something left. I just needed to find it.”
“And the moral dilemma?”
“I learned to ignore it.”
Silence settled between them and Jackson released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Their fingers stroked back and forth, the heat continuing to sizzle between them.
“Jack?” Luke sighed, laying his other hand on her arm. “Thank you for telling me that.
Jackson gave him a weak smile. “So now you know just how freakful I can be.”
“Barely any freak at all.”
Another smile and she squeezed his hand. There would be no more confessions tonight, but he’d taken her revelation so well, that Jackson felt like she had to give him something else. Share just a little of normal, not quite so fucked-up Jack, even if it hurt.
“Would you like the story of my backpack?” she asked.
A pause and she knew if she looked up he’d be smiling. “Is it good?”
“Enthralling.”
“Then shoot.”
“Being all coddled in your bunker and all you didn’t have to worry about supplies,” she began, and Luke ruffled her hair.
“Coddled?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ll pay for that comment, sweetheart.”
“Bring it,” she said. “So when I left my apartment I had one bag, and it pains me to admit that it was not the survival type of carryall.”
“What was it?”
“A knock off Gucci. I know. I know,” she said, holding up a hand. “But I did live in New York. It was tiny, and the type you have to carry. I stuffed it with way too many clothes and not enough of other things.”
“What happened to it?” he asked, pointing to the backpack at her feet. “I’m assuming it’s not simply stuffed in there.”
“I ended up using it to throttle a zombie.”
He sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”
“It was an accident more than anything. I held it up in the air and the damn thing ran straight through the straps, headfirst. And so then I had to find another bag, and I was starting to learn by that point. Guess what the shop was called where I found this baby?”
“I hate guessing games.”
“It was called Jackson’s.”
“You serious?”
She smiled. “Yep. I got the backpack and a bunch of proper supplies from there. You asked me once where my name came from?”
Luke nodded slowly. “I did.”
“I was named after the guy who owned that shop.”
Without a single word Luke shifted, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her against him. Jackson took a deep, slow breath, her chest aching, her body flustered already to feel his warmth against her again.
“Don’t you want to sleep first?” Luke asked, and she sighed.
“No. I slept first last time.”
“You sure.”
“Yep. It’s your turn.”
He settled against her, his body warming hers. A whole week of man-arm action and she was still finding it…difficult. They’d settled into an easy relationship up till now, but it was odd parts of teasing, affection, and holding back. Jackson understood it all perfectly but couldn’t help but wonder what it meant for them. Despite his insistence on getting her to open up—clearly his worst character trait—and his urge to protect her in his slightly goofy way, she liked Luke.
A lot.
But they lived in the land of the dead. A place where jumping off a building seemed like a perfectly acceptable action. Where a man and a woman could never just
Jackson risked a glance out of the window. It would be dark soon but for the moment there was enough light left to see. The street was quiet, still. The breeze blew against the rubbish in the street, and into the buildings where the windows and doors were cracked or open. The emptiness hit her forcefully and she frowned, shocked to feel it. How weird was it to be in Luke’s position and imagine things how they might have been two years ago —because she was sure he often did. The scrunch on his brow, the frown that chased across his face…all indications that he was rewinding the months. If he was in her position, he’d be looking at the building directly opposite and thinking that it had once been a bakery. Jackson squinted to make out the sign, Magnificent Muffins perhaps? God, she’d kill for a croissant.
Despite herself she couldn’t help her gaze going to the next building. It looked like it might have been a bookstore. Though there were no books in there now. They’d probably been burned for fires in the very early days. And the other one, maybe a deli? Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. She imagined salami and ham and cheese…oh God cheese…and crackers, and a pickle…
Who had owned those stores? Who had lived in the apartments above? When had they been eaten? Or were they even now running around dead? The questions ran through her mind and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Luke grumbled against her and she opened her eyes, tore her gaze from the deserted buildings, and turned to look at his profile. With his eyes closed, and his long lashes fanned against his cheeks, he looked peaceful. Peaceful in a way she knew she never was. She wondered if Luke was right. If she’d spent too long on her own. If she’d become too independent, too prickly, too quick to think that the worst was going to happen. But then that was hardly surprising, was it? The world was a nasty place and nasty things happened all the time. Every single fucking day.
Maybe as the days wore on, as they made their way farther south, that would change? Jackson hoped so. Luke was the perfect companion for her. She’d been so lucky to find him, so lucky he’d agreed to come with her. Surely eventually, if she really wanted to, she’d become…a little bit
Chapter Eighteen
Luke watched the rain falling as he held Jackson in his arms on the mezzanine level of the restaurant. She slept now, at last. But not peacefully, never peacefully. She twitched and she fidgeted and sort of groaned in a silent kind of way.
He wondered what thoughts were chasing through her subconscious mind and then decided he didn’t want to know. His own nightmares were enough to make him shudder. He suspected that Jackson’s were a bit worse.
He frowned as he realized he hadn’t asked her before now about her family. He hadn’t wanted to, but then she’d never asked about his. Maybe family discussions were something most people who were still alive held onto for as long as possible? The last little bit of them. But then again maybe not. After all, he was ready to tell Jackson about his parents, so what that said about their relationship he did not know.
“I never got to my parents in time,” he whispered. “They were just…gone. The door was wide open, the windows smashed, and there was just nothing…”
She mumbled something and he held her a little closer, closing his eyes against the images of his parent’s
