Twins For My Bestie’s Brother (Billionaire Daddies)

13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Lily

M y phone buzzes on the bed next to me. I pick it up. No notifications.

Must have imagined it.

I put it back down and stare up at the ceiling.

Three days. I haven’t heard from Jackson in three days. Not since Will showed up at the store and interrupted us . . . doing what we were doing.

I must have crossed a line. I mean, we’ve been kissing and touching in public ever since the night of the reunion. But that hadn’t been in public. That had been the aisle of my family’s store. The only people who could have witnessed us would have been peeping Toms looking through the window or my dad which would have been humiliating. Thankfully, my father was busy filling prescriptions, probably listening to NPR.

I’d done it because I wanted to. Because I’ve come to crave his kisses. They’re like sugar. Sweets. They’re going to rot my teeth, but I love them all the same.

But when I’d heard the door chime, I hadn’t stopped. Couldn’t stop. Even though Jackson had done the right thing and tried to pull away.

Had I been forcing him into a situation he doesn’t want to be in? Had I . . . . really hurt him like that?

The entire time Will and I had talked (or Will had talked at me, I should say), my mind had been on Jackson. And Will could tell.

“You’re really . . . you’re really serious about him,” he had said in disbelief.

And I had nodded. “Yes.” It hadn’t even felt like a lie.

He’d pursed his lips tight and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s a mistake, you know. Do you think he’ll stick around? He could have anyone, Lily.”

My insides had chafed at his words. All the reasons I’d left came back to me. His meanness. His cruelty. Words are violent in their own way. It is an abuse that is insidious and slow until suddenly you realize you’ve spent years being beaten down by the man who claims to love you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s rich, isn’t he? He won’t settle for less than what he wants.”

“And if he wants me?” I’d pressed.

Will’s forehead had squiggled with wrinkles of frustration. “You seriously think he’s choosing you?”

“Maybe,” I’d said, biting down on my lower lip. It was all pretend. Jackson wasn’t really choosing me. Maybe Will was right.

“ I chose you, Lily.”

“But if you were rich, you’d choose someone else.”

He’d taken a step back and had the gall to look offended. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did. You said that someone who was rich and could pick anyone would never pick me. So, if you were rich, you wouldn’t pick me.”

“I’d always pick you, Lil.”

Because I put up with his abuses. Because I didn’t question him. Because I became his doormat. I wasn’t his lover. Not anymore. And I’m not sure if I ever was. “What about what I choose?” I’d asked. “What about who I pick?”

Will’s nostrils had flared.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe Jackson and I won’t last.” No, it was a fact we wouldn’t. “But even if we don’t . . . I’m picking me . Not you.”

He’d stared at me, face falling. And for a split second, he’d almost tricked me into seeing the boy I fell in love with in high school. The one who understood me and thought I was cool and interesting just by being. Where had that boy gone?

“There’s no use sticking around here, Will. It’s over. Forever.”

Will had said nothing more. But he’d smiled. A sickening smile. As if he knew something I didn’t. As if he knew better than me.

It wasn’t going to be easy to get rid of him.

So that night, I’d texted Jackson about organizing our next outing.

No response.

The next day, I’d followed up with an article I saw about cycling I thought he might like.

No response.

And today . . .

I’d asked him if everything was alright. If he was alright.

Still. Nothing.

I am aching over it. I don’t even have an appetite for dinner because of it. I blame it on my upcoming period, but the truth is that grief had been filling my gut for three days now.

He could be busy. He’s a businessman, after all.

He’d never choose you .

I scrub my hands over my face and let out a grunt of frustration. Will can’t be right. I refuse to allow him to be right.

Jackson calls me beautiful. He kisses me like he means it. He looks out for me.

That’s not what your best friend’s brother is supposed to do when he is pretending to be your boyfriend. At least, if there were a handbook on the subject, I’m sure there would be rules on all those things.

Do I have feelings for Jackson? Real feelings, not just the excitable kind that bubble up from a deep kiss and a touch on the waist?

I can’t have these feelings. No. I need to be alone. I need to learn about myself outside of a relationship since I’m single for the first time in my adult life. Jackson can have any woman he wants. In fact, he will. When the month is up, he will be free to date as he pleases. And I am sure he won’t give me another look. Why would he?

But if we are going to keep this up for the next month, I need to clear the air. I need an opportunity to apologize for crossing the line and making him uncomfortable. And I need to get us back on track for the rest of our charade. I would not let Will Scortello get close to me again.

Jackson had his home designed and built specifically for him on a plot of land off the beaten path nestled into a hillside. It looks like it was ripped off the pages of Architectural Digest and plastered into the Michigan countryside. A modern home with wings jutting off the house and sleek, crisp lines. It looks like it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright himself.

