Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

She sighs, that anxiousness still on her face, and I know what she wants. She needs to hear it from me because she never has.

I sigh too. “I forgive you, Giselle. I did a long time ago. He is a mere speck, and you are my blood, and I love you fiercely, and nothing comes between family. It’s all I have, and it means everything to me. This house, this small town, our memories. Do you know how lucky we are? Some families can’t even stand to be in the same room with each other—they give up, but I won’t. I won’t. You are my sister forever.” I feel tears itching to get out again. “Plus, you loved him. And I didn’t, because I know what love really is. I love Jack.” Those last words are whispered.

She bites her lip and hugs me. Pulling away, she says, “I’m sorry. And Jack is just scared. That day they came to clean up, he never stopped looking at you. You walked in the kitchen, and he followed. You went outside—he did. He watched you like you were the sun to his moon. The way you two say your lines . . .”

“That’s pretend,” I say. “For the play. Which is really going to suck.” I inhale a deep breath. How will I get through it?

“No, it wasn’t, Elena. He loves you.”

My lashes flutter. “Yeah, then where is he now?”

Chapter 30

JACK

I don’t recognize myself. What is this god-awful despair pricking at my chest? This sick feeling in my gut? Nausea rises and bubbles in my stomach, and I jerk the wheel of the Porsche off the interstate and onto the shoulder. Deep breaths rise from my chest.

I open the car door and run for the grass on the other side of the road, bend over, and vomit. Elena. Elena. How could you? How could you rip apart that tiny faith I hadn’t realized I needed so badly, that fragile conviction and hope that you were different from all the rest? My head spins, and I clench my hands and lean against the car. She said he was a friend. She asked him what his cut would be.

It’s my phone ringing in the car that brings me back.

Inhaling deep, I manage to get back in the car and pick it up.

“What the hell was that voice mail, Jack?”

Lawrence. I called him as soon as I got in the car. I don’t even know what I said, still reeling from walking out of Elena’s house.

“Elena used to work for Blue Stone. She was there when Sophia was there. Why didn’t you know?” My voice is like gravel, dragged through rocks, slapped against boulders. “You didn’t do your job.”

“That never popped up.” There’s a silence on the phone. “I told you to get her to sign that NDA.”

Remorse settles on my shoulders.

He continues. “You should have listened to me, and we wouldn’t be here.”

My head falls back against the headrest. Exhaustion hits. Hearing her say those words to Marvin, her refusal to explain herself, her declaration of love, so soon after Sophia’s . . .

“I don’t need you telling me I told you so, Lawrence.”

He pauses. “Okay, let me talk to her and see exactly where she is with this.”

My teeth grind. “She won’t tell you anything.”

“Then you talk to her.”

“I can’t. I just fucking can’t. She makes me want to . . .” I close my eyes.

Because if she cries . . . if she looks at me with those big eyes . . . I just might—

“Fine. I can cut to the chase and find out what her plans are.”

“She knows everything,” I mutter. “How we handled Sophia, Aiden helping . . .” Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.

“The shoulder surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Jack, fuck, why?”

Because I . . .

Because I . . .

I slam my fist against the steering wheel. “Just handle it. I can’t talk to her.”

Because I might lose it.

Can’t even fathom the emotion clawing at my chest.

Even when Sophia announced her book, there was never this feeling of . . . despair.

“I need the space.”

“Space? You can’t quit that play.”

“Never said I was.” My voice shakes, wrestling for control.

How the hell am I going to face her again?

It’s nearly eleven by the time I finally get home to the apartment. That knot in my gut still hasn’t receded. I can’t focus, barely getting my key in the door.

Devon meets me at the door, obviously ready for bed, his feet bare, a pair of pajama pants on.

“Lawrence called me. You look like shit.”

I brush past him and head to the kitchen. “Where’s the vodka? The good stuff.”

“Freezer.” He’s followed me, frowning. “Are you okay?”

“No. But I will be.” I pull out the Grey Goose, pour half a glass, and take a long drink. I fill it up. “Real soon.”