He came to me vulnerable. He was broken and silently screaming for help, and I did what I could to make it better, but I don’t know if it was enough … I hope I’m enough.
Rolling over, my hand spreads out over the bed, searching for him only to find it empty. Devastation rocks through me. I should have seen this coming. Judging by the position of the sun streaming through my window, it’s well after midday and after everything that happened last night, I can’t expect him to wait around to talk it out with me. He has shit to deal with and another whole human being to ensure isn’t dead. To assume he’d be thinking about me today is selfish.
Peering through my bedroom, my eyes stop on red lipstick scrawled across my mirror.
I’M SORRY.
HE’S ALIVE.
DON’T BE SCARED OF ME.
My heart shatters, feeling so much depth in those words, so much to unpack, and so much to be thankful for. How could I ever be scared of him, and why would he assume that I am? After everything he’s told me, his actions were justified, but what’s important is that Colby Jacobs is alive. At least, for now.
Throwing my blanket back, I trudge out of my room and make my way downstairs as my stomach grumbles. I had dinner after the game last night, but since then, I’ve been riding high on nothing but adrenaline, and now I’m starving.
With breakfast well and truly missed, I put together lunch when I hear someone on the stairs. “Mom?” I call out, my eyes widening as my heart pounds just a little bit faster. I still haven’t had a chance to speak with her after all the bullshit of the past two weeks, and I hate the thought of her taking off to Paris for the weekend without talking it through first.
“Try again,” Jensen calls out, making his way through the foyer and into the kitchen. He glances my way before his brows arch at the sight of food on the table. “You making lunch?”
Rolling my eyes, I let out a sigh and resist telling him to fuck off. “I’m assuming you’re hungry?”
“Starving,” he says, moving around my side of the island counter to help. He grabs a chopping board and gets busy slicing tomatoes. “Your mom isn’t here,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “They took a late flight last night to make the most of the weekend.”
Hurt tears at my chest. “What do you mean a late flight? They’re already gone?”
“Mmhmm,” he murmurs, doing a decent job of the tomatoes and keeping his eyes down. “Dad’s driver swung by at nine to pick them up.”
I shake my head, his timeline not matching up. “No, that couldn’t be right. I was home then. I didn’t go out till after. Mom wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”
Jensen shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell you, Bri. You can check the security footage if you want. All I know is that I was trying to get out of here when they left, and your mom held me up for twenty minutes talking about shit that I had absolutely no interest in.”
I gape at him, unable to believe that she’d really leave without saying goodbye. “Did she know I was home? I texted her that I was coming home after the game to chat.”
“She was playing on her phone all night organizing last minute details for their trip, so I’m assuming she definitely knew you were coming home. That woman doesn’t miss anything,” he says, “and for the record, yes. When we were talking out front, she mentioned that you were home and suggested that I take you out so you weren’t stuck at home alone.”
“She knew I was home,” I repeat, really trying not to let the hurt tear me apart, but how can I not? She left without saying goodbye.
“Look,” he says with a sigh, stopping his chopping. “I’ve seen it all before. My mom was exactly the same. Once the money starts coming in and they climb the social ladder, your wants and needs become less of a priority. It’s when she joins the country club that you really need to worry.”
Well, shit.
I go about getting lunch prepared, my heart heavy, and soon enough, we’re sitting at the breakfast bar in silence, both of us happy to eat as fast as possible and get the fuck away from each other.
I scarf my food down in record time, and as I walk around the kitchen island to place my plate in the dishwasher and clean up, I pause and glance at Jensen. “Why aren’t you being creepy?” I ask, always suspicious. “What happened to all the fucked-up leering, winking, and calling me little sis?”
A smirk plays on his lips. “Why? Do you miss it?”