"A day with no ending is what this is like.
You know we may be pretending, but we've still got tonight."
- "All or Nothing," State Champs (2015)
Jordan
"Oh, Jordan! It's so good to see you!" Mrs. Templeton stands from her desk quickly, rushing over to take my coat. "Have you gotten taller?"
"No, I don't think so..." I answer, humoring her as she hangs the tan Burberry on the coat rack next to my father's. "Are your grandkids home for Christmas yet?"
Jared Dawson usually prefers young eye candy in his office, but, when there's a job that he wants done well, he knows who to pick. Mrs. Templeton has been his secretary since before I was born, installed in the wake of what I can only assume was another one of my father's...transgressions...with his former assistant.
Normally, bubbly people irk me to no end. But I really like Mrs. Templeton—always have. She, a grandma of three, has certainly mastered the intricacies of motherly warmth. Whether it was giving me peppermints to ease my tears or staying at the office with me when my parents had no interest in taking me home, she's always been a fixture in my life. A figure to help fill the echoing void left by my own mother.
Her face brightens even more, obviously thrilled that I remembered her painfully mundane grandchildren. I can remember things about people, after all. When I want to.
"Yes, they are. And now that I've seen you, I couldn't ask for anything more." She pinches my cheek before going back to her desk and picking up the phone. "I'll let your dad know you're here."
He requested my presence here an hour ago, something that I found out through a call from Mrs. Templeton herself rather than his own words. Only he knows why I'm here, what could possibly be so urgent that it warranted bringing me up to the 75th floor of the Empire State Building on a weekday. I'm afraid—and I'll admit that to myself on the inside—but I can't show it for a minute on my face.
"Alright, honey, go ahead."
Mrs. Templeton puts the phone down, and I allow myself one nervous swallow before letting myself into my father's office. He's not at his desk, but rather a big, dark shadow by the window on the other side of the room. There's a quiet click when I slowly shut the door, and he finally looks back at me.
"Good afternoon, Jordan."
His tone is cold and measured, not telling me anything useful. My heart races in my chest, making my legs weak, but he doesn't look angry. I didn't do anything to piss him off, did I?
"Good afternoon."
I look behind me, keeping an eye on the door just in case I need a quick escape. I'm just as tall as my father now, but, like Alex, on the leaner and lankier side. He's broader, heavier—probably still stronger than me after all these years. I could beat him in a race, but what good would that do if he gets me first?
I'm nineteen years old; I shouldn't be listening for his breathing or studying his body language to determine what kind of mood he's in. But old habits die hard.
I leave a wide berth between us when I stop walking, equidistant from him and freedom.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Ah, yes." He finally turns, and I realize he's holding two glasses of Scotch. "Just had something important to tell you."
He slowly holds the full glass out to me, daring me to come closer. Forcing myself to be as brave as I am with everyone else, I step closer and take it.
"This...couldn't have been a phone call?"
He clicks his tongue three times in disapproval, bringing the glass up to his lips before removing it again.
"Is it a crime for a father to want to lay eyes on his son at least once every six months?"
"Yeah, right." I back up a little, losing my nerve. "Not seeing me has never seemed to bother you before."
"Hmph." He just grunts in amusement before returning to his bar. "Truthfully, I wanted to talk to you in confidence. I could have called you, sure, but you always seem to have company. Wouldn't want any...prying ears around."
"You mean Alex?" I say, unimpressed, and he finishes topping off his glass before returning to me.
"Of course I mean Alejandro."
"He's in Miami for a fashion show." I watch my father as he crosses the floor to me again. "Besides—it's not like he's a spy. He doesn't have anything to gain from hearing whatever you have to say."
"You're too old to be so naive, Jordan," he scolds. "Alejandro is smarter than you—even I can't deny that. And if you take it upon yourself to decide what he does and doesn't have to gain from knowing your secrets, then you're just asking him to take you down."
His eyes watch me for a reaction, but, even though I already recognize the validity of his words, I refuse to give him one. He must be impressed, because his nonverbal response is a scoff and a lift of his dark eyebrows.
"Don't look so stoic; I'm sure you'll like this news." His voice is still as static as ever, but I can sense a little levity in it. "Vivian Bennett is in the hospital for a heart attack. She was in the city when it happened, so...she has a few days before she'll be back in Bridgehampton."
I try to stop my eyebrows from tightening, but I'm completely and utterly blindsided. Nana Bennett almost died?
"How the hell is that good news?"
