The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(22)
Author: J.C. Reed

I grimaced. If Sylvie knew I was snooping around Jett’s apartment, she’d be barking mad. But I had to tell her about Gina and the detective’s investigation.

“Listen, there’s something I need to tell you,” I said. “About what happened at work.”

I opened my mouth, ready to explain when a blinking light drew my attention to the printer on Jett’s desk. There was something about that light, symbolizing caution or a warning that required immediate attention—like a big flashing yellow traffic signal.

Jett must have used the printer not too long ago.

That was the only thought that came to mind. Sylvie’s chattering instantly forgotten, I neared the machine and opened the paper drawer. My eyes scanned the top sheet. As I read the words, a first wave of shock hit me hard.

Tiny drops fell from the sky

I sucked in my breath. The paper in my hand was unfinished but, without a doubt, the first line of the poem. The realization cut through me like a fire whip, and waves of confusion, then anger, then more confusion washed over me.

“Brooke? Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Sylvie’s voice drew my attention back to her. “What do you want to tell me?”

“Look. Can we talk later?” My tone sounded as weak and shaky as I was feeling.

“No, don’t you dare hang up on me.”

“Later,” I added absent-mindedly and hung up, my gaze still fixed on the paper. My phone started to ring again, but I ignored it as my mind began to put two and two together.

Jett had sent the letter. It had been him in the staircase. He had pounded on my door and scared the hell out of me. There was no doubt about that now.

“What the fuck?” I whispered slowly in disbelief. “What. The. Fuck.”

I didn’t know what to think or feel anymore. I didn’t even know what scared me more—that I had been wrong in my expectations of a relationship with Jett or right in my initial assumptions. I should have listened to Sylvie when claimed that I had been blind in love, not seeing Jett for who he truly was. All this time, I had believed to know him. The real him. But I had been wrong. The paper I held in my hands showed me what he was capable of; what he was willing to do.

You don’t know him at all, Stewart.

The insight kicked me right in the gut. For all I knew now, he was a Southern devil with a southern charm and the cunning ability to seduce my mind while blinding my soul. Admitting it even to myself was pure humiliation and a disgrace nonetheless.

“Son of a bitch.” I laughed darkly. “You got me.”

The next time I’d see him, I’d kick him where it hurt the most. If he so much as smiled, I would slap his stupid grin right off his pretty face.

As shock turned into anger, I crumpled the paper into a ball.

Jackass.

What if I had called the police and showed them the letter in the belief it might somehow be connected to Gina’s murder? How long would it have taken them to find it in Jett’s apartment and add it as yet another piece of evidence?

Talk about Jett knowing how to attract trouble.

After living with him for weeks, all those allegations could lead back to me and make me a possible suspect.

A suspect.

I drew a sharp breath and let it out slowly.

Holy cow. Had I really been so stupid? If the police found my clothes, my toothbrush, anything that belonged to me and carried my DNA—sooner or later I’d end up having accessory written on my résumé. Worse yet, I had borrowed Sylvie’s clothes and make up. If they thought I was involved in Jett’s affairs, nothing would stop them from pulling Sylvie’s name through the mud.

“Crap,” I muttered.

I couldn’t risk pushing my best friend into Jett’s dirty dealings just because I was in love with him. The thought that we’d end up in even more trouble scared me so much that I picked up a big black garbage bag with one simple plan: gather all my and Sylvie’s belongings, and then get the hell out of there—before someone returned to search the place again for anything they might have left behind.

Better leave no proof at all.

Maybe Jett was into living dangerously, risking his life, breaking the law, but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t be so stupid to incriminate myself even though I had done nothing wrong.

Hell, I was surprised Jett hadn’t thought that far when he left the letter on my doormat. After his stupid move or prank or whatever he thought he was doing that night, I wasn’t ready to go down in flames with him. Being pregnant, I had to be the responsible one, putting my unborn child first before I forced the truth out of him.

Heading to the bathroom, I made a mental list of all the things I had left behind. Anything that could link me to Jett had to disappear. Opening the mirror cabinet, my fingers stretched out to pull out my belongings—only to stop in midair.

“What the hell!”

I grabbed a silver-capped lipstick and frowned. This wasn’t mine. Nor was the mascara, or the golden tub of moisturizer, or the black hair clips.

Confusion crossed my face as my eyes scanned the impressive amount of make-up, creams, and lotions left behind. They were all a woman’s things. Just not mine. Ripples of apprehension crept up my back. If they weren’t mine, who did they belong to?

This can’t be happening.

The thought of another woman moving in so soon after our separation was too horrible to contemplate. So frightening I walked out of the bathroom, heading straight for Jett’s dressing room in search for concrete proof, all the while ignoring the sickness in my stomach.

I stopped in front of the large walk-in closet, hesitating. My clothes were in there, or at least they had been the last time I checked.

Blindly in love or not, I needed that last grain of proof to disentangle myself from the love of my life—no matter how painful a process that might be. I needed to see if Jett was capable of such cruelty—breaking my heart and ripping it out at the same time as making me regret that I once trusted him and allowing myself to fall in love with him. My mother always warned me about sexy men that cheat and manipulate, but never about the guy who could make you feel high with nothing but a single glance. She never warned me that jealousy could be so gut-wrenchingly painful and unbearable, that the feeling of being cheated on could be so sickeningly devastating it would wreak havoc within anyone’s soul.

It didn’t matter. I had to know. With an anxious flick of my wrist, I opened the door and took a step back.

I should have seen it coming. And yet a stifled scream escaped my throat. Raw. Primitive. Somewhere deep inside me something broke, the weight of the meaning of it all, of what I had hoped I’d never witness splitting my being in two.