I creep up the driveway in my dad’s car. I haven’t gotten my own yet; I haven’t needed to. But it’s situations like this where a woman needs to have her own car so she doesn’t have to tell her dad she’s on her way to clear up a mess with the man she’s fake dating.

By the time I put the car into park, Jackson has emerged from the house. He stands in the doorway, cast in warm light.

I inhale sharply. He looks incredible. And he’s just hanging out at home late at night. What kind of man wears slacks and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up at ten o’clock at night?

Jackson Roy.

And I’m not mad about it.

As I climb out of the car, Jackson crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey.”

I shut the door, thudding metal punctuating the moment. I cross my arms too, mirroring him. Two can play at this game. “Do you sleep in business clothes?”

“I had a meeting with some business partners over Zoom in a different time zone.”

“And you chose to wear slacks?”

Jackson glances down. “I like to feel the part as much as look it.”

Neither of us speaks. It’s chilly out, a future winter biting at my skin. The sounds of nature rustling at night swirl around us.

He leans on the doorframe. Inside glows behind him. “What are you doing here, Lily?”

I inhale deeply. Gather my strength. “We need to talk.”

Jackson doesn’t respond for a moment.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I say, trying to keep my breath steady.

Jackson’s eyes fall. “I have.”

The confirmation is like an arrow to the chest. “Why?”

He licks his lower lip. Still not looking at me. “I can’t do this anymore, Lily.”

No, no, no . I need him to be in this with me. I can’t let Will win. “Jackson, please, don’t . . . ”

Jackson is silent.

“I’ll do whatever you want. Okay? I’ll owe you a million favors. I’ll leave you alone for the rest of your life. I’ll do whatever, just please ,” I beg, walking forward with my hands quite literally folded in front of my chest. I stop a few feet away from Jackson. I’m begging to protect myself from Will. Yes. That’s part of it.

But the bigger part . . . the bigger part doesn’t want to have already shared our last kiss. I need to feel his body on mine again. Need the strength of his arms around me.

I hadn’t known someone could set my soul on fire like this. I’d thought love was good and uncomplicated and comfortable.

I hadn’t known it could be incinerating and passionate. I’ve only had a taste of it with Jackson. And it’s been pretend. But my body doesn’t understand that. I don’t think my feelings really do either. I won’t say that. I’ll keep it to myself because that will almost assuredly scare him away even further.

How do I tell him I need him without expressing every way I need him?

“What can I do to convince you?” I ask.

Jackson shakes his head briefly. “You can’t. I’m sorry.”

The tears that fill my eyes surprise me as much as they surprise him. “Jackson, please .”

“I’ve done all of this for you, Lil. All of it. For you. And what you need,” he says, cutting his hand through the air as if literally laying the argument down between us.

“I know. I know you have, and I’m so grateful.”

“And I would do a lot for you. Because you’re like family. We’ve known each other our whole lives, and there are so many things I would do for you without question,” he says.

“I’d do the same. Don’t you know I’d do the same?”

Jackson doesn’t acknowledge what I’ve said. Instead, he looks out at the night surrounding us. “I should never have agreed to this, because while I was doing this . . . pretending . . . with you . . . it was fucking killing me. Every day that we’ve pretended, I’ve been fucking dying.”

I blink. “I don’t understand, Jackson.”

“Of course, you don’t. Why would you? I never told you. You’ve never known . And that was my mistake, thinking you’d be careful with me.”

I shake my head in confusion. “Known what?”

Jackson inhales and lets out a deep, pained sigh. “That day at the store when I walked in to get Bengay. And Tia was there, and Kayla roped us into this—”

“Yeah, I remember. I remember that day.” What is he getting at?

Jackson pulls his arms tighter around himself. His eyes jump to mine. Then away. Then back to mine again. “I wasn’t stopping by to buy some fucking Bengay. I was coming to . . . ask you on a date.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he grumbles.

I stumble through the questions, trying to figure out the best way to get the whole story while not knowing what the story even is. It almost feels like a practical joke. “What do you mean you were going to ask me on a date? I mean, why didn’t you—when did you decide you wanted to do that?”

“Thirteen years ago.”

Okay, now I know he’s joking. I smile though the whole world is in upheaval. “What are you talking about?"

"I have wanted to ask you out since high school. And I was going to. I was going to ask you to prom when you were a freshman. But then I found out you were dating Will and I . . . I lost my chance,” he goes on.

I am not computing the details of his story. But I press on. “Did Kayla . . . ”

Jackson nods. “I wasn’t going to ask you if it wasn’t okay with her. And it would have been okay if she hadn’t had to tell me that you . . . that I couldn’t.”

There’s a small ember of something in my belly. A what if. What if he had asked? What would I have done?