"Because all four of her children are bringing their families to see her."
He almost grins before a sip from his glass covers it, and I suddenly understand. Lily. Lily's coming back to New York for the first time in two and a half years.
"How do you know that?" I try to hide the shock on my face, suddenly much more interested in the Scotch. "I'm pretty sure Lily would've told me they were flying out."
"Because I know Joseph Bennett," he replies flatly, pinky finger tapping on his glass. "He's a coward. And he has no sense of loyalty. But he's smart enough to know that not showing his face is a bad look."
Jared Dawson and Joseph Bennett have two very different definitions of loyalty, but the sentiment is still correct. If there's one thing my father knows, it's the ins and outs of his best friend—and his greatest betrayer. After I informed him of the Bennetts' whereabouts in September, knowing far better than to keep that information from him, he probably knows more about their lives in California than I do.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and, when I peek at it, it's Lily telling me exactly what I just heard. That they're boarding the plane now and will be here by this evening.
My father's looking dead at me when I glance up. And his expression makes it clear that he already knows what the text says—and who it's from. He closes his eyes with a toss of his brows, taking a few steps to gaze out of the window again.
"I wanted to be the one to tell you first. So you can get your thoughts in order before Lillian comes calling."
"What do you mean get them in order?" I challenge, quickly relaxing my fingers when I realize their tension is indicative of my thoughts. "They're always in order; you make sure of that every chance you get."
"Please. You're weak for her—pathetic, even. And you get just as batshit crazy as your head-case of a friend when she's in the picture."
I can imagine Alex cringing back at the comment, yet I stay quiet. I know far better than to correct my father on it. I never filled him in on my current pursuit of Lily, but, since he knows we're at the same school, I'm certain he's made that inference himself. My decision to stay in California for Thanksgiving also hints that my interest is reciprocated—a sign I'm sure he wouldn't miss.
"We need to discuss this. Now."
His icy eyes make sweat prick against my skin as he passes, leaving me to hang on his words before sitting heavily on the couch.
He's always hated the fact that I love Lily—especially when he only intended for me to wield her like an extension of myself. She makes me weak in his eyes, leaving me open to manipulation and internal turmoil. But I'd rather feel what I feel for Lily and Alex, even if it makes me miserable, than nothing at all.
"Discuss what?" I turn to face him with a steely expression. "She's a liability, and you don't want me to see her. So you're just telling me to stay away, right?"
"Wrong as usual," he mutters, crossing his legs and stretching his arms out on the back of the couch. "I'm not stupid; ordering you away from Lillian will only make you want her more. And if you don't have her, you'll never be able to focus—just look at your last two years of high school."
I just stare at him, and he finally levels his eyes to mine again.
"It was a mistake to promise her to you—I realize that now. But if you want her, then I want you to have her."
I'll admit that the idea intrigues me, but I know I won't like his plan—he'd never stick his neck out for me like that. In whatever circumstances he'd allow me to have Lily, there's undoubtedly a catch.
"And...you don't see that blowing up in your face?"
"Of course I do. I'd prefer it if you weren't such a bleeding heart for her, but we can eliminate the risk factors that come with that. It's the only way I'll allow it."
He takes a long sip of his Scotch, and it takes all of my willpower to stop myself from gritting my teeth. There it is.
"...How?"
He inhales, glass swinging between his pointer finger and thumb, before leveling his gaze to me.
"Jordan...do you think I 'love' your mother?"
"Tch—of course not."
"Exactly. And do you think she loves me?"
"She hates you."
He gives me a wry smile, obviously satisfied with my answers, and I just lower my head to politely ask for his point.
"And yet we're still together. Still married, still a unit—for twenty years now." He glances at his ring finger, which he always, always leaves bare. "Why do you think that is?"
"Because she's afraid," I say after a pause, telling the truth as my eyes sweep to the floor. "Of what you'd do to her if she walked out."
"Very good." Jared swirls his glass, pale eyes watching the dark drink slosh from side to side. "I may not love your mother, but she is mine. And, in a way, I think that's more powerful. Love is fickle, but fear never truly goes away—not if you instill it correctly. She's safer by my side, and she knows it."
I'm well versed in the tragedy of Lauren Dawson: a naive socialite in her early twenties who slipped right into the clutches of my father. None of what happened to her after that was my fault. But, somehow, she blames me the most. For trapping her here, for causing her pregnancy depression, for nearly killing her on the way out. For looking like my father.
