Chapter 39
The Trust
Ian
When the clock is half past ten in the morning and I haven’t heard any sound from the music room, I leave my office to see what’s going on.
Jenna was supposed to start playing at nine.
I check the bedroom, bathroom, and music room.
No sign of her. I must say, I’m a little worried.
Killian and I pushed her hard last night.
Too hard. I’m almost sure I’ll find her curled up in some corner, crying and shaking, hiding and drawing in on herself.
My worry only grows when I go into the living room and still don’t find any signs of her.
Where the hell is she? The concern that she has run off starts building, and I mentally prepare to go out and search for her.
I have no idea where to look. She doesn’t have her own place, and she doesn’t have any close friends nearby—or at all.
Just to be sure, I go to the kitchen to check behind the island, and there she is. But the relief is small. Jenna is sitting very still, hugging her knees, staring off into space.
“Jenna, sweetheart, are you okay?” I approach her the same way I would a scared kitten.
“W-what?” She lifts her gaze, eyes swimming with dazed confusion. That’s when I notice the fresh black letters scrawled across her forehead.
Anger surges through me, and my voice comes out way too harsh. “What did he do?”
“I’m sorry,” she blurts, hugging her knees tighter, not hearing my words, only my tone.
I sink to the floor before her. “Sweetheart, you’ve done nothing wrong. Are you okay?”
“Um. Yeah.” She swallows. “I think so.”
I glance down and find an empty glass of orange juice and four empty chocolate wrappers beside her. Strange. It’s the ones that I keep in a jar at the back of the fridge for aftercare. Jenna wouldn’t go digging in hidden places like that, much less eat sweets without permission.
I lift a golden wrapper. “Did Killian give you these?”
Her cheeks heat with uncertainty, and her gaze drops. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to eat chocolate during the week.”
“Did Killian give it to you?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Jenna.” I cut off her spiraling nervousness and place my hand on her arm. “Jenna, it’s all good.”
I look down at the chocolate paper for a moment. I often remind Killian there’s chocolate in the jar at the back of the fridge for aftercare situations, but I don’t think he’s ever taken any. Until now.
I return my attention to Jenna when I feel her eyes glancing up and down. “It’s okay,” I say to put her uncertainty to rest. “You got permission.”
“But… It was Killian…”
“You’re his as well.” Something shifts inside me as I say those words. I’ve been telling myself we’d share on equal terms, but in reality, I’ve held tightly on to the reins. I don’t want to do that anymore.
I turn my attention to the bold black letters on her forehead. Ours. I’m not sure if the word is for me or for Jenna—a reminder or simply a statement. But it’s right. I thought what I wrote yesterday was perfect, but this is much better.
“Ours,” I mutter, lifting my finger to trace the letters.
“What?”
“Ours,” I repeat, dropping my hand to my thigh.
“He wrote that?” she asks, as surprised as me.
“He did. And that’s what you are. Ours.” Not just mine or his. Ours. I stroke her cheek for a moment before saying, “Are you ready to go practice? Or do you need a while longer? You can come lie on the couch in my office if you’d like.”
A shy smile spreads across her lips. “I think I’m ready to go play, but maybe later. If that’s okay?”
“Of course.” I love having Jenna in my office—just having her close. I help her off the floor and take her hand to guide her to the music room.
Just as we leave, I throw another glance at the letters across her forehead, then down at the empty glass of orange juice and the chocolate wrappers.
I have no idea what Killian just did to her, but it’s not what I expected.
Something’s happening. A change I’ve long been hoping for.
First, the instinctive protectiveness when Jenna panicked on the new piano bench, and now this. Small steps in the right direction.
***
When I ask Jenna about what happened in the kitchen later in the day, she gets embarrassed and starts drawing in on herself, so I end up dropping it.
It’s tempting to demand that she tell me, but she’s sensitive today, and I don’t want to risk triggering a drop by demanding information she’s not comfortable sharing, so if I’m going to find out, it will be from Killian.
I’m more than a little eager to know what happened—both with the letters and the apparent aftercare.
Not only am I curious, but I’m also driven by an urge to control this situation we’re in to quell that feeling that everything’s skidding out of control.
But over the course of the day, I realize my need for control is not a good reason to prod.
Not if I truly want Jenna to be ours. And that’s what I want.
It becomes more and more clear to me whenever I watch the bold letters on her forehead throughout the day—refusing to let her wash them off—and remember receiving her in the entryway last night, prettily wrapped, a present from my son, then fucking her in the same hole he just did.
If I want this to work, I need to loosen the reins and start trusting Killian. Lately, he’s been giving me more reasons to do just that.
He might have broken my rule about not touching her outside of playtime, but I decide to let it go. Because he did the very thing that made me establish that rule in the first place. He made sure Jenna was okay once he was done with her.
So instead of confronting him early in the evening when he’s home, I go upstairs to propose a new development. I find Killian on his bed, deeply engrossed in a book.
“I’d like all three of us to have dinner together,” I say.
“Sorry, I’m kinda deep in this.” He gestures to the book in his hand. “I’ll just come down and grab a plate later.”
Suppressing a sigh, I take a seat in his recliner. I wish he would join us for dinner sometimes. I miss just sitting down over a meal and talking about our days and discussing music with my son.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
“Just this book about chess moves.”
“Chess? I didn’t know you were into that.”
He shrugs. “It’s just something to pass the time.”
“You know, your granddad was a skilled chess player. He always said he wished I’d gone for chess instead of the piano.”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah, I remember.”
My father wasn’t an attentive parent, but he made me forgive many things with the way he handled Killian. “He would have loved to play a game with you. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be a worthy opponent.”
“It’s okay. I play online.”
For the first time in my life, I wish I had taken the time to learn chess.
Killian and I have been slowly drifting apart over the last few years.
And it’s not just me. He keeps drawing further into himself, away from everyone.
Since he started studying at the Royal Academy four years ago, he doesn’t need me to teach him anymore.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons I badly want this sharing dynamic to work out—to recover the connection we once had.
I push the thought away, not wanting to linger on the psychology of our depravities. “You should find someone to play with. A chess club or something. There must be something in the city.”
Casting me an exasperated look, he holds the book up. “Do you mind?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll get to the point. The dinner.
I’m not just talking a casual meal.” I know Killian doesn’t want that.
He’s afraid of getting too attached to Jenna if he gets to know her as a real person and not just a toy.
But I see the way he watches her. He’s already attached.
Of course, I don’t tell him that. “I’d like to make a scene out of it.
” I hold out my hand in an offering gesture. “That is, if you’d like to join.”
A careful light comes alive in his expression, revealing the enthusiasm he hides in his nonchalant reply. “Sure, we can do that.”
“I’d like to give Jenna a couple of days to recuperate, so the day after tomorrow. Will that work for you?”
“Sure.”
I push up from the chair. “Let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d like to do. I have a few ideas, but let’s talk tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
About to leave, I pause when Killian says, “Aren’t you going to give me shit for writing on her forehead?”
I give a slow shake of my head. “You’re right. She’s ours. Not just mine. She’s yours to use as well.” I tap my fingers on the back of his office chair. “I expect that you can handle the responsibility that comes with it.”
He stares off to the side, then says with earnest confidence, “I can.” Hurriedly, he adds, “I mean, I’m not going to start doing all that aftercare shit, but I can tell when I’m pushing her too far and things like that. You know…”
A small smile twitches on my lips. “I know.” We share a silent moment of mutual understanding before I turn again and leave the room. Just as I’m about to close the door, another thought pops up, making me pause. “Thanks for the present last night. I enjoyed it very much.”
A wide, proud smile breaks free over his face. “I knew you would.”