The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(9)
Author: J.C. Reed

“It’s none of your business what I do,” I said through clenched teeth. “I can do whatever I want. It’s not like we’re married, Jett. I don’t have to justify my actions.”

There was silence, and for a second I thought he had hung up on me. I breathed in, inwardly cursing myself for being so defensive whenever we talked. Eventually, Jett broke the silence.

“That might be true, Brooke, but hanging out with the wrong kind of people concerns me just as much, given that you’re pregnant with my child.”

“The wrong kind of people?” I asked, incredulously.

“Yes, the wrong kind of people,” he repeated slowly. “Say what you want, but I still carry a lot of responsibility toward you and our child. “I had my fair share of encounters with the law, so I know what I’m talking about. And let me tell you this: you’re better off without those people, Brooke. I want you to stay away from them.”

“I don’t know what to say. How can you—” I choked on my words, shocked as Gina’s face slowly crept back into my mind.

“How about saying nothing? I have no time for your drama right now, and sure as hell, I’m not in the mood for justifying what I did.”

Faint footsteps carried over from the background. I held my breath to listen and thought I heard a female voice. A brief exchange of words. My heart sank in my chest as I recognized Tiffany’s voice.

“Look, we’ll talk tomorrow evening,” Jett said quickly.

“But…”

“Tomorrow, Brooke.” He hung up, not even letting me finish.

I stared at the phone, flummoxed.

It was her, I was sure of that. I expected another pang of pain to hit my chest, but strangely it never came. Instead, the hole in my heart dripped with emptiness, my mind spinning as I become aware of one fact.

Jett was moving on.

And there was some possibility that he might have killed Gina. My eyes fell on the open bottle on the table, beckoning to me, promising to ease my pain. I buried my head into my hands, wishing for once I could numb my body with alcohol.

I headed straight for the kitchen and boiled water to make myself some tea. Ever since the detective talked about Jett, I hadn’t stopped shaking inside. All my life I had convinced myself that fear was a natural process resulting from forgotten trauma and painful imagination spun by a vivid mind.

Today I learned there were different kinds of fear:

Fear of answers.

Fear of seeing Jett getting into trouble.

Fear of losing myself in chaos.

Fear of being so blindly in love that I didn’t see his true colors.

Fear of losing him to Tiffany.

My world had become a complete mess where I could no longer see what was true and what wasn’t, whom I could trust and whom I could not.

What did the detective mean by stating he had been watching Jett for some time now?

How long was how long? The thing was, even though I didn’t want to, I felt as though I had to know all the answers when I had neither the courage nor the wish to meet Jett. He had hurt me so much that my heart couldn’t face him without being reminded that he had knowingly kept secrets from me. And while I could forgive him for being the way he was, I could never forgive him if I ever found out that he killed Gina.

I tossed and turned, my mind circling around the fact that Jett was a primary suspect. My head was a dizzy mess, but sleep wouldn’t come, and how could it when my thoughts kept buzzing like a swarm of flies around a carcass? The moment I pushed one irritating thought away, a new one appeared to take its place—confusing me, each one scarier than the last.

By 2:30 a.m. I was fully awake. The detective’s words just wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried to close my eyes, but every time I did, I saw Gina. Jett’s tires had carried traces of her. I wondered if she was still alive when she lay on the street. She must have been or why else would anyone run her over when she had already been stabbed?

I shuddered at the thought.

What a terrible death!

When the clock hit 3.05 a.m. I couldn’t bear it anymore and jumped out of the bed. As I switched on the lights any traces of tiredness were gone. The apartment was so quiet I could hear a bird screeching outside. A glance into Sylvie’s bedroom confirmed she wasn’t back from her blind date.

I tied my hair into a bun and pondered what to do. Sylvie was right, all the stress and emotional strain weren’t good for my baby. I had to be more positive before my stomach turned into knots of worry.

I retrieved the self-help book from where I had left it on the table and returned to my room, then sank down on the bed and leaned back against the pillows. It was a pretty little pink book full of daily, positive affirmations Sylvie read whenever she was down, frustrated, or confused about life, which usually included the basics. It sure had done her good reading it right before she landed a top position as an accountant at a well-known firm. Too bad there was nothing in it to cover a freaking-out-about-a-killer-on-the-loose situation like mine. But maybe it would help me calm down a little.

I turned the book over, more out of desperation than curiosity, scanned the instructions, then flicked open a page and started reading out loud.

I’m happy and whole because my life is perfect, the affirmation said.

I stared at the words. Even repeating them felt hard—like big lumps of stone in my mouth, weighing down my tongue. Did I believe them? Hell, no. My life couldn’t be further from perfect right now.

I feel loved and safe.

Are you kidding me? I grimaced as I repeated the words. What a load of bullshit. I hadn’t felt safe in a long time and I doubted I ever would again. I turned the next page, unable to control the hysteria bubbling at the back of my throat. Scanning the rest of the affirmations, I wondered what was the purpose of self-deluding myself anymore?

The knowledge of being in the unknown and trying to force myself to hold onto positive thoughts when I lived in fear angered me. Another screeching outside. I stopped and closed the book. It was one thing to believe in a positive future, and another to delude myself. Knowing damn well that Jett and Tiffany were probably together, laughing, making love, was the last thing that could possibly make me feel good right now. It actually made me feel downright miserable.

In an angry move, I threw the book onto the bed.

The positive affirmations didn’t help, and they sure didn’t calm me. Time to face the hard facts, go over theories while trying to stay objective. There was only one way to do it. I booted my laptop and started to make a list in search for the worst-case scenario. Maybe if I listed on paper all my recent issues I had with him, the pieces of my puzzle would automatically fall into place and I would get all the answers I needed.