Only when we burn

Chapter 10: Unbroken flame

I woke alone, though the sheets still held traces of Jackson's warmth and the faint scent of his cologne. My body ached in the best possible way—a reminder of how we'd come together last night, desperate and vulnerable and completely honest. But even that beautiful soreness couldn't quiet the restless churning in my mind.

I'd been awake for nearly an hour, replaying every word of our conversation, every revelation that had changed something fundamental between us. Jackson had been engaged. To someone who was now his sister-in-law. His father had died on his birthday, leaving wounds so deep that Jackson had spent years avoiding the day entirely.

A bunch of hand-picked flowers lay on his pillow, tied with a ribbon that held a note and what looked like old car keys. The flowers were simple, daisies and lavender, probably from the estate's gardens—but they made my chest tight with affection. Even after everything, he was still trying to take care of me.

The note was written in his familiar scrawl: Morning, lovely. You were so peaceful in your sleep; I didn't want to wake you. Gone for an emergency meeting at the office—damage control from last night. Come over at noon for lunch. Bring Nate and Aarti. The keys are to the old Beetle in the garage. She's temperamental, but she runs. —J

I picked up the keys, worn smooth from years of use, and felt something shift inside me. An emergency meeting. Damage control. The SEC investigation, Rosie's warning, the family business drama—it was all still happening, still pulling Jackson in directions I couldn't follow.

But today was his birthday. The day his world had fallen apart 4 years ago, the day that had haunted him ever since. And he was spending it dealing with more family crises, more reminders of everything he'd lost.

That's when the idea hit me.

Maybe I couldn't fix the business problems or heal the rift with his brother. Maybe I couldn't erase the anniversary of his father's death or make this day anything less than complicated. But I could give him one small thing—one moment of sweetness on a day that had held only sorrow.

I could bake him a cake.

It was such a simple thought, almost embarrassingly so. But as I sat there among the hand-picked flowers and morning light, it felt like the only thing that made sense. Jackson spent his life taking care of everyone else, putting their needs before his own. For once, just once, someone could do something purely for him.

Even if that someone was me, who could barely manage boxed brownies without burning them.

I threw off the covers and padded to his office, suddenly energised by purpose. The computer whirred to life, and I searched for a basic cake recipe, something foolproof enough that I couldn't completely destroy it. Around me, Jackson's desk was immaculate as always—every paper precisely stacked, every pen in its designated place. It was so perfectly organised it almost looked sterile, except for one thing.

A small black box sat at the edge of his desk, slightly askew among the neat piles of contracts and medical journals.

My hands stilled on the keyboard. I knew what was in that box before I even opened it, but I couldn't stop myself from looking. The cufflinks gleamed against the dark velvet, mother-of-pearl set in white gold, elegant and expensive and exactly the kind of thing Sarah would choose.

The sight of them sitting there, in Jackson's private space, made something twist in my stomach. He'd kept them. After everything that had happened last night, after all his explanations about Sarah and their history, he'd brought her gift home and placed it on his desk like it mattered.

I snapped the box shut harder than necessary, but the damage was done. The jealousy was back, that ugly green thing that made me feel small and petty and ashamed. I tried to push it down, tried to focus on the cake recipe loading on the screen, but the questions wouldn't stop coming.

Did he think about Sarah when he looked at them? Did some part of him appreciate that she'd remembered his birthday when his own girlfriend hadn't known? Did he—

"Hey, I thought I heard someone moving around in here."

I looked up to find Aarti hovering in the doorway, her dark hair a tangled mess, and last night's mascara smudged around her eyes. She looked exactly like someone who'd spent the evening drinking too much wine and making questionable decisions.

"Morning," I managed, trying to inject some normalcy into my voice. "Rough night?"

"You could say that." She slumped against the doorframe, wincing. "My head feels like it's been used as a drum. Please tell me you have coffee."

"Nate's probably making some. He's always up early." I closed the browser window and stood, glad for the distraction. "Did you... I mean, after I left with Jackson, did you...?"

"Sleep with someone I shouldn't have?" Aarti finished, reading my expression. "Yeah. I did."

There was something in her tone that made me look at her more carefully. Not embarrassment exactly, but a kind of fragile vulnerability that I'd rarely seen from her. Aarti was usually so confident, so sure of herself and her choices.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head quickly. "Not really. Not yet." She straightened, clearly trying to shake off whatever she was feeling. "What about you? You disappeared last night and never came back to the party. I looked for you after the fireworks, but Nate said you'd already left with Jackson."

