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Even if the thought sends a strange pain through my chest, I want this for him. To have someone who cares in his life. Even if the thought of admitting my issues, the paths of my twisted mind, the reason I was caught in the scandal in the first place is laid out bare.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Jet grabs the bag, tries to wrestle it from me. “That’s not what I want, you doofus. Goddammit, some days, I swear…”
I blink. “Then what…?”
But Jet tugs harder on the bag, and it splits down the middle, spilling old papers between us. Jet swears, and I huff in annoyance—not because of this mess, but because Jet is obviously determined not to talk to me today. Or maybe ever.
“I thought,” I mutter as I kneel down in my dark slacks and polished shoes, not caring that I’m getting everything dirty, “that you’d trust me by now, fucker. Enough to tell me what’s on your mind. Enough to come to me if there is a problem. I’m not a mind reader. Hell, I’m thick when it comes to reading clues and hints and piecing it all together, and I’m the first to admit it. Trust me, goddammit. Let me help you.”
He closes his hands around the scraps of paper, scrunching them up. “You’re not listening. You can’t help. So drop it, okay?”
“Jet…”
He abruptly gets up and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Fuck.”
My stomach is a knot of worry. “Come on, Jet, let’s go home.”
“I trust you,” he whispers. “I do trust you, dammit.”
“Okay.” That’s good, but it does nothing to allay my concern. “Come on, then.”
He lets his hands drop to his sides. “What about Candy?”
“I’ll find a way. I’ll crawl and fucking beg if I have to. I promise.”
***
I leave Jet in bed, curled up on his side, an arm thrown over his face, and wander into the kitchen to pour myself some water.
At least I managed to get some painkillers down his throat. Of course he didn’t eat all day. He forgets to eat if I’m not around to remind him.
Or Candy. Apparently Candy also made him eat. She made him smile.
I breathe out, rub the back of my neck. She makes me smile, too. She makes me hard, and makes me happy. That feeling when I’m with her and Jet? Yeah, I figured it out in the end.
I feel accepted. At peace. In the right place in my life.
How can I find her? A search on her social media hasn’t given me any clues. I also found out we’re friends on Facebook—have been, for the past year. I don’t fucking remember how that happened.
One more question that needs to be answered.
It’s pretty warm inside the apartment, and I’m lounging around in my black briefs with a tension headache of my own.
How did I fuck this up so thoroughly before it really began?
Tomorrow. I’ll fix things tomorrow. Can’t think clearly right now. I think I’ll hit those painkillers myself and hope that come morning I’ll have an answer and a solution.
Before I make my way to the bathroom to find the pills, the doorbell rings. Knowing how light Jet’s sleep is, I curse under my breath as I run to get the door, my bare feet skidding on the floor. The bell rings again, and I groan.
I throw the door open, not even bothering to check through the peephole to see who it is.
“What do you want?” I snarl.
Candy is standing there, a flush splashed over her cheeks, her hair caught back in a ponytail, her wire-frame glasses in place. I can’t stop staring at her, my heart hammering.
She clears her throat. “Donna said Jet was sick, and she sent him home. Can I see him? Is he okay?”
Speechless, hope clawing through my chest, I open the door wider and step aside to let her in.
