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He looks at me, his eyes full of questions.
“I thought I did,” he says quietly. “But I’m starting to think I maybe didn’t know you as well as I thought I did.”
“No, you did,” I say, smiling. “There’s not really a lot to know. But you know me well enough to know I’d never do that to you. It was…”
I hesitate. There’s really no way to tell him this without landing Mum in it.
“It was your mom, wasn’t it?” Jett beats me to the punch. “Shit. I can’t believe I didn’t realize. She was still there with him — Alan, or whichever one of them it was — when we left, wasn’t she?”??I nod slowly.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I should have realized she might do something like this. I don’t think she meant for it to get back to the journalist — she says she didn’t, anyway. But she just doesn’t think sometimes. Well, a lot of the time, really.”
“Maybe not. But she does love you.”
Jett’s still holding my hand. I can’t decide whether I preferred hitting myself on the head or twisting my ankle. Because, let’s face it, they’ve both worked out pretty well for me, really.
“She pushed me out of the way of the pylon,” I admit, thinking of the way Mum came barreling at me on the hillside earlier. “She’s not all bad.”
“Not many people are,” says Jett. “Not even you, Lady M.”
We sit there, our fingers still entwined. The candles flicker gently, casting shadows over the walls. It’s kind of cosy, actually. Less ‘Victorian deathbed scene’ and more ‘romantic cabin in the woods.’
If I’d known this would happen, I’d have knocked myself out on that tree sooner.
“I don’t hate you, Lexie. Not even when I thought you might have talked to Alan about me. I still didn’t hate you. I wish I did, actually. It would be easier if I did. But I can’t make myself hate you, no matter how hard I try.”
Jett’s voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking what he said.
“How hard have you been trying?” I whisper, inching closer until our faces are almost touching. I know I’m on dangerous ground here. I know I’m not being ‘good,’ like I keep on promising myself.
“Not nearly hard enough,” says Jett softly, cupping my face in his hands. His lips touch mine. We just need some fireworks to go off outside and this would be perfect.
Fuck it.
I lean forward and kiss him back.
I always thought being good was over-rated, anyway.
Twenty-Three
The kiss might have started slow, but it doesn’t stay that way for long.
Within seconds, my arms are around Jett’s neck, and his hands are in my hair. I slide forward until I’m sitting in his lap, and his arms come round my waist, holding me tightly as we kiss.
My sore head is forgotten. My shitty, messed-up life is forgotten.Everythingis forgotten: everything except me and Jett, and how important it is that we keep on kissing, because it kind of feels like my life might depend on it. And his too, judging by the way he’s kissing me as if he’s been waiting his entire life to do it.
And then, all of a sudden, he’s not.
“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly, pushing me off him, and nearly knocking me over in his haste to stand up. “I’m sorry; this is a mistake.”
Then he gets up, and he leaves.
He actuallyleaves.
Just like that.
It’s such a shocking change of pace that I just sit there for a moment, trying to catch my breath, and wondering what the hell happened.
Did I imagine it?
