The simple task of unlocking the screen on her phone proved to be a challenge with her shaky hands. What had she done?
“Way to not answer your fucking phone! What the hell were you thinking?” Jackson was livid about her leaving and flying, of all places, to the West Coast.
Tears mounted in her eyes as she thought about the consequences of what she had yet to tell him.
“Jackson?” Her voice shook as much as her hands.
“What’s wrong? Are you crying? What happened? Did he hurt you? I swear I’ll end his fucking life if he—”
“St-stop! It was m-me.” She walked into the bathroom and turned on the exhaust fan to drown out her voice.
“Just calm down … tell me what happened. Did you see someone? Did someone recognize you? Dammit! Knox is going to kill you for being so reckless.”
“No … that’s not it.” She took a deep breath. “It’s Lilith.”
“Dodge’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“Did something happen to her?”
“She’s not deaf, Jackson. She can hear.”
“I’m not following.”
“She knows … she knows about me … about us.”
“What do you mean she knows? How the hell could she know?”
Jillian sat on the toilet seat and batted away her tears. “I told her.”
“You told her? How? Why? I-I don’t understand.”
“I needed to tell someone … someone who wouldn’t tell anyone else and who would just let me talk without judgement. She never said anything, never acted like she could hear me.” Her words weren’t entirely true. Looking back there were many clues that Lilith could hear, but Jillian was too blinded by her selfish needs to see it or even question it.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“What? No! Don’t you dare do anything until I get home.”
“Jillian, we don’t have the luxury of time right now. It could already be too late. God knows who she’s told. I need to end this and let Knox know there’s been a breach.”
Uncontrollable panic set in. Jillian jumped up. “No! No! No!” Taking care of things, meant eliminating the source. “You lay one fucking hand on her and I swear I’ll—”
“What? Kill me? Really, Jill? You’re going with that one?”
Jillian clenched and pulled at her hair. “She’s not a threat. Don’t do this. Wait for me or I swear I’ll never forgive you.”
Silence filled the line, suffocating Jillian in that tight little space waiting for Jackson to respond.
“Are you willing to bet your life on the chance that she’s not told anyone?”
Jillian leaned against the door and closed her eyes. She played back all the sympathetic looks, kind smiles, and soft hand squeezes that Lilith had given her. She thought of how excited Lilith always was to see her.
“Yes.”
“Fine. But if you’re wrong—”
“I’m not, Jackson. I just … I just know.”
“You have to get your shit together. If you’re fine, then be fucking fine, but if you’re not then we have to get you help because I don’t want to live this way.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“We can put bullets in our heads tomorrow if that’s what you want, but don’t self-destruct on me. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
“I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Jill?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I know. I love you too. Bye.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Stunning. It was the only word to describe Brooke. Jillian by no means was vain, but she considered herself to have some attractive traits … until Brooke. She was Jillian’s opposite in every way which left Jillian wondering what the opposite of stunning was.
Brooke was a Victoria’s Secret runway model, at least in Jillian’s eyes. She had to be older than Jillian for Cage to be her son, but the angel didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Three kids … she’d given birth to three children. It didn’t seem possible.
“So how did you two meet?” Brooke asked Jillian as the women sliced up pie and scooped ice cream into bowls while the men and the twins waited on the deck.
“I’m his neighbor.”
“I’ll start taking these out,” Char said as she grabbed several bowls and headed outside.
Brooke poked at the ice cream with the scoop, wearing a look of contemplation on her face. “I know it’s no longer my business, but you seem like a nice person so I have to ask if you’re aware that he’s …” She looked up at Jillian.
“He’s?”
“Not right.”
Jillian nodded once. “I assume you’re referring to the PTSD?”
“Yes. Has he talked about it with you?”
“A little.”
“Well, I’m not trying to cause any friction. All I want is for him to be … fine, but I just couldn’t bear to see you get hurt and wish I would have said something.”
Leaning against the counter, Jillian took a bite of the warm pie. Brooke wanted him to be fine, not happy. Her pain and anger were clearly still raw. “I’m stronger than I look.”
Brooke smiled, but it had a condescending feel to it. “Just be careful. He can turn on a dime.”