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“Fuck!” he snaps. He storms into his room and slams the door in my face.
“I’m not a liar,” Jade cries against my shoulder.
“I know you’re not a liar, Mi Cielo.”
I walk us to my room, but when I try to drop her on the bed, she tightens her legs around my waist and shakes her head.
“Okay.” I lie down on my back with her on my stomach.
Undoing her ponytail, I let her wild strands fall around her shoulders. I slip my hand through the silk and rub her neck.
“I’m not a liar,” she repeats, and I can’t help but wonder what the hell Elliot did to break her this way.
“You’re not a liar,” I assure her for the second time. When she doesn’t stop shaking, I add, “You’re a fighter. You’re an amazing racer. The bravest woman I know. You’re not a liar. You’re mypedacito de cielo.”
My little piece of heaven. That’s what Jade is.
That seems to calm her. She nods against my neck, and I hold her tighter.
I know what the consequences will be tomorrow morning. But for now, I’ll hold her close to me if that’s what she wants.
Jade falls into a deep sleep around ten, after hours of her holding on to me like I’m her lifeline. All I did was run my hand through her hair and told her that she wasn’t a liar on repeat.
I want to understand what happened. So around midnight, I shift from under her, move her onto the bed, and cover her with the duvet.
She won’t wake up now. Once Jade is asleep, absolutely nothing can get her out of it.
I close my bedroom door behind me and take my time going to the kitchen. I don’t doubt Elliot is finding it impossible to sleep. He’s probably scheming how to get her back. How to fix his mistakes and mind twist her so she forgets what he did, the way he hurt her.
He’s standing by the window that looks out onto our small backyard, a cup of coffee in his hand like a 60s housewife.
I can see the wheels turning in his psychopathic mind. Bolts twist into place, screws drive deeper to find the exact thing he can use against her.
Elliot Pearson, master manipulator. The man who destroys everything in his way with the sheer power of his mind, and if it doesn’t work, he snaps.
“Just ask already.” His voice hits the window in front of him and reverberates back to me.
It’s calm, but it won’t last long because the situation is out of his control. His jealousy is palpable.
But since the problem that needs to be solved is to my advantage, I go first.
“What did you do?”
He takes a sip of coffee, at fucking midnight, swallowing slowly, his eyes on the backyard when he answers.
“I got jealous.”
I take a step forward. “About?”
“Sawyer.”
Another slow step. “And?”
“She told me the truth.”
Things start to fall into place as I take another step. Now close to his back. “And?”
He sighs, unintentionally blowing on the steaming cup of coffee. “And I called her a liar.”
