I almost want to laugh at myself writing this. The old Jack wouldn't have thought twice, I almost couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth. It was an out of body experience. That's when I remembered why I liked her smell so much, Keri Ann's hair always smelled like that. Strawberries.

I feel like I may have built this all up in my mind. The chance she ever wants to even see me again is so f.u.c.king remote. I realize this makes me sound pathetic. But I really don't give a s.h.i.t.

I'm hung over, and I lost the copper sea turtle, which really p.i.s.ses me off.

And I'm giving it up. Getting wasted, I mean. I really don't want to end up in another situation in the back of a car. I'm also getting a reputation as a drunk. Not good. I don't want to be lumped in with the Alistairs of the industry. At least I don't molest the crew. We have about a week left of production then I need to figure out what's next. How soon I go back. If I do.

Should I?

I can't change what I do. But I can show her who I am. That I'm more than the Jack Eversea the world thinks they know. I'm also going to use whatever a.s.sets I have at my disposal to win her back. Even if I have to fight dirty.

My fingers trembled as I turned the last page. My other hand was pressed to my mouth. I'd just seen real Jack, with all his insecurities and weaknesses. His fragility. It was hard to imagine the man I saw out in the world, in the media, even the one who boldly whispered hot words to me in an effort to seduce me in my truck, was the same person who'd written these words.

I'd spent the last five months thinking I'd been an interesting diversion for him. He'd spent the last five months struggling to do the right thing by everyone in his life. And missing me.

My skin throbbed and my heart pounded out heavy beats. Reactions cascaded over one another in my head.

I started again at the beginning. Each entry was on a separate page. For all I knew there were horror stories written between, but somehow, I didn't think so.

After reading them through a second time, and having his words still hit every raw nerve I had like I was reading it for the first time, I ran to my room and shoved my feet into my running shoes. Swinging past the bathroom, I wiped my eyes and brushed my teeth, and then took the stairs two at a time, tripping on the last one. "s.h.i.t!"

"You okay, love?" called Mrs. Weaton.

"I'm fine," I called and entered the kitchen.

"Well?" She was doing a crossword puzzle at my kitchen table. She'd put on a set of readers and after appraising me a few moments went back to her puzzle.

I pulled up a chair opposite her. "I'm stunned. In a good way."

"Good."

"You don't seem surprised."

"Yes, well, I could see he was upset, and," she peered up at me through her eyegla.s.s rims, "as crazy as it seems, just yesterday before he came by, I had my score book with me that I'd taken to Canasta, and blow me down if a letter didn't fall out of it while I was standing in my own kitchen. And not just any letter, neither." She raised her penciled-in brows.

"Not ..." I was going the say The letter, one of grandpa's letters, the one Nana says changed her mind about marrying him. I glanced over to the campaign desk. I could just see the edge of it in the parlor from where I sat in the kitchen.

Mrs. Weaton scowled. "I know. I know exactly where you keep the letters, where this one was. But I'm telling you it ended up in my scorebook."

"The letter?" My skin chilled. "Really? You're not messing with me?"

"Honey, I would've thought it a coincidence or whatnot, if that boy hadn't but five minutes later been on my doorstep with pages of a letter asking to make sure you got them."

"They were pages from his journal."

"Oh. Well."

"It was better than a letter. It was his diary from when he was away all this time." G.o.d, it was so much more than some letter or email or text he may have conjured up in a fit of rejection and depression.

I still wasn't totally sure about him and Audrey and the pregnancy, but whatever had happened before, I could tell from his journal that they were definitely over now. And that he'd struck some kind of deal for me.

The thought of sharing my diary, my innermost thoughts and insecurities with anyone, made me shudder. The fact that Jack, a guy who people sold out on a daily basis, whether for a picture, an autograph, or a sordid exclusive, gave me these pages was shocking. The fact he trusted me not to share them, or Mrs. Weaton, for that matter, was ...

"What are you waiting for?" Mrs. Weaton asked, tapping her pencil.

"Thank you!" I yelled out over my shoulder as I jogged outside into the bright sunshine and jumped into the truck. To Mrs. Weaton or Nana, I wasn't sure. Joey's car was gone, and I was relieved.

I'd moved through a full spectrum of emotions as I read those pages-from happiness, to sadness, to anger-and realized at one point I had dried tears on my cheeks. It was impossible to tell if every page was there, but I had to believe if he was willing to share the part about almost doing something with that girl, that he was telling me everything. Everything he needed to anyway.

He'd come here afraid to face me, afraid I'd reject him, and I'd done just that. He thought I was dating Colt, and yet he still put himself out there for me.

My heart squeezed.

