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“Yes, Holden!” she laughs out. “Oh my god,yes!”
I’m so quick to get up, to hug her around the waist, lift her off her feet, and spin her around. And I make a promise to myself that no matter what happens between us, I’ll never again forget the sound I’m currently soaking in—the sound of her laughter.
46
Holden
After Jamie and I “celebrated” our engagement, we lay in bed together, and we talked. I felt like I still had to convince her that the proposal had nothing to do with the possibility of losing her, and she promised she believed me. She also told me what happenedafter.
When she finally came to the realization of precisely what Beaker had done to himself, she called 911. Law enforcement and emergency services arrived, and she told them everything. Unlike our attack, she remembered it all. A little too much of it, if you ask me. They didn’t question her long, and soon enough, she was free to go. She said she doesn’t even remember how she got back to Esme’s, just that she was in the pool house, and this… thisragecame over her. She was angry at everyone and everything, but most of all, she was angry at herself. She blamed herself for all of it, starting with Beaker’s addiction. In her mind, that was the catalyst that set off a series of events that would later determine the rest of her life.
It started with her throwing her winning art piece into the glass coffee table, and well… I saw how it finished. Esme, though—she saw it as it was happening. I guess she called Zeke, and he came right away and restrained Jamie long enough to calm her down and just…breathe.
Jamie told Zeke everything that had happened and admitted that she felt like she had lost me without me even knowing, because how… how could she be with me after learning how my mom saw her… how my mom felt about her… and feeling as though my mother wasright.
Sure, Jamie wasn’t an addict, but Beaker was a dealer. So it wouldn’t have been hard for him to find someone willing to get to her. To hurt her. Just so he could find her mother—the woman he was still in love with.
Jamie felt like she had no other choice but to leave. And now, knowing all this, I can’t fucking blame her. Apparently, neither could Zeke because he took Jamie to the diner and into his office, where he opened up the safe and pulled out a duffle bag full of cash—cash that her mom had stolen from Beaker when they left. Zeke told Jamie that Dahlia—her mother—had brought it to him a year or so before she died. Dahlia trusted Zeke enough not only to leave him the money but to know when the time was right to give it to Jamie.
That time had come.
She left Zeke’s office that day, bought a used car, and took off on a journey that would set her on a downward spiral. Then, a year later, after going to Boston and finding that I had moved on and that I was—what she assumed—happy, she used more of that money to buy the RV.
And that cash that Dahlia had stolen? It’s the money our attackers were demanding from Jamie that night.
I don’t think anyone really knows if Beaker was looking for Jamie because he wanted to reunite with her mom or if it was to get the money back. Either way, it doesn’t matter.
Because finally,finally, it all made sense now.
After the attack, I’d occasionally bring up Beaker as somehow being involved, but Jamie was always adamant it couldn’t have been him. There was no way he’d be able to find her. She left absolutely no footprint as to where she could be, and not only that, but if he could find her at her work, then he could easily come to her home. Why do it there?
I had no idea she’d blocked out the most pivotal parts: them using her name and asking where the money was. So, I pinned it down to her being in denial and eventually stopped pushing the issue.
And I get it now. In Jamie’s mind, it was a mystery, and it made sense that sometimes it seemed like she was still there, trying to connect all the pieces of the puzzle. In a way, evenafterBeaker completed suicide in front of her, I think shestillquestioned his responsibility. It wasn’t until she got the call from the cops saying they’d found her license in Beaker’s house that she finally succumbed to the truth of it all.
I also understand what that must feel like for her—being stuck in the past. Because as hard as I’ve tried not to let it show, I find myself recalling every word she spoke only hours ago. Having to witness her break down the way she did, having to see her suffer and relive it all—I feel like I’m drowning in her emotions, her pain, and I can’t fucking come up for air.
And the worst part of all of this? Jamie’s been the one to discover three dead people in her short twenty-three years of life. That’s three more than anyone should have to.
No wonder the girl needs fucking therapy.
Jamie stirs in my arms as my phone vibrates on the bedside table for the umpteenth time. She’s been asleep for a while now, her fatigue finally getting the best of her. Me, though? I’m too worked up to quiet the thoughts in my head.
“Baby,” I whisper, trying to carefully remove her limbs from around me without waking her.
Eyes closed, she answers, “Mm?”
“I have to do something at work, but I’ll be quick.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I press a kiss to her forehead before sliding out of bed and stretching my limbs. It’s almost midday now, and I’ve had a total of zero minutes of sleep. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck—a truck full of every single emotion possible.
After getting dressed, I slip out of the house and get behind the wheel of Mia’s truck. For the first time since last night, I check my phone. There are a total of thirteen missed calls between my mom and Mia, and right now, I don’t know which of them should be more afraid.
All eyes go to me when I open the door to Mia’s house, and at first glance, it looks—and almostfeels—like any other day. Mia’s setting the table for lunch, and Mom’s at the kitchen counter. Her husband’s by the stove while Leo’s at the sink, washing dishes, his son standing right beside him.
Mom drops a knife on the chopping board before wiping her hands on a dishcloth. Eyes wide, she whispers my name and starts toward me. I take a step back, and she stops, a breath catching in her throat.
