Page 40 of Crimson Love

My hand flies to my mouth to smother the cry that bleeds from my lips.

Jett’s hold on me tightens. His strength is palpable. I can’t help it. It doesn’t matter that he stole my car or made me weak at the knees when he cooked for me. I press into him. If I don’t, I’d fall to the floor in an ugly mess.

He shifts me to his side but doesn’t look away from my only belongings in this world. “Who would do this?”

I shake my head, not because I don’t know the answer, but because I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do next.

He hasn’t just located me, he’s here.

In Winslet.

Jett shifts me again, this time he forces me to look at him. He frames my face in his hands and bends far enough to look into my eyes. Our noses are inches apart when he repeats with even more agitation, “Answer me. Who did this?”

My tears spill. I shake my head and do what I’m accustomed to doing, because lying isn’t only engrained in me. It’s a survival tactic. “I don’t know.”

His brows pinch, and his stormy eyes siege me. “Someone got into your room, tossed your shit, locked the door behind them, and you have no idea who it could be?”

I glance around the space because looking him in the eyes and continuing to lie to someone who deserves better hurts. I thought I hit rock bottom yesterday, but it was nothing compared to this.

“I, um...”

He releases my face and doesn’t waste another moment asking questions that I’m clearly not going to answer. “Find a bag. We’ll pack what you need and get to the bottom of this later.”

He moves into action. Stepping over furniture and through the cluttered mess, he grabs the old duffle I packed with what little I owned right before I escaped. He grabs clothes and shoes and everything else in his path.

I swipe the tears from my cheeks and try to pull myself together. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Jett doesn’t look at me and continues to work as he talks. “You’re not staying here. Get what you need. I’ll call Dean to report this —”

“No!” I exclaim.

He stops what he’s doing and turns to me with my haphazardly packed bag hanging from his hand. “Your room was broken into. You need to report it.”

If there’s anything that will pull me out of my haze, it’s the mention of the police. “It’s okay. I’ll clean this up. It doesn’t look like there is any damage I can’t fix other than the mattress. I’ll figure that out somehow.

Jett shakes his head as he continues to pack my things. “And just when I thought I was beginning to crack the case on you. You take complicated to a new level.”

I drag my hands through my hair as despair nags at me. “I’m sorry you’re here dealing with this. Dealing with me.”

He stuffs the duffle full and can barely zip it before he drops it on the floor and turns to me. “Get what you need. We’ll come back for anything else, but I need to get you out of here to figure out what to do about this.”

I shouldn’t accept his help, and there’s no way I should drag him into the shit show of a life I can’t seem to escape.

But with no car, and my past nipping at my heels, I’m out of choices.

Again.

I force myself to wade through my things and take everything I can carry.

Jett

L ennon didn’t utter a word, apologize, or offer any type of explanation for any-fucking-thing on the way back to the manor. The moment I threw it in park, she was out the door loaded down with bags of makeup, hair shit, shoes. I’ve got her clothes that I loaded into what few bags she had.

As we enter the atrium of the manor, her heels click on the marble floors. I lean down and speak in a low tone no one else can hear. “We’re going to dump this stuff in your office, then we need to talk.”

When she glances up at me. “Not tonight. Someone broke into my room. I have more pressing issues to deal with right now than being interrogated over a homemade meal again. It doesn’t matter how much I liked it.”

I’m impressed at how she pulled herself together after finding her room ransacked. It helps that she’s a natural beauty. Just like last night, after shedding tears, she’s back to normal. It makes me wonder if she’s a practiced hand in pushing through and hiding the emotions I’ve seen glimpses of.