November 8, Saturday
single barrel bourbon aged in and bottled from one individual barrel
JETT CAUGHT me between tour stops, his hand on my elbow.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice low.
My pulse quickened. Had he already told Naomi? Was this the conversation where he admitted he couldn't keep my secret? I crossed my arms defensively.
"About what?"
"About Naomi helping you."
I blinked. "What?"
Jett leaned against the wall of a building, his expression earnest. "Hear me out. You need information about Boyd Biggs, right? His background, his history, anything that might confirm or deny the connection."
"That's what Octavia's working on—"
"But Naomi already has access." He spoke quickly, as if he'd been rehearsing this. "She interviewed the Biggs family for her article. She spent time with them, established rapport. They trust her."
I shook my head, panic rising in my chest. "No. Absolutely not."
"Just listen. What if Naomi went back to them? Said she needed more background material for her piece? She could ask about Boyd's past, where he traveled in the late nineties, what events he attended. All under the cover of research."
"You want me to tell a reporter that Boyd Biggs might be my father?"
"She'd be discreet—"
"She's a journalist, Jett. Her entire job is sharing information. Do you have any idea what would happen if this got out before I even know if it's true?"
"Naomi's not like that. She cares about people." His hand touched my shoulder gently. "She offered to help yesterday. She meant it."
I spun back to face him. "She's also dating you. Or whatever you two are doing. Which means she has a personal connection to you, and you have a personal connection to me. That's too messy."
"That's exactly why it could work." Jett's dark eyes searched mine. "She'd want to help because of our friendship. She wouldn't betray that."
Our friendship.
"I don't know her well enough to trust her with this." I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache building. "Yesterday you were the only person besides Octavia who knew. Now you want to expand that circle?"
"Sometimes you need more people in your corner." His voice softened. "Sometimes trying to handle everything alone makes it harder, not easier."
I thought about the past week—the isolation of carrying this knowledge, the exhaustion of avoiding Dylan, the constant fear of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.
Jett wasn't wrong that I was drowning. But throwing Naomi into the mix felt like inviting a wildcard into an already unstable situation.
"What if she tells her family?" I asked. "Or her friends?"
"She wouldn't."
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that Naomi's offer of help was genuine rather than the polite noise people make when they don't expect to be taken up on it. But the risk felt enormous.
"She has access you don't have," Jett pressed gently. "Access that even Octavia might not be able to get. The Biggs family already opened up to her once. They might do it again."
He was right. I hated that he was right, but he was. Naomi could potentially learn things in casual conversation that a detective would never uncover through formal channels. The question was whether I could trust her enough to take that risk.
"I'll think about it," I said finally.