Chapter 50
FIFTY
JONAH
- Present Day -
I freeze, bag of take-out and cold medicine in one hand, flowers clutched so tightly in my other fist that I’m pretty sure I just broke the stems.
Fucking Robinsky.
“What are you doing here?”
He freezes, fist raised to knock on the door once more. My fucking door. Lowering his hand, he shifts, quickly glancing over me and frowns when his eyes lock on what I’m holding.
“I need to talk to Sutton.”
“No, you really don’t. You need to leave.
She doesn’t want to see you.” I move to cross my arms over my chest, catching myself at the last minute when I remember my hands are full.
Instead, I take a step forward, face glowering at the jerk who just won’t give up.
“I thought her ignoring your messages would have made that abundantly clear.”
Okay, so I don’t know that she’s been ignoring his messages.
But I do know that he has repeatedly tried to reach her.
And I know my girl. He fucking hurt her.
Again. Closing my eyes, I force myself to breathe deeply.
Now’s not the time. No matter how much I would love to punch in his pretty-boy face.
My cock twitches, an errant thought straying back to just how pretty he is.
Dammit. Now’s not the fucking time. He’s a jerk.
Not only that, he’s the jerkoff that keeps crushing my girl every damn chance that he gets.
He’s lucky the shot I took to the back of his head in the last game was all that I did, after the stunt he pulled.
“Look, man. I know you and I don’t exactly get along, but Sutton and I have a past. That’s not something that you can change.
And I really think that – well, I hope –” he swallows, and my eyes can’t help but track the way his Adam’s apple bobs, a telltale sign of his nerves.
“I want there to be a future between us. I know I screwed up. More than once. But I really need to just talk to her. You can fight me on this all you want. You can take shot after shot at my head, and call me a goddamn asshole, fuck knows I deserve it , but I’m not leaving here until I get a chance to have a face-to-face conversation with her. ”
Arms crossed over his chest, he takes a step back, giving me room to squeeze past and unlock the door.
With a heavy sigh, I pause, eyeing him as I try to assess whether or not he’s going to try and shove past me the minute I open the door.
I blink, surprised as I watch him take another step back, shoving his hands in his pockets and sliding down the wall to sit, legs stretched out casually in front of him as if he’s got all the time in the world and nothing better to do than sit and wait.
Choosing not to acknowledge him, I turn back to check on my girl.
With the door shut firmly behind me, I step into the open entryway.
It’s dark in here, and quiet. Too quiet.
The air is heavy in the way that raises the hair on the back of my neck.
Damn. She must be really sick . On the rare occasions when she isn’t feeling well, Sutton usually prefers to crash out on the couch, one of her comfort movies playing on the tv in the background.
But the silence is thick in an almost unnerving way that’s out of character for my girl.
Sutton never responded to my last several texts.
Hopefully that means she got her prescription and is sleeping off the worst of whatever bug has plagued her.
I set the bag and flowers on the counter, stepping further into the room, and glance towards the couch but don’t see her sleeping form.
“Sutton?” I call out softly, not wanting to startle her. She‘s always been a light sleeper, but I don’t get a response. Walking towards her room, I tap gently on the door frame as I peek inside. “Baby girl?”
A shallow, rattling wheeze of a breath is my only response, and I frown. Walking over to her bed, the faintest stream of moonlight caught between a crack in the curtains illuminates her bed, casting her sallow, feverish skin in an almost eerie glow.
Another step, and I’m at her side, hand pressed gently against her burning hot forehead before running through her damp hair.
“Sutton.” My voice is louder now, tone firm and commanding - but she doesn’t wake, doesn’t stir an inch aside from the shallow, rattling breath that barely moves her chest. A different, unpleasantly familiar form of adrenaline fills my veins, alarm now racing through me. Shit.
“Sutton.” My voice breaks on the word, but she doesn’t stir.
Double shit. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone, the slight tremble in my fingers the only outward sign of my racing heart.
I’m known for my steady hands, always good in a crisis.
But this… this is different. This is Sutton .
And something is clearly wrong. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I run one hand through her damp hair, softly cursing under my breath as I scroll with the other, pulling up my contacts and swiping on the one I thought I would never have to use.
Not taking my eyes off my girl, I don’t even acknowledge the surprised voice on the other end. “Get in here. Now.”