Jackson’s jaw tightens. “And that pissed me off.”

“It pissed you off?” I say, unable to contain my laughter.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s not. I’m just in shock. I’m not laughing at you, I’m just . . . ”

We stare at each other.

“I dated Tia. Because I was angry with you,” he says. “That’s the truth. It was immature, but I was a kid and—”

“You were angry at me because I was dating Will ?”

“I was angry at you because I couldn’t date you. There is a difference.”

My mind is swirling. I never suspected. Never even dreamt . “So, you wanted to ask me out now because . . . ”

“Because the feeling I had back then never went away.”

I feel faint.

“Despite every attempt at finding someone else to feel this way for, I have never been able to shake the idea of you . . . and me,” Jackson goes on. “I agreed to help you because I care, but it hurts too much to pretend, Lily. I can’t do it anymore.”

Though there is an ache between us, my heart is whole. I’m not mistaken. Jackson has been blurring the lines between fake dating and real feelings this whole time. I’m not a fool for hurting over his distance. For wondering if we could be more. “Why did you wait so long?” I ask.

Jackson’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Why did you . . . you should have asked. Back in high school, you should have—“

“You were with Will . I would have been—“

“I don’t care. You should have asked!” I cry out. “Because I would have said yes.”

The words hang in the night air between us. I never considered the possibility of Jackson and me back then. But if I go back in time to the girl I was then, I want to believe she would have said yes to her best friend’s brother. The handsome track star with the winning smile who had a heart of gold that a jock was not supposed to have according to the movies.

Jackson lifts his chin. “I don’t think you would have, Lily.”

The history I have rewritten for us disappears. I would like to believe she’d have said yes to him. “Not because of you, though. Because of me. I didn’t deserve you.”

“Stop that. I hate when you talk about yourself like that.”

“It’s true, I was—”

“You were perfect, Lily.”

I seal my lips together.

“You are perfect.”

He says those words firmly, with an insistence I cannot fight against. I am far from perfect. No human is. But Jackson finds the perfect in all my imperfect.

“Using me to make Will angry though. I can’t do that anymore. I have to protect myself.”

Jackson steps back and grabs the door to shut it on me. I step forward just in time, letting it push against my shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

He gives me a look of annoyance. “Kissing me at the store the other day.”

So that’s why he’s kept his distance. “Jackson, that isn’t—I didn’t even know Will was going to show up. I promise.”

“Then why did you kiss me?” he asks.

“Because I wanted to kiss you!” I blurt.

Jackson’s brows shoot up. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls over us again. We’re good at that.

“Would you ask me again?”

“Ask you what?”

“To go to prom.”

Jackson doesn’t reply.

“I know there is no prom. I know we’re not teenagers anymore. But would you ask me again even though I’m scared? Even though I don’t know if I’m good for anyone? Even though I just got out of a relationship, and I’m scared to rush anything because I’m afraid I lost myself, and I won’t ever find myself again? “

He remains silent.

“Because ever since the reunion I . . . I’ve been kidding myself every time I think of you. Pretending like it doesn’t mean something, when the truth is you have me feeling things I’ve never felt with anyone. Acting like I’ll be okay once it all ends.” My eyes gaze on unshed tears in his eyes. His beautiful face. “Would you ask me on a date now?” I ask quietly.

Jackson’s forehead creases at the very center. “Don’t do this because you pity me.”

“I don’t pity you, I—I—” I want you . I reach out and grab onto his shirt pulling myself close to him. “I want the chance to say yes to you even though I’m terrified I’ll screw everything up.”

His mouth perks up at the corner. The semblance of a smile. Finally. “You won’t.”

“I might.”

Jackson lifts his hand slowly, like reaching out to pet a feral dog. He pushes some curls off my forehead and tucks them behind my ear. “Give me the rest of the month. To not pretend with you.”

The rest of the month is a little over two weeks. “And then what?”

“Then you get to decide if you’re ready or not.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jackson slides his hand down my arm to my own hand pressed against his chest. “That’s a hurt I can stomach. But I can’t do it the way we promised. We do it my way. Or not at all.”

My lips curl into a smile. “I can do it your way.”

He nods. “Okay.”

I nod too. “Okay.” A simple word for an agreement that means so much.

We kiss on the threshold. Half under the cover of night, half welcomed by the glow inside. His lips are warm. I’ve missed them. Missed him. And though the kiss is chaste, it blazes through my body. I can choose to walk away, or I can choose to take it further. But there’s a fire inside me that I can’t put out on my own. If I go home now, I will be dooming myself to a sleepless night of wondering what could have been.

And fuck ‘what could have been.’ The story of Jackson and Lily has been based on ‘what could have been.’

I want what is .

“Can I come inside?”