I know what that kind of monstrous, gruesome "love" does to a woman. It makes her into a shell, into a mother that won't so much as look at her son. I will not allow that to happen to Lily. I will not make her Lauren Dawson.
"She's only safer by your side because that's the only way you'll allow her to exist. She doesn't have a choice."
My words of protest leave my mouth before I can stop them, and it feels as if my stomach almost falls out before my father just...nods in agreement.
"Now you're thinking like a Dawson. The only context in which Lillian will exist in your life will be as your wife—all or nothing. It's too dangerous any other way. Too easy for her to string you along."
I get a shiver of pure disturbance, but I keep my voice steady.
"And how do you suggest I even go about that?"
"Easy," he responds. "If you burn down the world around her, she'll run right into your arms without a second thought. And she'll never have the chance to run back out again."
My stomach turns over hard, forcing up a gag of disgust that I can barely conceal. It's so twisted, it's so evil, and it's...it's exactly what I had planned in the first place.
Oh no. No, no, no. I'm not like my father at all.
Right?
"You better watch your step, Jordan—this is a dangerous game you're playing. But I'm sure you've already thought this out. And I trust you."
He...trusts me? I back up a step, saliva sweetening in my mouth, and he inclines his head to the door.
"You're dismissed."
I place the half-finished glass of scotch on his desk, taking quick, measured breaths as I attempt to walk calmly out of the office. But, as soon as the door clicks closed behind me, the weight of the conversation hits. He didn't tell me anything new. He just repeated my own thoughts back to me with his frank, soulless delivery...and...and he said he trusted me. Trusted me to—
"Are you okay, honey?" Mrs. Templeton stands from her desk when she sees me, face pinching in concern. "Do you need me to get you some—oh!"
She stumbles to her knees a second after I do, grabbing a trashcan to better capture the reappearance of my breakfast. The acrid smell of vomit reaches my nostrils to hasten the process, and I'm dry-heaving for a few moments as she rubs my back. No matter how much I spit and gag and spit some more, I can't get rid of the taste—of the thoughts that brought it on.
"Oh, Jordan, what's wrong?" Mrs. Templeton whispers when I slowly appear out of the trashcan, and I don't even have the energy to wipe the hot tears beginning to stream down my cheeks.
"I'm...I'm sick."
~ 💔 ~
My stomach settles as the hours pass, but my mind keeps swimming. I'm no stranger to turmoil, to pain, but I've never felt it like this before. There's a nearly tangible ravine tearing through my chest—like some cataclysmic struggle between two halves of myself. Between who I am and who I should be.
Or maybe it's a three-way split...with who I could be, too.
Joseph lamented again and again that I'd become my father if I wasn't careful. But what if he was wrong? What if I already am my father?
I groan softly, keeping my eyes closed in hopes that I can sleep off the rest of the pain, but my empty stomach growls before long. With a sigh, I finally open my eyes and sit up on my bed. I sent my housekeeper home so I could be alone, but what am I supposed to eat now that—what the hell?
Am I dreaming? Going insane? Hallucinating from thirst or hunger?
"Lil?" I say softly, voice wavering, and she looks up at me from my Victorian loveseat.
A ghost of a smile graces her lips when she sits up as well, skin glowing like amber in the orange light from my fireplace. The sight of her curled up in my room is both familiar and novel at the same time—so much so that it takes me a moment to remember that her flight landed a few hours ago.
"I didn't want to wake you." She puts down her phone, pushing her now-straightened hair behind her ears. It forms a short, feminine bob rather than her usual curly pixie—a change made to appease her Nana, no doubt. "Thanks for sending the car to pick us up."
"Of course," I reply instantly, covering my chest when the gnawing finally starts to abate. "How did you get in here? And what for?"
"The doorman recognized me." She stretches gracefully, toes pointing and wrists twisting. "And we went to see Nana, but she was already asleep for the night. So Mom and Dad sent me to collect you—you're included in our dinner plans."
I lift an eyebrow, not shocked by her parents' offer, but still skeptical of her brother's reaction.
"And what did Zach have to say about that?"
"That he won't murder you on sight."
"I'll take it," I mumble, running a hand through my hair and standing. "I just need to change; I...had a rough day."
She lifts her shoulders an inch, a nonverbal "go ahead," before diverting her eyes.
"Speaking of that, I know it's a stretch, but...I also wanted to check if you maybe...had any of my old clothes. Nothing I have now is really suited for the cold."
