Chapter 13
“Jackie,” I say the moment she answers.
I know her well. I knew she’d obey me—but I wasn’t expecting her silence after I said her name. Unlike the last time I called her to talk about finding her missing friend two years ago, or when we saw each other nearly two months ago, she doesn’t take the lead. She gifts me with a gaping silence.
I was counting on her softness. I’ll need it for what I have in mind, but maybe my unintentional and prolonged absence hurt her.
In the past, Jackie always seemed eager for anything I wanted to offer her.
She takes a while longer to speak, and when she finally does, her voice carries no emotion.
“Lucifer, is there a reason you’re calling me?”
The question pisses me off. She has no way of knowing I’ve been in a coma, but believing my absence was deliberate shows she gives very little credit to the depth of my obsession with her.
Even when I wasn’t showing myself while following her, Jackie would sometimes speak to the darkness.
To me.
There’s always been something between us.
I talked to Seymour, the man Beau assigned to watch her, and he assured me she never once addressed him in the dark. That’s because she knew it wasn’t me out there. We’ve always been able to feel each other.
I clear my mind of everything except the mission I’m about to begin—something vital to her.
“We need to talk.”
“What?”
Her surprised tone is almost offensive.
“You heard me.”
“I did, and I still don’t understand. Actually, it’s more than that. I disagree that we have anything to discuss.”
My patience runs out.
“Did I make it sound like an invitation? Because it wasn’t. I’m telling you—we’re going to talk.”
“Can you hold on a second, please?”
“Why?”
“I need to sit down.”
Jackie
I walk through the dark living room and collapse onto the first chair I find.
Hearing Lucifer’s voice when I thought I’d never see or hear from him again is more than I can handle.
I always had this feeling that one day he would just disappear from my life without warning. When a month went by and I realized he wasn’t coming after me anymore, wasn’t following me in the shadows, I figured that was his goodbye—that he regretted what happened in my house that night.
I’d like to say the alcohol wiped my memory of us.
Unfortunately, I remember everything. The good parts and the bad.
From the moment he carried me home, the Earth-shattering orgasm, to me fainting at his feet in that humiliating mix of satisfaction and intoxication.
I also know that for a while, he watched me sleep. And how do I know that? Because even drunk, I’d open my eyes now and then just to check that he was still there.
The next morning, I woke up with an emptiness so deep I wanted to cry. For most of my life—ever since I realized I was in love with him—I thought the only reason he didn’t see me as a woman was because he never let himself get close enough. That night proved me wrong.
The problem isn’t whether Lucifer sees me. He just doesn’t want me.
I spent the rest of the weekend in bed, too drained to get up until it was time to go to work. Other than showering, peeing, and eating, I was shut down completely.
I spent a long time thinking about all these years walking this lonely road, realizing how pathetic I’ve been. At twenty-six—until just last month—I’d been holding on to a delusion, pretending to enjoy life while secretly hoping I’d get my happily-ever-after with my dark, gorgeous prince.
It took me forever to understand, but finally—like someone ripped a blindfold from my eyes—I saw the truth: Lucifer has never seen me and never will as anything but a sister.
A responsibility?
Yeah. Maybe that’s what I am to him in the end. He feels obligated to keep me breathing because of his friendship with Martin.
As I take a few deep breaths, I bite the inside of my cheek to stay in control. I didn’t let myself break down over the past month, but only now—hearing the voice of one of the most important people in my life—do I realize how much I missed him.
Because no matter how many times I tell myself I shouldn’t, I’ll always love him, even if I’ve finally given up playing the lovesick fool.
“Can you repeat that part about us needing to talk, only this time, more calmly?”
“Are you okay?” he asks, sounding worried, and I actually start to wonder if I’m dreaming.
This isn’t the Lucifer I know.
Back when we spent time together—when I was a child, and later a teenager—he was incapable of getting close to anything resembling feelings or emotion. Even his kind of care was cold and hardened.
“I’m fine. Even though I still don’t understand what you could possibly want to talk to me about. I thought I’d already thanked you for saving Taylor.”
“This isn’t about her. It’s about us.”
“There’s an us?”
“Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Food,” he says calmly, like he’s explaining it to a child—which only pisses me off more.
“I understood. I just don’t know how to respond to that.”
“Yes or no, Jackie.”
“You haven’t spoken to me or looked for me since you left my house, the only time we’d seen each other in years.
And before that night, when you went searching for my friend and brought her back, the only time you made contact was by phone.
Honestly, even when I lost my family, you only got close enough for me to know you were there—at Mom’s funeral, and then Martin’s.
Now you invite me to dinner and expect me not to be shocked? ”
“You’re right. And still, I want you to come.”
I want to tell him to go to hell for making me wait for him all this time, even though I know Lucifer never actually gave me hope.
I want to tell him he doesn’t have the right to show up now that I’ve decided to move on.
But I can’t.
“I’ll come.”
He pauses, and I hold my breath, expecting him to take it back. But instead, he says:
“Someone will pick you up. Eight o’clock. Tomorrow.”