Winding back through what I'd read as I drove, I felt so proud of him getting involved in the writing and directing. Making a name for himself. Showing people he was capable of more. Man, and I was so sad for him when he talked about his father, proud he'd been trying to find out more, and understand more, in what I knew were difficult memories.

I came to a stop at the light on Atlantic and Palmetto and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. The window was still down in my truck from last night, and the cool spring sea breeze helped calm by impatience. How long could this traffic light possibly be?

And his mother? I wanted to hug her for understanding him so much and getting him to open up the only way she knew how. I laughed through my tears. A message in a bottle. That's exactly what he was. He'd tried to open up to me and I'd been the one too afraid.

He'd hurt me. Nothing could be undone, but how I chose to move past it would change the rest of my life. I was still nervous about who he was, and what that meant for me. Especially now that I really understood how much he loved the craft of it. But I wondered if we could find a way to try and have a relationship separate from the celebrity-ness. We had to try.

Pulling into the driveway of Devon's gorgeous beach house, I saw the silver Jeep pulled in under the house. That didn't mean Jack was here, though. That thought sat menacingly in the back of my mind. What if he'd left?

I jogged up the stairs to the periwinkle blue front door, holding the white painted cottage bannister and knocked, my heart literally pounding in my ears.

Why was blood so hard to move when you were nervous?

After a few moments of thinking my head would explode or I'd get sick, the door opened.

Devon.

I tried not to let my deflating shoulders be too obvious.

"Hi," I said as he stood there expressionlessly. Very different from the Devon I'd met previously who'd seemed to be on my, or at least "our" side. The side of us getting back together. I'd be p.i.s.sed off at me, too. I hated to think what they'd talked about after I kicked Jack out of my truck. Now that I really understood how Jack felt ...

I shifted my weight. "Uh, is-"

"He's not here."

Stones formed in my chest, their weight pressing down on my stomach that was already churning with nerves and regret. I held onto the doorframe. Please let him not have left.

I must have looked like I was going to pa.s.s out.

"Ah, Christ," Devon said finally, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous. You two are ridiculous. He's under the house, beating the s.h.i.t out of something. Just go past the Jeep. Could you do me a favor, though?"

I nodded.

"Give him the benefit of the doubt this time?"

I nodded again, not trusting myself to speak. Relief and a new jolt of nerves flooded my system, making me weak-legged as I turned and went back down the stairs.

Devon closed the door behind me.

I paused to gather myself, having no idea what to say to Jack, and heard the sounds of grunts and thwacks I hadn't noticed when I'd first arrived. Tilting my head to the sky, I filled my lungs deeply. Nana, if you're out there, I hope you knew what you were doing when you brought me Jack Eversea.

It was dark under the house. The s.p.a.ce, which obviously reflected the entire footprint of the home, was huge. I paused as I entered, then pa.s.sed the Jeep, letting my eyes adjust to the cool dimness. A faint mildewy smell that characterized life in the humid coastal South, wafted through the s.p.a.ce. I trained my gaze on the direction of the sounds and could make out a figure, Jack, in the far corner through the concrete support columns sparring against a large black punching bag that hung from above.

The shadows were perforated with beams of sunlight slanting through the lattice-work covering all sides of the house. They landed like mini spotlights all over his muscled form, the rays bouncing off his wet skin. He wore only black gym shorts that clung with dampness.

He grunted and panted as his fists flew, his dark hair wet and brow furrowed. Sweat beaded and dripped to the concrete floor.

I continued moving forward, but stopped when I was about ten feet away from him, trying to force my dry mouth to take a swallow. He was so beautiful it was heartbreaking.

And he seemed so lost.

My eyes skated down his perfect form.

His bare feet glided back and forth on the dusty cement as he shifted his weight easily into every punch his upper body threw. He had a new tattoo on his foot. It made me uneasy to see it, to know there was so much of his life I didn't yet know or understand. But I wanted to. So badly.

His back was still to me when he stopped his current combinations and grabbed and hugged the bag, dropping his forehead against it. After a few moments I expected him to be done, to catch his breath and stand up, but he suddenly released one arm from around the bag and proceeded to pound out right hooks over and over again, letting out a loud grunt with each one. Sounds of frustration or satisfaction at landing the perfect hit, I couldn't tell.

He finally stopped, his torso heaving as he clung to the bag. His breathing was loud and labored.

"What do you want, Keri-Ann?" he croaked.

I started.

He didn't raise his head from where it rested against the bag, just stayed frozen, panting with exertion.

A weird sizzle arced through my churning belly. G.o.d, I was so attracted to him. To every part of him. The strong arrogant side of him the world saw. And yes, to this visual and visceral display of maleness. But especially to the vulnerable part he'd had the courage to show me.