Lucky for her, I would've cut off my own fingers before I'd throw anything of hers away. I don't know if I kept it because I thought she'd really be back for me, or if I just didn't want to admit that she wouldn't. And now that she's here under circumstances that I never foresaw, I guess I was wrong in both interpretations.
I sigh, turning to walk to my closet. But, before I get there, I glance back and beckon her with a nonchalant finger. I get a glimpse of the surprise in her face, and she's standing beside me in the middle of the walk-in closet a few seconds later.
Her gaze searches the rows and rows of blazers, sweaters, button-ups, and polos, but I head straight to the back corner and open the built-in armoire.
"Take your pick."
"Woah," she breathes, reaching up to flip through the overcoats, dresses, skirts, and blouses on the full hanging rack. "You kept all of this?"
"Pajamas, shoes, underwear," I say as my answer, opening each of the respective drawers when I list them off. "You put them here; I just...never moved them."
"Oh. Well...thank you."
She looks away from me again, pulling down a pink turtleneck, knit tights, a brown corduroy skirt, and a matching coat.
"You're welcome," I reply curtly, ignoring her awkwardness as I move to the other side of the closet.
A light silence falls as we change, backs facing each other, until Lily speaks again.
"I talked to Alex. He said he can't get out of the fashion show, but he has a flight at ten tonight."
A grin tugs at my lips as I button my shirt—I'm certainly not unhappy about having Lily to myself for the rest of today.
"Did you tell him you were coming to my place?"
"Definitely not—he'd probably hijack a plane and fly it over here himself if I did." She gives a tiny yet ironic giggle. "I don't want to endanger the entire US airspace over a few hours."
"He told you that he doesn't like us together?" I ask, genuinely curious, and she makes a dissenting noise in response.
"He'd never do that. But I can tell that he's getting suspicious, and...I don't want to get him worked up if we're gonna rip the bandaid off once he gets here."
"Oh?" I titter mockingly, pulling a sweater over my button-up. "You have such little faith in our confidentiality."
"Or maybe I'm tired of keeping secrets."
Lily gives a big sigh, and, when I finally turn around, she's fully changed and looking at herself in the mirror.
My breath catches in my throat when I see her, heart flipping once in my chest. I'm at a loss for words, but she articulates my thoughts on her own.
"It...it looks like I never left."
She fidgets with the buttons of her coat, breathing evenly, but I'm not shocked when a single tear runs down her cheek. Her hand comes up to wipe it away, but I can guess her expression from the trembling of her voice.
"I spent the past two years thinking that I changed so much. That I'm a completely different person." She removes the hand, dark eyes sparkling with moisture as she sinks into a criss-cross position in front of the mirror. "But now that I'm back, I feel so...off. I don't look any different. And I don't feel any different, either. Not anymore."
"You are different," I murmur, joining her on the floor. "You'll always carry around who you were—that girl will never stop being a piece of you. But who you are now is nothing like the version of yourself that you hated so much. I promise; I...I knew her."
"God, I feel like such a poser." She sniffles, wrinkling her freckled nose as she stares at her heeled Mary Janes. "I've been acting all confident and independent, but...as soon as it's time to actually be brave, I...can't. I run away and hide like I always used to."
"...Alex?" I offer, just to check, and she nods ruefully.
"I want to be with him—I already told you that. But I can't do that in good faith until we're honest with him about our past. Like...we should tell him when he gets back."
I tense at the thought, already imagining all the ways that could go left.
"Slow your roll, Lil. You're here for your Nana...that can wait a few days."
"I can't do this anymore," she whimpers, hugging her knees to her chest. "There's so many opportunities for him to find out while we're all here together, but I want us to tell him. I had the chance to come clean, and I was so afraid of the truth changing things that I...I choked. But this has gone on for way too long, Jo—I'm done."
"Are you crazy? You have no idea how much of a wild card Alex is—telling the truth will do absolutely nothing but ruin things for all of us. Either he runs for the hills and you two are over for good, or he stays and I have to go. He absolutely will not let you have both."
I can see in her face that I've sufficiently spooked her, but she's still fighting me when she speaks again.
"Alex isn't like that. If we're real with him about why it took this long, he'd probably cut us some slack."
"And why exactly did it take this long?" I challenge, the veins in my hands bulging as I clench them. "Do you really think he'll believe that we pretended not to know each other because we just...never got around to telling him the truth? Or would he be like any other person and think we're hiding something else?"
