The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(39)
Author: J.C. Reed

I didn’t return his smile, unconvinced by his words. Instead, I kept looking at him, challenging him, waiting for him to spill the beans but he stayed as tightlipped as before.

“What about the other secrets, Jett?” I asked. “Do you have anything else to tell? Anything at all?”

He froze, his grimace signaling that he might just be about to blast me off. “Yeah, that’s the thing, what other things, Brooke?”

“What about the girl they said you killed? Or about your car showing traces of you running her over. Or that you’re a murder suspect. Or what about the letter you left me at four in the morning, scaring the hell out of me?” I asked in desperation, feeling like I was going mad.

He stepped back, eyeing me hard. “Jesus. Where did you get those ideas?” He stared at me furiously. “Tell me who the fuck tells you those lies and I will beat this motherfucker up.”

I shrank back by the intensity of his words, but then composed myself just as quickly. “It was a detective I met at work.” Seeing Jett’s confused glance, I remembered that Jett didn’t know about the job, and added, “It’s a long story. I got a new job, by the way. Me and two girls I met there went out the same night you picked me up to celebrate my job offer. Anyway, one of the girls was killed, and the detective questioned all of us. He told me about you.”

God, it all sounded so crazy. Even though it had barely been a few days, my life was slowly beginning to sound more complicated than a soap opera. Maybe I should start recording my everyday occurrences to keep track. I almost expected Jett to start inquiring about the new job when he shook his head in confusion, keeping silent, processing. He looked at me as if I had told him I just had brunch with the devil.

“Her name was Gina. Maybe you knew her?” I added, hoping the new bit of information would jolt his memory. He didn’t say anything. I waited impatiently, unsure what to make of his silence.

“Do you know how you sound?” He said at last. The glint in his eyes matched the thick waves of tension wafting from him. I took a step back and surveyed him.

“Trust me, I know perfectly how I sound. Like someone who lost a screw, right?”

He stared me down. “That’s about right, Brooke.”

“But do you know in what kind of situation you are, Jett?” I asked. “Apparently, you killed two people.” I held out my hand. “Not my words. The detective’s. He said you bought immunity, and told me that you had your car reported stolen. He told me that your car was found with plenty of traces.”

“A detective, huh?” He looked at me as though I had just gone completely crazy. As if I was the one who made up the lies. I remained quiet, watching his reaction, not avoiding his furious glances. “Was Tina one of the girls you were with the night I picked you up at the club?” he asked quietly.

“Gina,” I corrected, narrowing my eyes. “Yeah, she was. How do you know?”

Please tell me you know her. Tell me something. Anything at all. Please.

“It was just a wild guess considering you said a girl died that night and you seem to have known her.”

My shoulders slumped, disappointment and defeat washing over me. Suddenly, the situation wasn’t just scary, it was overwhelming—a burden on my shoulders, threatening to nail me down, making sure I would never get up. I had come in hope for answers only to find that the whole conversation with Jett—except for Nate—was going nowhere. As though I was stuck in a crazy labyrinth, I had no idea which way to go, what to do, not even sure if there was any sort of escape from the fear that had been following me around all day.

I didn’t just feel helpless, I felt like there was nothing more I could do. What was worse, I felt like Jett didn’t understand me; as though he’d never share that burden with me, and that I was all alone. For once I wished life weren’t so complicated. If he had just told me what was going on, if he only tried to explain, maybe I would have been able to understand him and start solving what needed to be cleared. But the fact that he kept pretending to have no clue meant that he’d stifle that trepidation inside me, which only managed to make me even more wary of him and the other secrets he might be keeping.

“I don’t know if I can trust you, Jett.” I almost choked on my voice and cleared my throat. “You can’t even admit that you left me a letter last night?” A tear ran down my cheek. I brushed my hand over my face, hiding from him if only for a moment—my vulnerability so naked I was sure that any cruel word could blast a hole in my skin. “I came here looking for answers and you make everything worse by denying any knowledge. Why can’t you just once tell me the truth and help me understand what’s going on? Why can’t you just tell me the secrets you keep from me and stop…this madness?”

His soft touch stroked my face and his hand cupped my chin, his thumb wiping away the tears, forcing me to look at him.

“I am not accused of murder, Brooke,” he said slowly. His voice was calm, but underneath I could hear slight outrage. “My car was not stolen. I didn’t send you any letter. I have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about. I don’t even know a detective. The closest I came to any sort of trouble with the law was through my lawyers. I was never questioned for anything.”

I swallowed.

“So your car wasn’t reported stolen?” I asked incredulously.

“No.”

“You were not accused of murderer?”

“Nope,” he said slowly.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“What, Brooke? You think I’m some lying sociopath?”

I raised my brows at him. “Are you?”

“Jesus, Brooke. Of course, I’m not.” His voice came so low I winced. It made me almost feel bad. If only I had concrete proof that he wasn’t.

Looking at him, I realized there was no way he could be such a good actor. He looked as shocked as when his father was hurt or when I announced that I was pregnant. Jett wasn’t an open book like me, but today I could see the emotions on his usually unreadable face. And right now I could see one thick vein throbbing on his forehead, and his shoulders were all tense, as if he was ready to punch something.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “If you did none of those things, how come the detective thinks it was you and they found traces of one of the victims on your car?”

“Are you sure he’s not confusing me with someone else?”