; part of me is curious about what’s going between our naturopath and the football player who she’s been hanging out with a lot lately. Noah’s wife was our patient, but she died of leukemia complications over a year ago. Right after that, Deacon Girard, our head doc on the wing, took off for Slovenia. Since then, Emma and Noah have been friends. I think they give each other comfort, which is awesome. But I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something more there.
“And I saw you dancing cheek-to-cheek with someone who I’m told is Jackson Carmichael.” Emma lobs the grenade right back in my lap. “Did you make up? Are you going to have to juggle two love interests tonight?”
“Not at all.” I turn around to face Emma. “I think what you saw happening with Jackson was closure. I realized that if I don’t let go of my anger with him, I can’t move on with someone else.”
“But does Jackson agree with this?” She cocks one eyebrow. “He’s been watching you all night. And he doesn’t look like he got closure.”
I ignore the twinge of discomfort that gives me. “He’s a big boy. He’s lived without me for seven years. He’ll figure out a way to keep on living.” I pivot back, check myself out one more time and then take a nice calming breath. “Okay. I’m going out there. God, I can’t believe I’m actually going to meet him.”
Emma’s eyes sparkle. “Jenny scoped out a perfect spot for the two of us to watch.” The expression on my face must betray my feelings on that idea, because she hastily adds, “Don’t worry, we’ll be out of sight—and we’re not going to linger for the show if you guys, like, launch right into a make-out session.”
“Thanks,” I laugh. “Good to know.”
“Have fun, Darcy!” she calls after me as I swing open the door and step back into the party.
The grand arch is the main entrance to the ballroom. I chose that spot for our meeting place because it’s easy to find, and I chose the time because by now, just about everyone’s already here, either seated or dancing or at the bar. No one’s paying attention to what’s going on over here.
I can see the mistletoe now, and my heart begins to pound, the blood rushing in my ears. I can’t see anyone standing under it at first, but then, as I get closer, there’s a guy with his back toward me. All I can see is short dark hair and what looks like a broad back sheathed in a fitted tuxedo jacket.
Just before I reach him, walking as quickly as I can on shaky knees, he moves just a little, and I can see his profile. And suddenly, everything in my world tilts sharply to the left.
“Jackson.” I grind out his name. “What the hell are you doing here? You need to leave me alone. Go away. I’ve got—I’m meeting—” My mouth snaps shut because I do not want to explain to him that I’m here to see a guy I’ve only spoken to online. He’ll ridicule me endlessly.
But before I can figure out how to get rid of him, Jackson’s hands go to the middle of his pristine white tux shirt. He begins to unbutton it slowly, and initially, I think he’s lost his mind. And then I realize what’s happening, and once again, the earth is spinning madly.
Because what I see under his shirt are the unmistakable colors of Cap’s shield.
I lift my eyes to his face. His expression is a mix of trepidation, hope, eagerness and worry. It takes me a minute to catch up to what’s going on here, and when I do, I burn with anger and humiliation.
“I cannot fucking believe you, Jackson. I cannot fucking—” My throat closes around the words, and I spin around to leave.
“Darcy. Please. Don’t go.” Jackson catches my arm and pulls me back to him. “Please, babe. Just give me five minutes to explain. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, yeah? And how the hell do you know what I’m thinking?” I tap my foot, but I don’t struggle to get away from him, mostly because I want to hear how he’s going to explain this.
“Okay, well, it’s not what I imagine you’re thinking,” he amends. “Listen to me, please.” He pauses, casting a quick look around us. A group of women is standing not too far away, and they keep glancing at us curiously. “Come upstairs with me. I got a suite for tonight—and we can talk there. I can explain.”
I don’t want to go with him. I sure as hell don’t want to be alone in a hotel room with him, but at the same time, I have to find out how this happened—how it is that apparently, Jackson is CapGuard90, the same man I’ve been pouring out my heart to for months.
With a heavy sigh, I nod. “All right. But no funny business. Got it? I’m only going with you so we can talk.”
He raises his hands. “Absolutely. Just talk.”
Jackson’s suite is about three times the size of my standard hotel room. I try not to gawk. “I guess this is how the other half lives.”
He winces slightly. “I didn’t choose it. The hotel does it automatically for the team. I don’t go out of my way to ask for something nicer. All I needed was a bed and a shower, but . . .” He shrugs. “Anyway. Come sit down.”
There’s a small living room, where I drop into an overstuffed chair. Jackson perches on the edge of the sofa.
“All right.” I cross my legs, and the silk of my dress slides over my thighs. “I’m waiting.”
Jackson nods. “First thing, Darcy, I had no idea you were SteveNPeggy4Eva—not until the day you mentioned the ball, what it was called and when it was happening. That’s why I disappeared so fast that day—I was kind of in shock. I thought about it for a long time, and I decided that maybe it wasn’t you—ma
ybe it was just the weirdest coincidence ever—so that was when I mentioned being in Florida. What you said confirmed who you were. I was about to come clean then and there when it occurred to me that it might be a conversation we’d be better off having in person.”
That sounds reasonable, I decide grudgingly. I have to believe him when he says he didn’t know who I was until then; there wouldn’t have been any way for him to guess my identity. My superhero obsession didn’t begin until after he was out of my life.
“Darcy.” He stares at the floor between us for a moment. “The summer we were together was the best one of my life. Everything we talked about when we were together—I wanted it all.” His jaw tightens slightly. “I stopped by to see Granny that day—the day I left. I told her that we were in love and you were going to move to Seattle with me, and she said that would be a big mistake. She kept saying you needed time to grow up a little, to figure out your own life, and that we’d regret it if we rushed into this. I didn’t want to listen to her, but she was so sure. I talked to one of my buddies after that, and he said basically the same thing—that my first couple of years in the league would be brutal, and you’d end up miserable, away from all your friends and family.”
I’m not entirely surprised by this revelation, given what Granny had said to me, too. In the aftermath of Jackson’s departure, Granny had also let slip a couple of things that made me suspect she’d had a hand in what happened. I know what she did was out of love. And it’s easier to forgive your grandmother than it is the guy who broke your heart.
“None of that matters, though.” He leans forward. “Because I figured out pretty damn quick that I was wrong. I mean—maybe it wouldn’t have worked out in the long run. But I should have talked to you. We should have figured it out together. I didn’t tell you before I left because I knew you’d talk me out of my decision. Instead, by the time I got my head on straight, you weren’t taking my calls anymore. I’ve had nothing but regrets about all of it.” He reaches for my hand tentatively. “I had given up on us. And then I saw you at that first committee meeting, and I thought maybe, if you’d let me explain . . . but you were still so angry. I was about to abandon all hope again until the day I figured out that I’d already been talking to you for the better part of a year.”
