Chapter 62

The journey feels endless, and the driver does not attempt conversation. Luckily, Jake always insists I carry cash for emergencies, and his generosity means it’s more than I realized was even in my purse. It warms me a little knowing he put it there should I ever be caught somewhere desperate for assistance, that I had money to use. It makes me feel even more wretched for hurting him this way, for letting him think I would do that. I’m an idiot. I know this and try his phone for the hundredth time, but it’s still off. Tears pour down my cheeks, and my heart aches. I have so much to make up for.

Mathews lets me into the apartment with a warm smile and a look of concern, yet he knows his place and doesn’t ask. I know Jake hasn't been here as soon as I walk in. I can tell from the emptiness and the fact his case is sat by the kitchen counter that only his things were dropped off, and he’s never set foot back in here.

I drag both cases to the bedroom and get ready for bed, pulling on one of his T-shirts for comfort. It’s late. Jake probably won’t be home for hours if he refuses to turn his phone back on, and, well, he assumes I’m doing God knows what with someone else. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never comes home at all. I want to find him, but I don’t know how, and all I can do until he reads my messages is wait.

I pick up my phone for one last attempt and stifle a sob as it hits voicemail immediately. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing. I want him home with me so badly. I would agree to anything right now—eloping, mansions on the moon, and a lifetime of only saying yes to his every whim.

I leave one pathetic message on his machine, “Jake, please come home. I need you,” muffled through sobs, sniffs, and heartbreak.

I finally curl onto his side of the bed, crying my heart out until I drift into a hazy, tortured sleep, dreaming of Jake consumed by rage and ripping apart men trying to lay hands on me.

***

I’m torn awake by the noise in the apartment and jump in fright; I realize the darkness around me is now more of a soft gray, and it’s almost sunrise.

It has to be Jake.

I jump out of bed and run through to the living room, my pulse beating crazily in my throat and slamming to a halt as our eyes meet across the quiet, spacious room. My heart is elated at his appearance, ~finally~, and it almost jumps out of my chest. He looks devastating, and I want to run into his arms.

“Where have you been?” I cry, stilling the urge to run at him when he moves through to where I’m standing. He stares at me with emptiness, tired, disheveled, his eyes dark and ravaged. His look makes me nervous; it could not be more un-Jake if he tried, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near as drunk as he was.

I’m desperate to try to convince him that nothing happened last night and that I’ve been frantic by his absence. He sighs and takes in my appearance with the most gut-wrenching look of despair I’ve ever seen. He swallows hard. Something in his manner starts sending off a million warning bells; the atmosphere he’s creating dispatches a cold surge down my spine, a weird distance between us.

Has he really ended things with me?

“Emma, sit down…we need to talk.” His voice is hoarse; he can’t seem to look me in the eye, and his manner is making me feel queasy. He loosely catches my wrist, flinching at our contact, and pulls me toward the couch to one side. I don’t fight, my body on high alert and screaming that something is majorly off. I’m terrified of hearing the words that will rip my soul from my body.

Nerves still the words on my lips. Something feels wrong, despite our fight, despite yesterday’s events, something has changed in him. Panic rises inside of me as he sits me on the couch carefully, sliding down next to me, close. Close enough to reach around me and hold me tight, but he doesn’t; he sits, our legs touching, maneuvering me into the corner, so I’m caged in by him, still unable to look at me. I can feel the tension from his body, my nerves choking me.

This isn’t Jake, not my controlled and overly confident Carrero.

This version of him is making me feel sick with nerves.

“What is it?” I breathe, my hands beginning to tremble, aching to reach for him, but his entire body language keeps me at bay. I can feel his distance pounding out at me.

Does he think I betrayed him? Does he really want us to be over?

“Emma…I want you to know how much I love you…I mean, really love you. There’s no one else in this world for me. I need you.”

He gets up and paces around for a moment, making me feel sick with worry but relieved that this isn’t a breakup speech. He comes back to his previous position and swallows hard. “Last night, when I thought you’d done something, after the talk about not wanting to marry me and pretty much breaking up…it fucked me up in the head.”

His eyes are focused on my hands, and I can see they are filled with unshed tears; he can’t look at me. “None of this changes how I feel about you… I need you to know that I still love you as much as I did. I still want the same things with you, and I acted like a complete fucking idiot at the airport. I believed you when you texted me that nothing happened. I wish I had had the sense to realize it last night, but I was so drunk and jealous, and I wasn’t rational… Bambina, I was so goddamn distraught.”

He lifts my hands to his mouth, rubs my knuckles against his face, his stubble scratching at me achingly, and kisses them lightly. I hold my breath. He closes his eyes for a moment, savoring my touch and my smell as though they are to be his last. My inner trembles begin to shake my whole body, my breath is held.

