PHOENIX

19| SPOKEN ABOUT HIM WITH LOVE

Around midnight, Jackson finally decided it was time to get Melissa back to the hotel. The two of them had stayed at the bar far longer than either of them had intended, talking about everything and nothing, laughing over the most ridiculous things, and somehow managing to avoid every conversation that truly mattered. Somewhere between their second and third drinks, the sophisticated Melissa Roy who had effortlessly charmed politicians, businessmen, and socialites at the charity gala had quietly disappeared. In her place was the Melissa he remembered from years ago, only slightly older and significantly more intoxicated. Her cheeks had turned a soft shade of pink, her laughter had become louder and more frequent, and she had reached a point where almost everything Jackson said seemed to amuse her. At one point, she had laughed so hard after one of his sarcastic remarks that she accidentally snorted, only to burst into another fit of laughter because of it. She had tried to apologise to the bartender after nearly calling him by the wrong name three times in less than five minutes, and then spent the next ten minutes insisting that he looked exactly like a high school mathematics teacher she used to know, despite the poor man repeatedly assuring her they had never met before. Jackson had laughed until his stomach hurt, something he hadn't done in years, and although he hated himself for enjoying the evening as much as he had, he couldn't deny that somewhere along the way he had stopped pretending. For the first time since returning to the city, he hadn't been watching Melissa solely as his enemy. He had simply... enjoyed being around her. That realisation unsettled him almost as much as the alcohol seemed to have unsettled her balance. As they walked beneath the glow of the streetlights toward the hotel, Melissa held firmly onto his arm, leaning against him more for stability than affection. Every few steps she stumbled ever so slightly, forcing Jackson to tighten his grip around her waist before she could lose her footing. She didn't seem embarrassed by it in the slightest. If anything, she appeared perfectly content letting him guide her back, humming softly to herself as though she hadn't a single care left in the world.

"You know..." she suddenly murmured, lifting her head to look at him with eyes that struggled to stay focused for more than a second. There was something almost childlike about the expression on her face now. The carefully guarded walls she always kept around herself had completely disappeared beneath the alcohol, leaving behind a woman who wore every emotion openly. "You really remind me of Jackson."

Jackson nearly missed a step.

His heart lurched so violently that for one terrifying moment he genuinely wondered whether she had somehow recognised him despite everything. His mind immediately began searching for every mistake he might have made throughout the evening. Had he smiled the way he used to? Had he laughed too much? Had he slipped into an old habit without realising it? He forced himself to breathe normally, reminding himself that she was drunk enough to find a bar stool fascinating a few minutes earlier. If she truly knew who he was, she wouldn't have said it like that. Still, hearing his own name come from her lips after all these years sent an ache through his chest that he hadn't prepared himself for.

"Oh, really?" he asked, forcing a teasing smile onto his face that he hoped looked convincing enough to hide the panic bubbling beneath it. "What makes you think that?"

Melissa frowned in concentration, her adorable pout making it painfully obvious that thinking had suddenly become an enormous task. They stopped at a pedestrian crossing, waiting for the traffic light to change, and she absentmindedly rested more of her weight against him, completely oblivious to how much her simple touch affected him. She stared at him for several long seconds before shaking her head ever so slightly, as though trying to organise thoughts that refused to cooperate. "It's..." she mumbled slowly. "It's the way you talk." She paused again, her brows knitting together. "And..." Another pause followed while she continued studying his face with surprising intensity. "...the way you look at me." Her voice softened almost unconsciously as she finished speaking. "It's like you know me. Really know me."

Jackson's smile almost disappeared.

If only you knew.

Those four words echoed so loudly inside his head that he was almost afraid they had escaped his lips. Instead, he swallowed them, choosing humour over honesty because humour was infinitely safer. "Maybe I do," he replied with a playful grin, gently bumping her shoulder with his own. "Maybe I'm actually Jackson wearing a very convincing disguise."