I reached behind me and drew the folded pages out of the back pocket of my cargoes, trying to keep my hand steady. "Are these real?" I asked, in a whisper.

His shoulders slumped. "Seriously?"

"It's just a question."

"Yes, they're real." He sighed.

"No, I believe you ... I'm sorry. I don't know why I asked like that." My voice was breathy with nerves. "Will you ... will you look at me," I managed.

He didn't move for a moment. Then he tilted his face to the side and looked at me over his arm. His eyes were dark as they met mine. He blinked slowly then dropped his gaze to the pages I was holding. "I wanted to figure out a way to get those back before you read them ..."

"I'm glad you didn't. Is this everything?"

He closed his eyes. "It's everything that matters. There's some stuff about my father you probably didn't need to see and ... well, I also didn't explain what happened with Audrey." He sliced his eyes back up to mine, as he finally pulled back from where he was clutching the bag. "I slept with her the day I found out she cheated on me."

"What?" I said even though I'd heard him clearly. I needed time to process it.

He waited, watching me.

How does someone react to being cheated on by sleeping with the enemy? An image of him being with her, naked, skin to skin, flashed through my mind, making me wince. Obviously, I knew he'd had s.e.x with her to have thought the baby was his. But not when. And I knew he'd been with other people before me, it wasn't about that. But in this image it wasn't a faceless girl. I knew Audrey. I knew her beauty. And now that I'd read Jack's pages, I knew her ugliness at threatening me to get to Jack. But to sleep with her, knowing she'd just been with someone else? I saw them together in my mind, imagined he must have been ... angry while he did it. My stomach rolled.

I felt disgusted. And dirty ... like he'd transferred her on to me. "Unprotected?" I asked, although I already knew the answer.

He nodded.

I curled my arms around my middle.

Unwrapping the wrist-strap on the fingerless boxing gloves he had on, he straightened to his over six-foot frame and pulled them off. This Jack, this wary Jack, that seemed as if he was bristling with armor, was new to me.

"What do you want, Keri Ann?" He asked me again and threw the gloves to the side. "I know you're disgusted with me. I knew you would be. You should be. I am."

I dropped my eyes to his sculpted chest as it heaved.

A few hundred yards from where we stood, the sound of waves crashing incessantly against the sh.o.r.e vied for attention against the sound of his still irregular breathing. Waves that were constantly changing and renewing the sand, bringing beautiful things and also ugly remains, and then washing them away again without regret. I sighed and looked away. There was dust floating in the beams of sunlight, a few boxes were piled up haphazardly in a corner next to me. I laid the journal pages down on one.

"You hurt me," I whispered and looked back at him.

He pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds then nodded once. "Yes."

"And I hurt you, too."

He didn't respond.

"I didn't ..." my throat was dry again, felt clogged. "I didn't know I was able to do that." I hadn't really believed him until I saw it written in his almost illegible handwriting. "I'm scared, Jack." I inhaled deeply and steadied my voice. "Like I told you last night. I'm not ready to be out there with you, to have that define me. To have you define me."

He nodded and swallowed, wincing as if in pain. "I know."

"I've barely discovered myself," I whispered. "Who I am. What I'm capable of. What I want."

Tension radiated off him in physical waves, steeling himself against my words. He was so successful, so strong, so larger than life when the world turned its camera lens on him. But with me he needed to protect himself?

G.o.d, how did I have the power to make someone like Jack Eversea so vulnerable?

I held the power to crush him right at this moment. The knowledge was humbling and terrifying. Didn't he know I'd rather drown myself in the ocean than use that power?

Walking forward, my pulse beating a wild rhythm with every step, I stopped right in front of him. I breathed him in, all his sweat and salt and exertion mingled together.

His jaw was tight and his vivid eyes flickered once as he held my gaze.

Moments stretched out, and our breathing became joined in rhythm. His finally slowing, mine catching up.

I had nothing left to ask him that would make me feel better about trusting this. Trusting him. This was the leap right here. This was the moment where I wondered if history was always doomed to repeat itself, and why I would make the same mistake again. I wished I could see the future in the depths of his green eyes, in the dilated pools of his pupils. I couldn't, so I dropped my attention to his full mouth, the curve of his lips, softly set against his hard, rough jaw.

"If you touch me right now," Jack rasped, cutting through the silence, "I'm taking it as a yes to us." He leaned his sweat-slicked body closer, and my heart fell right though me. "And I'm never," he drew the word out, "letting you go."

I absorbed his roughly uttered words, their echo weaving its way around us, and my body began a distant throb. "Is that a promise or a threat?" I managed softly and raised my hand up between us. Heat flowed off his chest onto my palm as it hovered right over his heart.