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She killed herself.
He rinses the shampoo out of his hair and then looks down at me. “Shocked into silence?” he asks sarcastically. “Or just too horrified to speak.”
I raise my eyebrows and casually take the shampoo to wash my own hair.
I am shocked into silence and too horrified to speak.
Why didn’t Janine our cook tell me this? “Who knows about this?” I ask.
“My parents.”
“Who else?”
“Sebastian and Spencer. Nobody else. I’ve never told another woman before.”
I stare up at him, and I don’t know whether to be flattered or mortified that I’m the first one he told. What do I even say to this?
I narrow my eyes. “You’ve carried this secret around for five years?”
He nods, and the water runs over his face. His haunted eyes hold mine, like he’s expecting me to run. He really is broken. It’s as clear as day now.
I knew it. I knew something was hurting him. I picked it up weeks ago.
I cup his face in my hand. “Jules,” I whisper.
He drops his head and I reach up and kiss his lips tenderly. At this moment, he needs me. He needs my acceptance, and for whatever reason that is, I'm going to give it to him.
“It’s okay, baby,” I reassure him.
He drops his head to my shoulder and I hold him tight.
His arms are around me and I can just feel the sadness seeping out of him.
This is the first time he has let me see him completely vulnerable this way.
And he is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s over now.”
His eyes are glazed, and he crashes his arms around me, burying his face deep in the curve of my neck.
How does it feel to finally tell someone a secret like that after you’ve kept it inside for so long?
We stand for a long time with our arms around each other, and I know for certain that I should be doing some psychobabble talk about suicide or something right now, but I have no idea where to even start.
I choose to remain silent instead.
He will tell me when he is ready, and I’ll wait for as long as it takes.
“You do know that I’m probably going to throw up all day,” I whisper.
I feel him smile against my neck. “Serves you right.”
I giggle against his shoulder. “I just wanted to have some spontaneous fun with you.” Everything is so planned with us and Emerson’s words about his inability to be spontaneous must have spurred me on.
He leans back, regaining his composure. He begins to wash my hair under the water, deep in thought.
“Mission accomplished.” He smirks. “I don’t even know where my car is. Is that spontaneous enough for you?”
