Page 142 of The Unravelings

JJ shrugs. “It was honestly a really sudden trip that came out of nowhere. Franco asked us to be on the floor, walking around, and making sure everything worked properly. We were told to keep an eye on the employees all night. He said someone had been stealing from him, and he wanted to find out who because whoever it was was doing it without the cameras clocking it.” He wrinkles his nose.

“And Hux?” I ask, moving the video to him, getting a phone call, and leaving the frame. “Where did he go?”

JJ licks his lips with uncertainty. “I…” he stammers slightly, staring at the screen as I rewind it again, as Huxley leaves with his phone pressed to his ear. “I don’t know, Spitfire,” he whispers in a pained voice. “He said Franco called him and asked him to go to an emergency meeting somewhere else, but he didn’t specify…” JJ trails off, furrowing his brows. “He still hasn’t said where he went and…” He trails off again.

“If Franco needed him elsewhere, then he could have hopped onto a private jet and made it back to Greenwood in an hour. All of you could have hopped onto that plane and been back here in time to slit my throat and set me on fire,” I whisper, not fully believing my words.

The evidence JJ has could prove their innocence. It could prove they were in Vegas the entire night. Except for Hux. Maybe he was the only one here and did it because Franco told him to.

“The time stamp says 10:30 p.m.,” JJ mutters, shaking his head. “I have more proof that Mack and I went back to our rooms at the hotel and stayed there all night,” he says urgently, showing me another video with the time stamp of 11:30 p.m. At the same time, Franco barged into my house with the three of them and took us all down. It was all over by fucking midnight.

The house fire. Our deaths.

I swallow hard, the memories of lying on the cold ground of our home as it went up in smoke around me. The heat of the fire. The smoke clawing at my lungs as I gasped for air. That night, so much of my memory is in pieces. Broken and jagged. I don’t remember Jonathan pulling me out. I don’t remember going to a hospital for care. Not until I woke up with my life flashing before my eyes and a white ceiling staring back at me.

What really happened that I’m not remembering? Was everything distorted and fucked up?

I squeeze my eyes shut. Uncertainty snakes through my body.

“Spitfire,” he murmurs, placing timid fingers on my face and wiping away the rogue tears spilling down my cheeks.

I’m supposed to be badass and emotionless when it comes to cases. I’m supposed to know what I’m doing and have everything under control. Especially my emotions. I’m not supposed to let my marks into my bedroom. I’m not supposed to be so fucking stupid.

But here we are.

I’m the worst agent in the damn world.

“Please, don’t cry. You know what it does to me,” he murmurs, wiping away more tears with his thumbs and holding onto me tightly. “Waffles,” he groans as a wet tongue runs over my lips, and I flinch back with a laugh erupting from my throat, taking away the tears.

“Yuck. Waffles,” I groan, rubbing at my face with a heavy sigh.

“He wanted you to feel better, didn’t you, boy?” JJ murmurs, ruffling Waffles’s fur with a sad smile. “Are you…”

“I’m fine,” I quickly say.

“I know you’re lying,” JJ says softly without heat. “You’re not fine. I’m not fine. No one is fine.”

He’s right. I’m not fine. I’m never fine. I haven’t been for five years. Pretending has become my way of life. A way to protect myself from the trauma of the past. If you shove everything down into a black box in the back of your mind and seal it shut, you never have to deal with the bullshit from the past.

“Maybe you’re right,” I mutter, shivering when a loud boom shakes the building again. “When will this end?” I ask, gesturing toward the window, getting pelted with more and more rain. More lightning flashes in the sky, streaking for what seems like miles. The trees blow in the heavy wind, and the clouds angrily boom with more thunder.

“Do… Do you want me to stay?” JJ whispers, looking toward the storm with his brows furrowed. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows hard, returning his golden-brown eyes to me. “I can lie on the floor. Like I used to.” He offers me a soft smile.

“You didn’t sleep on the floor before,” I snort, recalling the times he’d sneak in through my window after breaking the bars and lying beside me as a storm drifted through. Or we’d meet at the treehouse and snuggle together for protection against the storms.

“No,” JJ chuckles softly, running a hand down his face. “I slept beside you. I held you…”

“We counted together,” I murmur with a heavy heart at the memories from our times together.

There were so many good ones to outweigh the bad.

“We did,” he says, petting Waffles until he curls in a ball on the side of the bed. “It was good, right? What we had?” he asks with a hint of vulnerability.

“Yes,” I reply without thinking. “It was more than good,” I whisper softly, barely getting the words out when the realization hits me.

It was good. More than good. It was my sanity. They were the light at the end of the tunnel. The boys who brought me back from the brink of everything. They poured life into me as I slowly fell apart, the second my father was relocated here. Even as a little girl, my father was chaotic with the intent to fuck everything up around him. My uncles thought moving him here to spy on Franco was the best idea they’d ever had.

But they sent us to our deaths.