Melissa stared at him for a heartbeat before dissolving into uncontrollable laughter. It wasn't the polite laugh she used at formal events or the restrained chuckle she gave people she barely knew. This was loud, genuine, uninhibited laughter that made several pedestrians glance in their direction before smiling to themselves. She laughed so hard she had to grab both of his arms to stop herself from falling over, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes as she tried unsuccessfully to regain control of herself. "Oh, please," she managed between giggles. "You are definitely not Jackson."

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"

She looked him up and down with exaggerated seriousness before reaching out and brushing an imaginary speck of dust from the front of his expensive black shirt. "First of all," she said, raising one finger as though presenting evidence in court, "Jackson would never wear clothes this nice." Her finger moved toward the expensive watch wrapped around his wrist before she shook her head dramatically. "Actually, scratch that. Jackson wouldn't even look inside a shop that sold watches like that." She giggled again before continuing. "And secondly..." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "...you're too put together."

Jackson couldn't help laughing. The irony wasn't lost on him. She was absolutely right.

The Jackson Stanford she remembered had spent years wondering where his next meal would come from even though he had a job. Buying expensive clothes had never even crossed his mind because survival always came first. Back then, every cent he earned disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. If something broke, he repaired it himself because replacing it wasn't an option. If his shoes developed holes, he wore them until they were beyond saving. The man standing beside Melissa now was someone the younger version of himself would probably never have believed he could become. He owned more cars than he needed, wore clothes that cost more than an entire month's salary used to, and had enough money tucked away that he rarely thought about it anymore. Yet despite all of that, hearing her describe the old Jackson made him smile instead of taking offence. She wasn't insulting him. She was remembering him exactly as he had been.

"Well," he said, shaking his head with an amused smile, "Jackson sounds like quite the character. What was he like?"

The question seemed to sober Melissa more effectively than a bucket of cold water ever could. The laughter slowly faded from her face, replaced by an expression so gentle and full of longing that Jackson immediately regretted asking. She lowered her eyes to the pavement as they resumed walking, her fingers tightening unconsciously around his arm. When she finally spoke, her voice had become noticeably quieter. "He was kind," she said after a long pause. "Not the kind of kind that people pretend to be because they want something from you. He was just... kind." A faint smile touched her lips as memories clearly began replaying inside her mind. "He was funny too. Ridiculously funny sometimes. He had this annoying habit of making jokes when I was trying very hard to stay angry with him, and somehow I'd always end up laughing anyway." She let out a soft chuckle at the memory before continuing. "He made me feel safe. I don't think he ever realised just how safe I felt whenever I was with him." Her smile slowly faded. "But..." She hesitated, searching for words that refused to come easily. "There was always this sadness about him. He tried so hard to hide it, but every now and then I'd catch him staring into nothing, like his mind was somewhere else completely. It always felt like he was running from something, even when he was standing perfectly still."

Jackson felt every word settle heavily inside his chest.

She had seen far more than he had ever realised.

He had spent so much time convincing himself that he had hidden his pain well enough for no one to notice, yet Melissa had noticed anyway. She had seen the sadness he carried long before he even understood it himself. Part of him wanted to tell her that she wasn't exactly easy to understand either. That she had always carried secrets of her own. That she had disappeared from his life just as mysteriously as she now claimed he had disappeared from hers. He wanted answers to questions that had haunted him for years. Instead, he buried every one of them beneath a tired smile.

"Sounds complicated," he said quietly.

Melissa nodded without looking at him.

"It was."

They had reached the entrance of the hotel by then, and Jackson slowed his steps, turning slightly so he could look at her properly. The soft lights spilling from the lobby illuminated the tears gathering in her eyes, making them impossible to miss. She hadn't cried all evening despite everything they had spoken about, but now her composure seemed to be crumbling piece by piece.

"Do you miss him?" Jackson asked, the question escaping before he had time to stop it.

Melissa didn't answer immediately.

She simply stood there, staring at the polished marble beneath her feet while her grip around his arm tightened ever so slightly. When she finally looked back up at him, tears shimmered openly in her eyes, and although a small smile found its way onto her lips, it was one of the saddest smiles Jackson had ever seen.

"Every single day," she whispered honestly. "Not a day goes by without me thinking about him." She paused long enough to wipe at one eye with the back of her hand before letting out a quiet, defeated laugh that carried no amusement whatsoever. "But he's gone now." She drew in a slow, shaky breath, forcing herself to smile despite the tears threatening to spill over. "And I have to move on."

