The Will (Magdalene #1)(157)
Author: Kristen Ashley

But why?

And I had not been in Jake’s office frequently, but I’d been in it more than once and never saw that picture displayed. In fact, the top right drawer of his desk, which was never open, was now open.

Had the picture come from there?

And if it had, why did he keep it in a drawer?

I was thinking that maybe he forgot he had it for whatever reason Gran gave it to him. One of the many things she did regarding Jake the last seven years that I was unclear about but stopped concerning myself with for the end results could not be argued.

On that thought, I stopped dead as my throat closed when I saw the pile of envelopes bound by a blue ribbon sitting in the drawer.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, the words sounding strangled as I stared at those envelopes.

I knew what they were. I’d seen them on Gran’s desk often enough over the last twenty years.

And Jake had them in a drawer in his desk with a photo of me.

Why?

Why did he have them?

Gran had to have given them to him but why would she do that?

And why wouldn’t he tell me he had them?

Why?

I reached out a hand slowly and curled my fingers around the pile. Something vastly unpleasant washed through me as I encountered the paper and lifted them out of the drawer, thus proving they were real. They were there.

My whole history. My whole life.

In letters.

In Jake’s desk.

Gran hadn’t told Jake about me and Gran hadn’t given me to him in her will.

She’d already given me to him. Completely.

But she didn’t tell me.

And neither did he.

“Babe, forgot my wallet,” Jake called from close and I turned woodenly to face the door.

I saw him make the landing and I also saw him turn his head, see me, see what I held in my hand, and stop dead.

And I knew by the look on his face that the picture, those letters, they had not been something he’d forgotten he had and therefore forgot to tell me he had them.

No, they were something he was hiding.

Honest, real, lay-it-out Jake Spear who gave me everything had a secret he’d been keeping.

From me.

He started into the room, his eyes locked to mine, and began, “Slick—”

I lifted the letters slightly and cut him off to ask, “Did Gran give these to you?”

He stopped an unusual distance away, which was to say any distance at all, and responded very unsuitably.

“What were you doin’ in my desk, baby?”

“Did Gran give these to you?” I repeated.

He didn’t answer. He reiterated his question.

“What were you doin’ in that desk, Josie?”

“It was open. The picture out.” I moved to the side to expose the picture. “It caught my eye, as it would, seeing as it’s of me and it’s Gran’s and I didn’t know you had it.”

Jake looked from the picture to me. “The picture was out?”

“Jake,” I said steadily, although I didn’t know how I managed it since everything else about me was trembling. “The picture being out is not the issue. Did Gran give you that photo? These letters?” I lifted the letters up again.

His eyes again locked on mine and he finally answered, “Yes.”

My heart squeezed.

“Did you read them?” I asked.

“Baby—”

My voice was sharper when I asked, “Did you read them, Jake?”

“Yes.”

I looked down to the letters then up to him. “How many times?”

“Honey, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me,” I returned. “How many times?”

“You know Lydie told me about you,” he pointed out.

I kept hold of the letters but dropped my hand, agreeing, “I know she told you about me. Told you, Jake. I had no idea she shared my private letters with you. Why would she do that? And why would you read them?”

“Because she gave them to me.”

“But they were”—I leaned toward him—“private.”

He stared into my eyes but said nothing.

So I asked, “When did she give them to you?”

“A while ago.”

“How long of a while ago?”

He took a step toward me, saying, “Josie—”

But I stepped back.

He stopped and I snapped, “How long of a while ago?”

I saw his jaw clench before he answered, “Five, six years.”

I stared at him, my heart squeezing harder.

“Five or six years?” I whispered.

“Yeah, baby. Now—”

I lifted up the bundle again. “You’ve known this much about me, everything, laid bare to you by my own hand, through my grandmother’s betrayal for five or six years?”

His entire body got still as he said, “Lydie didn’t betray you.”

That was when it happened.

It broke.

Or I broke.

And I did this by throwing the bundle violently against the wall and shouting, “She f**king did!” He moved again to me but I retreated then skirted him and when he didn’t stop, I warned, “Jake, you get f**king near me, I swear to God, I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”

Instantly, he stopped.

In any other frame of mind, I would have found that unbearably sweet.

In my current frame of mind, I found it the same but not in a good way.

“Why didn’t Gran introduce you to me?” I asked.

“Josie, we went through this,” he told me.

“We did and it didn’t make sense. And you know what, Jake? None of it does. None of it ever did. She was tight with you, the kids. She loved you. She spent a lot of time with you. She opened her home to you. She opened her heart to you. She told you about her and she told you about me. She gave you everything. So how in God’s name have I not met you?”

“We can’t know why she did it now, honey. She’s gone.”

“No,” I agreed quickly. “We can’t. Just as we can’t know why she would meet a man and share not only all of her deepest darkest secrets but also mine.”

“Slick, just take a breath and—”

“I’m not going to take a f**king breath, Jake,” I bit out. “Do you not find that strange? Utterly bizarre? Why would anyone do that?”

“We can’t know—”

“I bet we can,” I hissed, leaning back and crossing my arms on my chest. “So, tell me, she gave you those letters, what did she say, Jake? ‘Here, take these. Some bedtime reading to put you to sleep.’ Is that what she said?”