Kian

I was so stupid.

No.

I was reckless.

And it was all to see Kian again, all to just be around him.

This was wrong. This was dangerous. No more visits.

As I started to calm down, I sat down on a chair and wiped the tears from my face. My legs were still trembling.

My head folded into my lap, and I let the tears free. I was soon sobbing. I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to stop myself. I sank to the floor and curled my arms around my knees, hugging them to my chest.

I still wept.

I’d stopped living the lie for one moment. That was why I had gone to see him—because I could be Jordan Emory again, not Jo Keen. For a split second, I’d stopped feeling like I was hiding.

I was fooling myself.

The nation loved him, and they would turn on me. It’d happened over and over again. Victims would get blamed, and the public already blamed me. It’d happen again.

This thing I was doing with him—meeting him on the roof, then meeting him again, and then seeing him at my roommate’s interview—had to stop.

Kian had to cease to exist for me again.

I wanted to stay in that room.

The longer I did, the more I thought Kian would come find me. I wanted that, and being in a room that was a secret between us, it was hurting me to write the letter that I did.

I left it on the desk, so he’d see it immediately. It wasn’t long. I’d thanked him for offering me the room. I’d thanked him for reassuring me on the roof, for making sure I was okay. But I had to go back to my old life, and that meant no Jordan, no Kian, and certainly no history that could harm either of us.

I had wanted to sign it as Jo, but I’d signed it with my real name. It’d been so long since I had written Jordan, and it felt right, but like Kian, I had to let that go, too. That also included seeing Snark since I wasn’t technically in the Witness Protection Program. He’d used his resources to help me get a new life. I needed to not see him again and stand firm in who Jo Keen was, not who Jordan Emory had been.

Avoiding the elevators, I left the hotel by going down the stairs. When I got to the lobby, one of the newspaper people was there. He was the guy who had given me a hard time, Bob, and he was scanning the entire lobby. I was guessing that Erica had sent him to look for me, but I didn’t want to hear any message she might’ve sent with him. Erica thought her life was going to die if I wasn’t there just because Susan would find some way to stab her in the back. It was a lie. Erica would do just fine. Their interview would do wonderfully. Erica didn’t need me to hold her hand to make that happen.

When Bob went to the restroom, I slipped through the lobby. I didn’t see an approaching bus, and I didn’t want to wait, so I grabbed a cab. Once I gave him the address, I sent Erica a quick text.

I’m okay. Panic attack. Going home to feel better.

I hit Send and then added another one.

You’ll do great! Kick interview butt!

I was a few blocks from my apartment when I got a text back. Expecting a response from Erica, I saw it was Jake instead.

You okay? Went to your job earlier. They said you were sick.

Jake.

Good Jake.

Normal Jake.

The Jake who ran away from a bunch of thirty-year-olds.

Jo’s Jake, not Jordan’s Jake.

I changed my mind and sent a quick text to him.

Where are you?

My place.

I leaned forward and told the cab driver, “I need to go somewhere else.”

After giving him the new address, I texted Jake.

I’m coming over.

I expected a text back but never got one.

When the car pulled up to the house Jake shared with a bunch of guys, I saw why. Ten cars were lined down the street, and another six were squashed in the driveway.

Jake was having a party.

Once the cab left and I headed to the front door, I had doubts. Maybe I should leave? He hadn’t texted back.

Hearing loud music and shouts from inside, I opened it and bypassed the doorbell. I doubted anyone could hear it anyway.

It’d been so long since I was at Jake’s house. He had four other roommates. I’d met two of them during our brief fling but not the others. Jake hadn’t been close to them, only the two I’d met. Stepping into the living room, I didn’t recognize anyone here. A baseball game was on the television, but only three guys were paying attention. They lounged on the couch while others in the room were talking among themselves. A group stood in one corner, and another stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. I glimpsed a full kitchen and then stepped aside as four more guys ran down the stairs behind me and went around into the kitchen, through the kitchen, and out the back door.