Jackson smiled back, though it took every ounce of strength he possessed to keep his own emotions from showing. If Melissa had looked closely enough, she might have noticed that his eyes weren't quite as steady as they had been a few minutes earlier. She might have noticed that the smile on his face didn't quite reach them. Thankfully for him, she was too busy fighting her own emotions to notice the war raging inside his. He had spent years imagining what it would feel like to hear Melissa admit she missed him, convinced that it would bring him satisfaction after everything she had put him through. Instead, all he felt was an overwhelming sadness, because the woman standing beside him wasn't mourning a dead man. She was mourning him while he stood only inches away, close enough to touch her, yet impossibly out of reach.

Jackson guided Melissa through the revolving doors of the hotel, keeping one hand lightly around her waist while the other remained ready to catch her every time she decided that walking in a straight line was entirely optional. She was delightfully drunk, the kind of drunk that found everything amusing, from the decorative flower arrangements in the lobby to the poor receptionist who sneezed behind the front desk. Every few steps she would burst into another fit of giggles, forcing Jackson to slow down while trying not to laugh along with her. He had escorted intoxicated people before during his years overseas, but none of them had managed to turn a simple walk through a hotel lobby into such an exhausting adventure. Melissa leaned against him without the slightest bit of hesitation, humming an unrecognisable tune beneath her breath while occasionally pointing at random objects as though she had just made some earth-shattering discovery. Despite the alcohol clouding her senses, she somehow managed to smell exactly the same as she always had, that soft floral perfume he had spent years trying to erase from his memory. The familiarity hit him harder than he wanted to admit. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away, to remember exactly who she was and what she had done, yet his body betrayed him by tightening its hold around her whenever she stumbled. It annoyed him to no end that even now, after everything she had put him through, protecting her still came as naturally as breathing.

By the time they reached the elevators, Melissa had quietened considerably. The playful laughter that had followed them through the lobby gradually faded, replaced by an unusual silence that immediately put Jackson on guard. Drunk people were unpredictable. One second they were laughing until tears streamed down their faces; the next, they were asking questions that no sober person had the courage to voice. As the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, Jackson guided her inside, pressing the button for her floor before leaning casually against the mirrored wall. Melissa stared at their reflections for several long seconds, her brows knitting together as though she had suddenly remembered something important. Then, without warning, she slowly lifted her head and looked directly at him. There was something almost heartbreakingly vulnerable in her eyes now, stripping away every layer of confidence and composure she had worn throughout the evening.

"Why do you care so much about me?" she asked quietly, her words slightly slurred but sincere enough to catch him completely off guard. The question struck him like a punch to the chest. Out of everything she could have asked, it had to be that. For a moment, Jackson simply stared at her reflection beside his own, silently wondering how many lies one man could tell before he eventually forgot what the truth sounded like.

He took his time answering, buying himself a few precious seconds while pretending to watch the illuminated numbers climb higher above the elevator doors. He couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't tell her that once upon a time he had loved her so completely that he would have happily burned the entire world down if it meant seeing her smile. He couldn't tell her that despite every betrayal, every sleepless night, every scar she had unknowingly left behind, some stubborn part of his heart still reacted whenever she looked at him like that.

Instead, he settled for something frustratingly vague. "Because..." he began carefully, choosing each word with surgical precision, "...I see something in you. Something worth caring about." The answer seemed to satisfy her far more than he expected. Melissa blinked slowly, studying his face as though trying to determine whether he meant it or was simply saying what she wanted to hear. Eventually, a soft smile spread across her lips, gentle enough to remind him painfully of the woman he had once known.

"You're sweet," she murmured, her voice carrying that lazy warmth only alcohol seemed capable of creating. "Too sweet for your own good." Jackson laughed quietly under his breath. If she only knew. If she had even the slightest idea of the things he had done, the people whose blood stained his hands, or the life he had lived during the years she believed him dead, she would never use the word sweet to describe him again.