She covers her eyes, more tears streaming down her cheeks as her answer. Despite Lily's guilt, Alex will probably go easy on her; it won't be difficult for him to deduce that I'm the one convincing her to keep her mouth shut. And, more likely than not, he'll choose Lily on the condition that my relationship with her—friendship or otherwise—ends. I think she knows that...and she's not ready to finish a chapter in which she can still have both of us.
"Promise that you'll let me take care of this, Lillian. That you'll give me time to think before you mess around and set off a nuclear bomb."
"Jordan...no matter what happens, he will know before I'm back in California." She looks right into my eyes, steely gaze trying its best to strong-arm me even as tears threaten her lower lash line. "I'm deathly afraid that he won't want me anymore once he knows the truth. I can't say I'd blame him. But...but it's his right to make that decision."
Fuck. I know those eyes, that tone of voice, that childish sense of duty at the expense of her own motivations. She's falling in head first—and not for me this time.
"Darling..." is all I get out, words jamming on my tongue.
My brain is screaming at me to tell her that she shouldn't even be worrying herself about a relationship with Alex. To tell her why she got that B she was so happy about in Montoya's class. I mean—does it count as "burning down the world around her" if I destroy one teensy-tiny relationship with Alex? If I just tell her what he planned with Montoya and show her the truth before it's too late?
But as I stare into her big, watery eyes, I quite literally...can't.
"Just...sit tight," I say instead, standing. "I know what this conversation needs."
She watches me as I retrieve an egg-shaped device from the shelf, face brightening a little in recognition.
"Your night light? Really?"
"All of our most important conversations have happened with this on," I explain, going to the light switch, and she smiles despite her tears.
"That thing was made in like...2005. Are you sure it still works?"
I just turn off the lights, and, with the press of a button, a flurry of green stars appears on the ceiling and racks of clothes surrounding us.
"Apparently." I place the night light on the floor, then laying next to it and gazing upward. "Okay...keep talking."
Lily lays down as well, head nearly touching mine, and I hear her take a deep breath.
"I'm just...no good at any of this, you know? The limbo, starting a relationship. Making my own choices and then having to deal with their consequences. I've never had to do any of it before."
I guess I already knew that, but hearing her say it sounds so absolute, so...pitiful really.
"At...all?" I chime in when she pauses, and she shifts a bit in the darkness.
"Well, yeah. You always told me what to do. For as long as I can remember. When we were little, you told me who to play with, what to read and watch—you even got upset when I didn't want to eat the same food as you. And, once we got old enough, you always told me exactly what we were romantically. You always dictated every single step."
"God, Birdie," I interrupt with a half-chuckle. "You make me sound like such a tyrant."
"Well you are." She laughs a little as well, then trailing off and continuing in a more sober tone. "You were. It's just...I knew that I would be with you years before it actually happened. We never had that weird phase where you're just waiting for someone to make the first move. I may like having control, but...that doesn't mean I know what the hell to do with it."
I lift my chin, extending my neck a little to touch the top of my head to hers, and she reciprocates with a small exhale.
"If I don't do something soon, this is never gonna end. Things are supposed to be different now, but here I am—afraid to get close to someone else because of what might happen with us. That's the way it's been my entire life...and I think that's how it'll always be if I don't break that cycle now."
As I lay here, watching the same starry projection that we've stared at since we were toddlers, all I can think of his how grateful I am to have her here in any capacity. But, no matter how much it may not feel like it right now, things have changed. We've changed.
And so has Alex.
He and Lily are the loves of my life, although it may be in two different ways. And I care about them. I don't know if I can stomach being like my father: the kind of person who would burn their relationship to warm himself. Even if Alex gave me the fuel and the matches.
It's still not ideal—to let them crash together and have it go wrong. They'll both be broken, and I'll have to clean up the mess. But if they aren't made for each other, then they should find that out the hard way. She'll come back to me when she's ready...and I'm a patient man.
"I'm terrified," Lily whispers, voice small, and I shrug even though she can't see me.
"Just...do what feels right."
"That's the worst advice I've ever heard."
"Don't mind me," I mutter sarcastically. "Just trying not to be a tyrant."
She sits up, swatting me with the back of her hand in displeasure, and I allow myself a victory chuckle as I push myself up as well.
"Look, Birdie. Your relationship with Alex depends completely on you two. I love you, and of course I want to be with you more than I want you to be with him. But when it comes down to it, I just want what's best for you. Nothing will change that."
I don't realize that I'm telling the truth until the words leave my lips.