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“It was no problem, really. Although— ”
Jack’s next words stop me cold.
“—I do wish you’d let me return the money.”
42
IFEEL SICK.
Weak.
The last time I felt this winded, it was after I got tackled by that behemoth Ruth Caskill during a game of field hockey junior year of high school. Only this isn’t a game. This is the implosion, the ultimate betrayal, of two relationships that meant the world to me.
My father paid Jack to “look out for me.”
He fuckingpaidhim.
Actual money.
“That’s totally unnecessary, kid. I’m the one who reached out to you in the first place. You don’t need to return a cent— ”
I burst into Jack’s room, shoving the open door with such force it slams against the wall with a deafeningbang.
Both men jerk in shock.
“Abbs?” Dad looks at me in confusion.
But Jack…Jack knows I heard every word. His face pales the moment he sees mine, broad shoulders dropping.
I stare at them both, my breathing so shallow I start to feel light-headed.
Somehow, I muster a semicalm tone and not a shriek of outrage. “What money is he talking about, Dad?”
My father briefly closes his eyes.
“What the hell is going on?” I push. “You two know each other?”
When Dad’s eyelids flick open, I glimpse the unmistakable hue of guilt.
“Not quite,” he answers in a strained voice. “I didn’t know Jack here was a man.”
“But you had contact with him before I left for London?”
“Not before.” There’s a pause. “I emailed him the day after you left.”
My bottom lip starts trembling. I’m so angry I’m about to cry. I suck in a breath, my gaze shifting between them. They exchange a quick, frantic look as if waiting for the other to jump in with an explanation for me, but neither of them speak.
I release the breath, my entire body quavering. “One of you’d better fucking start talking.”
“Language,” Dad chides.
“No. Fuck that.” Another bolt of fury sizzles up my throat and clamps around so tight, my next words exit in a strangled growl. “You’ve both been lying to me for months?”
Jack finally speaks. “That’s not how it was.” He scrubs a hand over his forehead, gaze averted. “I got an email from your dad on your second day here.”
“Just an introduction,” Dad takes over, hurrying to explain.
“Where did you even get Jack’s email?” I ask suspiciously.