“I did something really stupid, dolcezza…” His words instantly send a heavy dread inside me, pulsing through every limb, an ache in my chest so strong I think my heart will give out. I can’t do anything except sit like stone, eyes wide and frozen, and wait. Wait for whatever it is he needs to tell me with a growing trepidation that this could change everything.

“What?” It’s so strained I don’t recognize my voice, the question impulsive from the agony of what’s coming out of his mouth. I’m paralyzed with fear, knowing only this man has the power to truly destroy me.

“I was beyond drunk, Emma…seriously fucked-up…upset…not thinking straight.” He tightens his hold on me as though the words are painful, and he’s scared I’ll run. I’m terrified, my mind racing at a hundred miles an hour with growing dread.

What has he done? Why is he being this way?

“Tell me,” I beg, desperate to end this torture, tears already finding a path down my cheeks as if some part of me already knows what’s happened and is mourning in advance.

“I kissed someone.” The shame of those uttered words makes him drop his head in disgust. My hands shoot out of his, scalded in reaction, my body darting back as though he’s hit me with an electric bolt. My heart sears with pain, and a blinding ache shoots through my head. I gasp and try to catch my breath, but only a sob comes out.

He looks up, panicked, yet stays still; he’s prepared himself for my reaction. This is why he sat so close, so I’m hemmed in even if I try to pull away. I can’t run without pushing him away, and he knows I lack physical strength. He thought about this first.

God knows how long he’s played this over and over in his head in the last few hours.

“What?” I cry in shock when I finally find the words. “What do you mean?” I can’t comprehend this. I’m bleeding from every pore. I don’t want it to be true, for those painful words to be coming from my Jake’s mouth, killing me.

My Jake, the one I trust, my security, my heart…my betrayer.

“Someone who was at the club. She wasn’t there with us, just someone we know. Just a coincidence she was even in town at all… I kissed her… I guess I wanted to lash out, so sure we were done.” His eyes come to mine, keeping his hands steady on his lap. He knows not to touch me. He can see I’m perched, ready to react, only held still by my shock. I cannot make any part of my brain function beyond the pain of what he’s said. The world is spinning around me.

My body goes before my mind, and I gag as though to vomit, grasping my mouth with both palms. Then I break down with the racking sounds of sobbing and the dissolving of my posture, the gut-wrenching pain of having someone rip your soul from within. His face crumbles, and he reaches for me, but I slap him away hard, shoving his chest in anger.

I don’t know what to do… what to think… what to say; the pain is unbearable, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

“Why? How could you, Jake? Who?” I can’t breathe, but my voice is screeching out. I can’t think straight; my heart is being shredded out through my stomach, and I’m lashing out in teen Emma mode. He tries to restrain me, but I battle him off until he stops, unable to let him touch me. I think I may fall down and pass out. I think I may die.

Oh, my God, this may actually kill me.

“I’m sorry. Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about what I was doing. I just wanted to lash out. I was drunk and stupid. I’m an idiot. I fucked up so badly… When I turned on my cell and got your messages, Emma… I died.” His cheeks are wet with moisture, his voice low and shameful, his expression reflecting the agony of what he’s telling me. I don’t doubt that he regrets it, but he’s killing me inside. This pain is so unbearable I can’t begin to think about what he’s done to us. It destroys everything. It takes all that we are and sets it alight, reducing it to nothing but ashes.

“Who?” I say again robotically. It’s the only detail I can focus on right now. I don’t know why it matters, but something inside me says it matters a lot… I need to know.

What if it’s Leila? I trust Leila. I love her as a sister, and she was supposed to be in France so that it would fit. The pain of both of them betraying me that way would end me. A final, fatal blow.

He hesitates and looks away, standing to tower over me, his hands shaking as violently as mine. He’s putting distance between us because he knows his next confession will be just as bad. I can tell. I can feel it. He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor between us. His distance makes me afraid; he thinks I will freak out and lash out again. He’s getting ready to move out of the firing line.

Oh, my God! He’s going to tell me it’s Leila. He will turn the knife and make it hurt more if that is even possible. He’s going to kill me with his words, and I’ll die right here on the couch.

“Who?” I press again firmly. My heart ceases to beat, my breath held, still sitting with my hands clasped so tightly my nails draw blood from my palms, body rigid awaiting the blow.

He takes a long slow deep breath, locking eyes with me; in them I see fear and regret and tears, the look of a man who has just lost everything and doesn’t know what else to do. I know that no matter what he tells me, the damage is already done, and this is just adding salt to the wound.

How can I ever trust him again?

He swallows as though preparing for the worst moment of his life and slowly breathes the name.

“Marissa.”

End of Book 2