Chapter 72
Ellie's POV
I sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled to my chest, listening to the ocean through the half-open balcony window. The sound should have been soothing—waves rolling in their eternal rhythm—but my chest felt too tight for comfort.
Lucas. God, Lucas. The audacity of him showing up here, in this hotel, after everything. After he'd chosen Samantha over and over again. After he'd crushed my family heirloom under his boot like it meant nothing. After he'd made it crystal clear that I was the problem, that my feelings were inconvenient, that my existence was something to be managed and controlled.
And then he had the nerve—the absolute nerve—to storm into my hallway and demand to know what I was doing with Jackson. Like he had any right. Like he was still my protector, my keeper, my designated decision-maker.
"Do you understand how that looks?" he'd said, as if my reputation was his to guard. As if I owed him an explanation for living my life.
The worst part? Some small, pathetic corner of my heart had still hoped—right up until he opened his mouth—that he'd come to apologize. That he'd finally see what he'd done. That the Lucas I'd grown up with, the one who'd promised to always have my back, was still in there somewhere.
But no. He'd come to lecture me. To tell me I was making mistakes. To insist he knew better than I did about my own choices, my own feelings, my own goddamn life.
I know you better than anyone, he'd said.
He didn't know me at all. He'd never even tried.
I pressed my forehead against my knees, trying to breathe through the anger.
The connecting door between our suites creaked softly. I tensed.
"Ellie?" Jackson's voice came through, muffled but careful. "I'm not coming in. Just wanted to make sure you're okay. Do you need me to call room service for anything?"
My throat tightened. He wasn't pushing. Wasn't demanding entry with that awful phrase we need to talk. Wasn't assuming what I needed. He was just... there. Waiting for me to be ready.
This male understands boundaries, Thalia murmured, her presence a warm pulse beneath my skin.
I took a deep breath, tasting salt air. "I need a little time, Jackson. But thank you."
A pause. Then: "I get it. If you need anything in the middle of the night—even if you just want to talk—knock on the door. I'll have my phone volume maxed."
Something in my chest loosened. Not much, but enough to let me breathe a little easier.
"Okay," I said softly. Then, quieter: "Thank you."
His footsteps retreated. I stared at the connecting door for a long moment, moonlight catching on its brass handle, and felt an unfamiliar sensation: safety without suffocation.
Jackson must have stayed up thinking about what I might need, because less than half an hour later, there was a soft knock on my door. When I opened it, the hallway was empty except for a room service cart. But the note tucked beside the covered dishes was in Jackson's handwriting.
[Ordered some food—chicken and corn chowder, whole wheat bread, fresh fruit. And hot chocolate with marshmallows (not coffee). If you're not hungry, no pressure. But it'll be there. —J]
I stared at the words "with marshmallows." That detail—so small, so specific—made my eyes sting. I'd mentioned once, just once during a break between rehearsals, that I loved hot chocolate with extra marshmallows when I was stressed. He'd remembered.
Lucas had never asked what kind of chocolate I liked.
I pulled the cart inside and texted back: Thank you, Jackson. Really.
The food was still warm. The hot chocolate was perfect. And for the first time since the confrontation in the hallway, I felt my shoulders start to relax.
---
The sound of waves woke me the next morning—softer now, the tide pulling back. Dawn light filtered through sheer curtains, painting everything gold and pink.
My phone buzzed. Group chat.
LILY: Did you guys see Blake is getting roasted on Campus Whispers now?
MEGAN: FINALLY. She's been posting unverified gossip about everyone else for months
LILY: Karma's a bitch lol. Someone posted screenshots of her making out with a TA at that off-campus party
MEGAN: Honestly that whole platform has become such a cesspool. Remember when we first started school and it seemed kind of fun? Now it's just speculation and rumors with zero useful information
I sipped my tea and typed back: That's what happens when platforms get too big. More people = more trash content.
LILY: True. Anyway, she had it coming
I set the phone down. I didn't know Blake well enough to care much about her drama, but the conversation left a sour taste. Campus Whispers had become exactly what Megan said—a toxic echo chamber where anyone could become a target.
Jackson was already seated when I arrived at the hotel café's patio section—white umbrella shading a table overlooking the garden. He'd ordered a spread: Mexican-style scrambled eggs with avocado, fresh orange juice, fruit salad. Two place settings.
He stood when I approached, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Morning. Wasn't sure what you'd want, so I got a variety."
"This is perfect." I slid into the chair across from him, noting the way sunlight caught in his dark hair, made his amber eyes almost gold.
"So," Jackson said, pouring juice into my glass. "How are you feeling? About last night."
The directness caught me off guard. Not are you okay or don't worry about it. Just: how are you feeling?
I set down my fork, met his gaze. "I need to apologize. For dragging you into my mess with Lucas. That wasn't fair to you."
"Stop." His voice was gentle but firm. "You don't owe me an apology. But I do need to know—how are you feeling about what he said? The things he accused you of."
The knot in my chest loosened slightly. He wasn't dismissing it. Wasn't telling me to forget it. He wanted to know how I felt.
"I feel..." I took a breath. "Relieved. Terrifyingly relieved. Like I finally said things I've been holding back for years." I paused, fingers tightening around my juice glass. "But also scared. Scared that maybe I was wrong. That I hurt him. That I'm being—"
"Selfish?" Jackson's amber eyes held mine steadily. "Ellie, speaking up for yourself isn't selfish. It's self-respect."
My throat tightened. "But he was right about some things. I have depended on him since we were kids. Our families have always expected—"
Jackson leaned forward slightly. "Family expectations aren't prison sentences. You're allowed to choose your own path." He paused, picking up his coffee. "And for what it's worth, I think you're making the right choice. Standing up for yourself."
"You don't think I was too harsh?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "With Lucas, I mean. Last night."
"Harsh would've been letting him keep believing his version of reality." Jackson's amber eyes met mine. "You told him the truth. That's not cruelty. That's courage."
I looked down at my plate, suddenly very aware of how intimate this felt. Sitting across from him at a small patio table, morning light soft around us, sharing breakfast like—
Like this was normal. Like we did this all the time.