The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(8)
Author: J.C. Reed

I snorted.

Yeah, right.

As always, she was worried about me. Only this time I worried about myself, too. If only everything could be that simple. If only affirmations worked. With a sigh I threw the book back onto the table and headed for the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine Sylvie kept for special occasions aka emergencies, but decided on soda instead.

There was no point in getting drunk. Not when I needed to keep a clear head and make sense of what was happening. After the incident at the club, the last thing I needed was to lose control over my body again or worse yet, harm my baby.

Good thing Jett was at the club and drove me home before something bad could happen.

I stopped in my thought and drew a sharp breath.

Not when he’s guilty. Not when he’s told you so many lies.

I swallowed. The thought that Jett was a killer was horrible but so was the knowledge that my child would grow up without a father. While I was sure I had the confidence to lie to the detective to protect Jett, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to hear the truth. It would be so easy to hear lies, but come the truth, I knew it would shatter me and leave me in pieces, worse off than before. And I wasn’t sure I could go through more heartbreak. Knowing that it would be so easy to pretend to myself that he still cared for me, I wasn’t even sure I was ready to even hear his voice. The lies he would tell might be bad, but the lies I might tell myself would be even worse.

My stomach churned once more, as the detective’s grave words kept circling in my mind over and over again, like a swarm of flies over a corpse. I closed my eyes in a weak fight against the nausea washing over me again. Anytime now, my head might just explode. And if it wasn’t going to be my head, then it would be my heart. In all my life I had never known so little, and feared so much. I retrieved my phone from my handbag and checked my call log. No message from the legal firm. No text from Jett, no phone call, nothing to indicate that he missed me or he felt any remorse or guilt.

What did you expect? That he might just read your mind and call you even though you pretend you don’t want to hear his voice?

I groaned at the thought, hating that a part of my body was so weak for him—the same part that kept hoping he was a good person and that he loved me. Buying for time, I scrolled through my contact list. It was a useless action. The weak love fool I was, I knew his number by heart, and I hated it. I sank down on the couch, dread filling me at the thought of calling him. But I had to. Even if he lied, I had to ask Jett. I had to hear it from him. That much he owed me—if only I wasn’t so afraid of hearing his beautiful voice. My heart slammed against my chest as my fingers pressed the buttons.

He finally picked up at the third ring.

“What now?” His voice was cold and detached, not even hiding his irritation.

I took a deep breath.

“Jett, we need to talk. You’re in trou—”

“Tomorrow at dinner,” he cut me off. “If you plan on staying with Sylvie, I’ll pick you up from Brooklyn. Anything else?”

I froze, taken aback by his frosty tone, when the meaning of his words slowly sank in.

“How do you know where I am?” I asked slowly.

“It’s not that much of a surprise you’re staying with Sylvie.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Obviously, your best friend hates my guts and tells you to stay away from me, so she’s the perfect person with whom to bitch about me. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if it was her idea to fuck the next guy with whom she hooked you up today.”

I frowned, confused.

“It wasn’t her idea.” I couldn’t help the irritation slipping into my voice, matching his. “And you didn’t answer my first question. How did you know where I am?”

The line stayed silent, but I wasn’t ready to give up. If I wanted to win with Jett, I had to be persistent.

“Jett?”

“Same way I know where you were earlier today,” he replied, his voice cold as ice, mocking me as if I should have known all along. “I have your phone traced, Brooke.”

Holy shit.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. If Jett knew where I was earlier that day, he also knew where I worked. I stared at the wall, my heart beating faster as a memory flooded my mind. Back at the hotel I couldn’t find my phone. Was that the moment he had something installed in it so he could trace my whereabouts?

Surely he couldn’t be serious, could he?

“You had what?”

“Your phone traced,” he said slowly. “Really, Brooke, you get involved in trouble a lot, so I had no other option but to make sure I know where you are.”

“Are you controlling me?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, be my guest.” He sighed, annoyed, and after a pause asked, “So, who is it?”

“Who is what?”

“The guy you met today.”

“That’s none of your business.”

I balled my hands into fists and took a deep breath. The thought that Jett knew where I was, where I was going, with whom I was dealing, was insane. Crazy. I couldn’t tell him everything, not when I didn’t know if he had sided with his sick brother.

“I want you to stop tracing my phone, Jett.” The words were not accusing. They came surprisingly silent quiet and calm—contrary to the way I was feeling.

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe.” I frowned and infused as much fervor into my voice as I could muster. “I’m serious. Stop tracing my phone. Like, right now.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

Thick and fast, anger poured inside me, until the dam of fury broke. “I’m so fucking pissed off at you, Jett. You have no right to do that. Do you hear me? You have no right to do that.”

“You’re pissed off at me all the time. Nothing new about that.” I sensed an irritated sigh somewhere on the other end of the line. For some reason, I knew he was being sarcastic and as usual not taking me seriously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What did I do this time, huh?” Jett asked, ignoring my question. “Obviously there is a reason you’re calling me, and that reason is because you’re angry again. You’re angry all the time lately, Brooke, but it’s not like you tell me what you’re doing or where you’re going while you keep me waiting, worrying. Turns out you’re just hanging around bars or clubs, waiting for a good hook-up.” His voice dropped low. “Way to go being responsible. I didn’t think you had it in you.”