I'll Burn With You (MXM)

Chapter 36 : Jack

"I do not know if I want to follow in your footsteps," Jack admitted, his head down and hands hanging at his sides. A fire crackling lowly in the fireplace underscored his words, followed only by the high-pitched whistling of the winter air just outside. "I have seen so little of the company, but I..." Despite the windows fixed shut, the wind sent chills up his spine.

He heard his father sit forward, his desk chair groaning at the motion. "John – "

"You were right," he sighed, closing his eyes. "Even now, having suffered a personal setback, I am still unsure of what I want with my life. I-I assumed I wanted something different, more exciting, even. To travel the world, see everything beyond our neighborhood, but I..." His words failed him. Jack met his father's eyes for a moment. "I am sorry to disappoint."

"John – "

"I know this must be disappointing for you to hear," he continued, folding his hands behind his back, "but know that the past couple weeks of learning, in the factory, how it all works has been extremely valuable to me, and I would not wish it another way."

"Jack – "

"I jus – I need more time," he whispered, a waver in his voice surprising even Jack. He cleared his throat. "It is not a 'I do not want to inherit your company', and I – okay, it might be, but I do not believe it is, it's more like an 'I am not ready to do it'."

"Jack."

"Please don't be disappointed." Jack very nearly added "any more than you are now" but abstained. He wiped his eyes. "I-I know you had hoped for me, expected me to take over, but I – "

Mr. Byrd Sr. stood. "John, I – " he started, licking his lips as he visibly assembled his response in his head. "I am not disappointed in you. I – maybe last year, I was, but you heeded my word, and you are – you have shown me, everyone around you, that you are more capable than you thought you were. Do you know how many letters I receive complimenting you? How many requests I get for your presence at a luncheon, a gala event?"

Jack diverted his eyes.

"Why on earth would I be disappointed?" he asked, moving around the desk towards his son. "I – yes, we do not see eye-to-eye, but what does that matter? You understand things better than I do – your annotated notes have proved that you are thinking about things I had never considered. You are so much more capable than I was at your age. So why would I be disappointed in that?"

He started curling into himself. Jack wished his father would stop.

His father sighed. He placed his hands on Jack's shoulders. "Whatever you believe to have happened between us – this animosity – it does not exist, let me assure you of that. I – I may want something for you, Jack, but I am not the only person who gets to decide it."

He winced.

"Jack, answer me honestly. Did I ask too much of you? Did I start you too early in this?"

Jack's response was almost "Yes", but he bit his tongue. If he had not been challenged by his father, threatened, rather, he would not have met Ben. Gained a confidant one only dreams of. Learned so much. Fallen in love by mistake.

He flushed. 'Am I better for it?' he wondered, his blue eyes dropping to the oriental rug lying over the parquet floor. Jack shook his head, drawing in a breath. "Maybe you should have sent me to military school," he muttered, stepping back. "Would have straightened me out properly."

"Jack, what is wrong?" Byrd Sr. asked, hands falling from his son's shoulders. "You have been extremely melancholic recently."

He closed his eyes again, this time a little tighter. "It does not matter, Father."

"What was your personal setback? Did it really affect you that much?"

"It happened, and it has left me feeling so...so – "

"What is wrong?" his father asked again. "Was it the World's Fair? Your mother and I knew you liked going, but we did not know – "

Jack's eyes started burning. "It does not matter."

"It clearly does."

He opened his mouth.

The library door knocked and entered Mrs. Byrd, stepping back once she saw her husband and eldest son together. "Sorry, John, you have a gentleman saying he is here to meet you."

Mr. Byrd Sr. deflated. "...where is Doyle?"

"I offered to let you know," she answered, stepping in and closing the door softly with a click. "Is everything all right?"

"Ida, did you know about Jack's 'personal setback'?"

"She did not," Jack answered quickly, his words more spite-filled than intended.

"Personal setback?" she asked, moving across the room, her hands outstretched for her son. "Do you mean the World's Fair burning down?"

Jack's skin prickled. "Mother, I'm fine," he snapped, stepping away.

Mrs. Byrd eyed her husband for a moment.

Sighing, Jack's father sat down on the settee. "The gentleman can wait. John." He gestured to the spot next to him, his mother sitting just far enough away to allow their son to sit between them.

Jack did not move. He turned his eyes away, grimacing, his shoulders rolling forward.

"Sweetheart, come sit," his mother whispered, reaching out her hands to him.

Curling into himself more, Jack scrunched his face and gasped. "I messed up," he whimpered, throwing his hands over his face.

Mrs. Byrd stood, embracing him.

Mr. Byrd Sr. rose to his feet, his hands wrapped around his wife and son.

Through his teeth, Jack hissed, sobbing.

Jack departed from the library, his tear-stained eyes low, taking the servant's staircase back to his room to avoid anyone who would notice. His body shook, still, breaths short and trembling. He wished he had been able to hold himself together long enough. 'I am pathetic,' he mused, pressing his bedroom door open and closing it with his back. 'Absolutely pathetic.'

A fire crackled lowly in the hearth, yet every snap of the wood made him shudder.

Throwing himself into his writing desk chair, he lingered, reaching for one of Ben's letters stashed away in one of the desktop drawers. Jack read one, placing it flat on the desk before reaching for another. 'Was it always going to be this confusing?' he wondered. 'Surely, he knows that already.' Before he knew it, he found a dozen letters scattered over his papers; he flushed and folded them away, out of sight. Who he was expecting to see such an action, he did not know.

He missed Ben. Why, he was not sure. 'Why did I ask him to write?' Jack thought, sinking into the chair, his arms hanging limply. "I would not be terribly surprised if that was the last time I heard from him." Something inside him curdled in frustration, sadness.

Taking in a slow breath, sitting forward, Jack picked up his pen. He addressed some invitations before continued into the night annotating the end-of-year projections expected by the company's board.