On My Knees (Stark International Trilogy 2)

I frown, afraid he’s dropped a bottle or managed to hurt himself, and I hurry in that direction, running down the stairs and then stopping short when the room comes into view.

Because there is Jackson with my father.

And there is the envelope that Reed sent.

And there in my father’s hands is a photograph, and I don’t need to see the front of it to know what it shows. And I don’t need to have heard the conversation to know what Jackson has said.

My chest is tight. My heart pounding so hard I think it is going to explode.

Both men are standing stock-still and they are staring at me. Time has stopped. The world has stopped.

And then it all clicks again, and Jackson calls out for me as he takes a step toward me.

“No.” The word is ripped so hard from me that it hurts my throat.

I turn back and race up the stairs. Ethan is in the kitchen. “I have to go. Work. A project. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out, spilling onto each other in a tangled pile of lies.

I hug him, but I don’t wait for either protest or consent. I simply bolt.

I climb into the limo and slam the door shut. I push the button to roll down the privacy screen and meet Edward’s eyes in the rearview as he pushes the button on the stereo to turn off his audiobook.

“Go,” I say. “Please, just go.”

I see him glance out the passenger side window, and I turn that way, too. Jackson is there, standing in the doorway, his back straight, his expression unreadable.

“Go.” My voice is shaking, on the verge of hysteria. “Goddammit, just go.”

He does, and I fall back against the leather, breathing hard.

“Thank you,” I whisper, though I doubt Edward hears.

I push the button to lift the screen again as we drive away, leaving the house, my brother, my parents, and Jackson behind.

The memories, however, come with me.

I don’t remember telling Edward where to go, but when he pulls up in front of Cass’s house in Venice Beach, I know that I must have.

I haven’t called. I haven’t done anything except sit in the back of the limo feeling sorry for myself and fighting tears. Which, of course, is why I’ve ended up at my best friend’s door. Because right now, I can’t bear to go home. I can’t bear to be alone.

I can’t stand the thought of this being the end, but I’m so afraid that it might be.

He told my secret. He broke our trust.

And in doing that, I think he broke my heart, too.

It’s almost midnight, and as I approach the door, I realize that maybe calling would have been a good idea. She could be out. She could be in the middle of a hot date. She could just be asleep.

But she’s none of those things. In fact, she’s right there, pulling the door open and hurrying down her front walk with her arms held out to me, a cell phone in her hand. “God, I’ve been calling and calling.”

“Calling?” I’d turned my phone to silent.

“He called.” She waves Edward off, and as the limo disappears down the street, she leads me inside. I take off my shoes because Cass is a neat freak even in best-friend emergencies, and then let her get me settled on her couch.

She plops down on the coffee table in front of me. “He told me he fucked up. He wants to talk to you, Syl. But mostly, I think he wants to make sure you’re okay.”

She leans forward and peers at me, her elbows on her knees. “Are you?”

I draw in a breath and shake my head. “I don’t know,” I say, and the tears start flowing.

“Oh, sweetie, no.” She’s off the table and at my side immediately, and I curl against her, snuggling close as she holds me and rocks me. She doesn’t say anything, and I’m glad. Right now, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want advice. I don’t want to relive every horrible minute.

I just want to be held. I just want to be comforted.

After a while, though, I just want to sleep, and I stretch out on the couch and pull the warm, soft afghan that Cass found last year at her favorite Goodwill up around my shoulders.

“At least let me pull out the couch for you.”

But I just shake my head. I’m too tired to even move, and as sleep starts to pull me under, I hear her calling someone on the phone. “I don’t know if she’ll be in tomorrow or not. But if she is, it’ll be late. Okay, thanks, Jamie. Just ask Ryan to tell Rachel or whoever needs to know. Sounds good. See you Friday, and let me know if you need any help getting ready for the party.”

I start to tell her that I’m definitely going in to work. I’m not letting my personal life interfere with my job. But somehow, I can’t manage to make the words come. And the next thing I know, there’s a bright light in my eyes and the room smells like coffee.