"We needed to talk. About... a lot of things."

"Good talk or bad talk?"

I considered the question. "Both, I think. Necessary talk."

Aarti studied my face with sharp perception. "You look like you didn't sleep much."

"I slept. Eventually." I gathered the printed recipe and gestured toward the door. "Come on, let's find that coffee. And maybe some aspirin for your head."

We found Nate in the kitchen, already fully dressed and moving with that efficient energy he had when he was trying to stay busy. He looked up when we entered, his eyes moving between us with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Morning," I said, accepting the mug he offered. The coffee was perfect—strong and white, exactly how I liked it. "Thanks for this."

"No problem." He handed Aarti her mug, and I caught the brief moment their fingers brushed. The way she pulled back too quickly, the way his jaw tightened—it was like watching two people who'd touched fire.

"Sleep well?" Nate asked, but his eyes were focused somewhere over our heads.

Aarti wrapped both hands around her mug, her knuckles white. "Fine."

The single word was loaded with everything she wasn't saying. I looked between my two best friends, taking in the way they were carefully not looking at each other, the tension radiating from both of them like heat from a furnace.

Aarti didn't sleep with someone questionable. She'd slept with Nate.

The realisation hit me with surprising clarity. The awkward distance, the way Aarti had looked coming out of her room, the careful way they were avoiding eye contact—it all suddenly made sense.

I filed the information away for later. There would be time to process this development, but not now. Not when they were both clearly raw and uncomfortable.

"So," I said, desperate to break the tension, "Jackson invited us all to lunch at his office. Apparently, there's some crisis he's dealing with, but he wants us there anyway."

"What kind of crisis?" Nate asked, his voice carrying a careful neutrality.

I took a breath, realising I needed to explain what had actually happened last night. "It's a bit more complicated than what Grace told us. Jackson was engaged to Rosie, yes. But, she actually left him for his brother," I continued. "They're married now, and she works for the family business. Last night she showed up here because there's some SEC investigation that could hurt the company and she wanted to give Jackson a heads up."

Both Nate and Aarti went very still.

"Jesus," Aarti finally breathed. "Okay."

I wrapped my hands around my mug, needing the warmth. "And Sarah, who brought Jackson a birthday gift, really wants Jackson since Rosie left him. So there's that."

The silence stretched between us. I could see Nate processing, his jaw working as he clearly fought to keep his first reaction in check.

"Okay," he said finally. "That's... a lot."

"Jackson explained everything. He was trying to protect me from his family drama, but—"

"But you got blindsided anyway." Nate's voice was carefully controlled. "At his birthday party. By his ex-fiancée and another woman who's interested in him."

"It sounds worse when you put it like that."

"Does it? Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like you walked into a situation where everyone knew more about your boyfriend's life than you did."

I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "That's not fair."

"Maybe not, but it's true." Nate leaned back against the counter, his expression troubled. "Look, Bella, I'm trying really hard not to be the overprotective friend here, but... this is a lot of complications for someone you've been with for six months."

"Every relationship has complications," I said quitely, looking at him.

"Not like this." His voice was gentle but firm. "Most people don't have to navigate their partner's ex-fiancée being married to their brother and working for the family business."

Aarti finally spoke up. "What did Jackson say when you talked to him?"

"That he should have told me earlier. That he was trying to shield me from his family's mess, but he realises now that just made things worse." I looked between them. "We worked it out. We're okay."

"Are you?" Nate asked quietly. "Because you look like you didn't sleep much, and you're in here at seven AM trying to distract yourself with cake baking."

The observation stung because it was accurate. "I want to do something nice for him. Today is his birthday, and he associates it with his father's death. I thought maybe I could give him one good memory of this day."

Nate studied my face for a long moment. I could see him having some internal debate, probably weighing his desire to voice more concerns against his knowledge that pushing too hard would only make me defensive.

"Okay," he said finally. "If this is what you want, then we'll help you make him a cake."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." His smile was rueful. "I don't have to understand your relationship to support you in it, B. Even when it scares me."

"It scares you?"

"Yeah, it does. Because you're my best friend, and I can see how much you love him, and I'm terrified that his world is going to eat you alive." He held up a hand when I started to protest. "But that's my fear to deal with, not yours. You get to make your own choices, even when I think they're risky."

I felt my throat tighten with unexpected emotion. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Wait until we see if we can actually manage to bake something edible."