The elevator eventually came to a stop, and Jackson carefully led her down the hallway toward her suite. Melissa was leaning almost all of her weight against him now, mumbling the occasional complaint about hotel carpets moving beneath her feet as though they were conspiring against her. It took him a moment to locate her keycard inside her handbag, which somehow contained everything except the thing he needed immediately. After digging past lipstick, receipts, tissues, perfume, and what appeared to be three identical lip balms, he finally found the keycard buried at the very bottom.

"You really should organise this thing," he muttered under his breath, earning an unintelligible response that sounded suspiciously like, "It has personality." Shaking his head with an amused smile, he unlocked the door and gently guided her inside. The suite was quiet, illuminated only by the soft golden glow of decorative lamps. Jackson kicked the door shut behind them before walking her toward the bed at an agonisingly slow pace, determined not to let her fall during the final few metres. Once they reached it, he carefully helped her sit down, keeping one hand on her shoulder until he was certain she had regained enough balance not to topple sideways. "Get some sleep," he said softly, unable to keep the concern from creeping into his voice. "Trust me, your head is going to declare war on you tomorrow morning."

Melissa looked up at him with sleepy gratitude, her eyelids already growing heavier by the second. She smiled in that effortless way she always had, the kind of smile that once convinced him life couldn't possibly get any better than simply existing beside her. "Thanks... for tonight," she whispered, each word slower than the last. "And... thanks for listening." Jackson felt something tighten painfully inside his chest. She had no idea that the man she had spent the evening talking to had once memorised every expression on her face, every laugh, every habit, every dream she had ever shared with him. She believed she had spent the night with a stranger, when in reality she had unknowingly reopened wounds he had spent years trying desperately to stitch shut. "Anytime," he replied quietly, forcing himself to smile even as regret and affection wrestled violently inside him. "Goodnight, Melissa." She mumbled a sleepy "Goodnight," before curling onto the bed without even bothering to pull the blankets over herself. Within moments, her breathing evened out, and she drifted into sleep so quickly that Jackson couldn't help smiling despite himself. Typical Melissa. Even after drinking enough alcohol to embarrass an entire rugby team, she could still fall asleep in record time.

Jackson remained standing beside the bed for another minute, silently watching her sleeping figure while battling the overwhelming temptation to brush a loose strand of hair away from her face like he used to. He clenched his fists instead. That wasn't his place anymore. It hadn't been for years. Quietly, he reached over and pulled the duvet over her shoulders, making sure she was warm before switching off the bedside lamp. Then, without allowing himself another lingering glance, he walked to the door and slipped outside, closing it behind him with barely a sound. The hallway suddenly felt impossibly quiet after the laughter that had accompanied them all evening. As he made his way back toward his own room, every conversation replayed itself inside his head with merciless clarity. Hearing Melissa talk about Jackson as though he were nothing more than a beautiful memory had hurt far more than he expected. She had spoken about him with love, with regret, with longing that sounded painfully genuine, and yet she hadn't recognised the man walking beside her. Somehow, that realisation hurt even more than the betrayal itself. He couldn't even understand how she could speak about Jackson like she hadn't been the one who ordered her men to burn him alive. Like she had no clue something like that ever happened.

When Jackson finally entered his own room, exhaustion settled over him like a heavy blanket, but sleep remained frustratingly out of reach. He dropped his jacket onto the nearest chair, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, dragging both hands through his hair until it stood in every direction. His mind refused to settle. Melissa's voice echoed relentlessly inside his head, repeating every word she had spoken about the man she believed she had lost forever. It would have been easier if she had hated Jackson like he thought she did. Easier if she had dismissed him as a mistake or pretended he had never existed. Instead, she had confessed that she missed him every single day, and somehow those few simple words had shaken him more violently than discovering she belonged to the Roy family ever had. The closer he got to understanding her, the less certain he became of everything he thought he knew. Every answer seemed to create three new questions, every discovery blurred the line between truth and deception, and every moment spent with her pulled him deeper into a maze he wasn't sure he would ever escape. For the first time since returning to the city, Jackson found himself wondering whether uncovering the truth would actually set him free... or whether it would simply destroy what little remained of the man he had fought so hard to become.