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Jett stared at her, his face pleading. But she couldn’t think past the whirring in her head. Jett had…nearly killed someone?Killedthem?
The rational part of her mind told her there was more to the story. Even if she didn’t know this about him, she knew him well enough to know he’d never do anything without a good reason.
But there was that time at the shop when he yelled at Wes and was cold to her because he thought she’d been cheating on him. So she knew he had a temper.
No.
No.
She wouldn’t believe anything about him until she got the full story. But by the time she calmed down and looked around the room for him, he was already gone.
thirty-three
Abbie stared at her phone clutched in her hand, rereading the texts she’d sent Jett over the last few days. Tears burned her eyes at the lack of response from him. Where was he? Was he okay?
She’d never felt so alone. So lost.
After he’d left and she was aware enough of her surroundings again, she’d sunk back into her chair, Chris at her side. He’d wrapped his arm around her, making sure she was okay, but she wasn’t. She’d never be okay again, not if Jett wasn’t in her life.
But then she’d heard her mother’s shrill, condescending voice, and her sadness morphed into a fiery anger she’d never felt before. She’d been mad and upset with her mother, but this was different.
It was rage.
“I’m not surprised,” her mother had said as she took a sip of her wine. “A man like him? It shouldn’t be such a shock that he’s a criminal, darling.” Abbie had stared at her mother, her fingers turning white around the arms of her chair. “I’m sure he was…skilled,” she looked over Abbie, her lips pressing into a thin line, “but he had no money. He had nothing. He wasn’t someone you should’ve ever associated with.”
“How did you two meet, anyway?” her father interrupted. “I’m sure he’s not someone to frequent the museum, and I doubt he’s in college.” Both he and her mother laughed at that.
“He could be,” Abbie snapped. “He’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever met. And kinder. And—and—and?—”
“It’s okay,” Chris had soothed, running his hand down her back. It usually comforted her. It usually calmed her. But in that moment, it did nothing but infuriate her even more.
“He’s not dangerous!” she’d shouted, and her mother’s smile fell.
“Please, Abigail. You’re causing a scene.”
“He’dneverhurt me—and if he hurt anyone, it was for a good reason.” She was sure of that.
Her father’s brow quirked. “Is there ever a good reason for hurting someone?”
“Yes,” she ground out. Right then, for instance, would’ve been the best reason to stab someone in the neck with a fork.
A knocking pulled her from her thoughts and she blinked, the screen on her phone having gone dark again. She stared at her reflection in the glass and took a deep breath.
She didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to do anything other than cuddle close to Jett, soak up his warmth, inhale his scent. But after the dinner, she’d driven by his house to find it dark and empty. Then she went to the park, but he wasn’t there either.
She had no idea where he’d gone, and that was killing her more than anything. She just wanted to know he was safe.
More knocking sounded, and she swung her legs off the edge of her bed. Shuffling through the messy apartment, she made her way to the front door. Not bothering to look through the peep hole, she pulled the door open and stared up at her brother.
“What do you want?” she sighed, too tired to fight with him.
She was mad at him, too. The way he’d looked at Jett like he was a monster, the way he’d positioned himself between her and the love of her life…it wasn’t right. Chris should’ve trusted her and her judgment enough to know she’d never be with someone who could hurt her.
“I come bearing gifts.” He smiled tightly, lifting two brown paper bags up. Her eyes narrowed as she looked between them, then up at his face again. Then the smell hit her and her mouth watered.
“I’m only letting you in because you brought General Tso’s. Otherwise, the door would be in your face.” She glared at him to really emphasize her words.
“Trust me, I know,” he said dryly. “It’s getting cold. Can I come in?”
