30. Shadow
SHADOW
PRESENT
I need air.
It’s the only thing I can focus on, and I’m clearly not thinking rationally, because I go out through the front doors of the restaurant.
The pleasant chill of the air conditioning is immediately replaced by a suffocating humidity I don’t remember feeling earlier.
Heading down the sidewalk away from the exiting and entering patrons, I can’t really concentrate on where I’m going, my thumb still swiping the screen of Jase’s phone.
The more I read, the thicker the air around me seems to be, like the app is stripping my lungs of the required oxygen with every syllable I digest.
Footsteps come up behind me, and when I don’t answer his question, Jase cuts in front of me, finally getting a look at my face.
The tears that had only been moisture clinging to my lashes inside now openly roll down my cheeks, and my breath hitches when I try to answer. “I never got these.”
Despite being wholly confused, Jase still cups my face, the rough calluses of his hands offering a strange comfort. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”
I pull away from him, holding up his phone. “I never received the messages you sent me. Four years, and I didn’t get a single one.”
“Are you fucking serious?” He can obviously tell by my expression that I am, but it needs to be said.
Because this entire situation is fucked up.
Still, I have to press on.
“How did you know about what happened with Trent and Sienna?” I hate how my voice cuts out, almost reducing me to silence. “You were three thousand miles away, and these were sent not even an hour after the attack. How could you have known?”
Jase looks off into the distance, as if recalling the memory. “Olivia. She wanted to report what happened to the police but was too scared, so she called me.”
A small, pitiful laugh scrapes out of my lungs.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Out of all the current Untouchables, she was the only one I ever saw show even the tiniest, infinitesimal degree of a conscience.
She may not have outright apologized to me, but a week after the locker room incident, I received a letter in the mail with nothing written on it but the words, “I’m sorry.
” Despite her not signing it, I knew the note had come from Olivia.
After sitting next to her in biology the previous semester, I would have recognized her handwriting anywhere.
And I can’t blame her for not coming forward. Olivia may be immune to everyone else in town, but no one’s immune to the Eastons. You don’t go against Trent and his father and expect to come out unscathed.
But unlike Olivia, who’s done her best to detach herself from the Untouchables, Jase can’t say the same.
And that right there is why my recent meal threatens to make its way back up.
“So you knew this whole time what Trent and Sienna did to me, and yet you’ve been schmoozing and trying to be all buddy-buddy with my attackers the second you come back into town?” It sounds like an accusation, and only after it’s out of my mouth do I realize that’s precisely what it is.
Because nothing about Jase Rivers adds up.
His public persona is still that of the bad boy who couldn’t give any less of a fuck about anything except patching up his relationship with the Untouchables.
Yet, everything I’ve witnessed behind closed doors paints a very different version.
The device in my hand is proof enough. And there’s four years of evidence.
Jase regrets what happened; he still misses me, and he had wanted to kill Trent for what he did.
These may only be words I’m looking at, but despite his outward appearance of trying to get back into Trent’s good graces, Jase nearly strangled Patrick just for entering my house without permission.
“Birdie—” Jase reaches for me, and when I recoil the second his fingers brush my arm, his face falls. “Trust me, the last thing I want is to be their friend. Just having to be near either of them makes my skin crawl.”
“That’s the thing. I believe you,” I say. “But that begs a far scarier question. Why did you stay in town after the engagement party? And don’t give me some bullshit about wanting to spend time with your sister. Lauren even said the other day that she’s barely seen you since you came back.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, equal parts frustrated and crestfallen. “It’s…complicated.”
I may not know the specifics, but I know the gist. And it doesn’t spell anything good. Not for him. “Jase, whatever you have planned, don’t .”
I wait for him— pray for him—to comply, but he doesn’t.
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” I plea.
He just stands there, his head downcast and his hands fidgety. “I can’t do that.”
“You have no idea who you’re messing with. Not really. The things the Eastons can do—”
“I’m very well aware.” His demeanor shifts into something…cold. Not apathetic or detached. Resolute. “That’s the beauty of it. I don’t give a fuck what happens to me.”
“ I do!” Any chance I have of clearing the lump in my throat evaporates.
“Jesus Christ, Jase! They’re called the Untouchables for a reason.
You go up against them, you lose; you try to take them out, they bury you.
This isn’t playing with fire. It’s playing with goddamn lava.
I, of all people, know better, and I never did anything to provoke them. ”
“And I’ve had to live with the guilt of putting you in their line of fire for the past four years!
” Despite his best efforts to keep his composure, Jase finally breaks.
“You were the only good person in that entire fucking school, and I let you get dragged into the lion’s den because I was a coward!
Whether you saw my messages or not, there’s no reason you should have forgiven me, because I didn’t deserve it.
If there’s a chance I can repay you even a fraction of that debt, I’ll do it. ”
I’m so distracted that when the phone in my hand vibrates to notify me of an incoming text, I instinctively look.
And immediately regret it.
Thankfully, it’s only a notification, so I’m not subjected to the photos attached, but the caption of the text message still comes up at the top of the screen.
Natasha:
It’s showtime. ;)
I can only imagine those photos are shots of her wearing skimpy lingerie…or nothing at all, and the mental images that come to mind are enough to twist my stomach like a damp dish rag.
I shove the device back into Jase’s hand. “It’s for you.”
Yeah, nice save. It’s his phone, dipshit. Who else would the message be for?
Jase taps away at his phone and curses, only to get a call. He excuses himself and takes a few steps back to get some privacy as more people pass us on the sidewalk.
I may not be able to hear what the person on the other end of the call is saying, but the tone makes it clear she isn’t happy. The feminine voice, which I assume belongs to Natasha, yells something that makes Jase grimace.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, his shoulders slumping. “All right, I’ll be there.”
Letting out another curse, Jase hangs up and heads back to me…or rather to his bike parked along the curb. He doesn’t look particularly enthused, and he’s apologizing, but our conversation isn’t enough to stop him. “I’ve gotta get going, but I can drop you back off at the house.”
“You mean the one we’re both still locked out of?” I ask, deadpanned.
Clearly, the last hour, or hell, even the last five minutes, has thrown him through such a loop that he seems to have forgotten the reason behind our little outing in the first place.
Before he can start swearing again, I climb onto the back of his bike. “It’s fine. Just drop me off at Castelli’s. It’s already closed, so Reed and Nico will be leaving soon. One of them can give me a ride.”
“To where?”
I shrug. “To wherever Maggie is, I guess.”
Thankfully, the ride to the restaurant is short, and our mode of transportation doesn’t make communication easy, so I don’t have to endure any awkward silences.
The moment Jase brings the motorcycle to a stop, I dismount and head for the back parking lot of Castelli’s, throwing a quick “Thanks” over my shoulder.
At least, that’s what I intend.
The second I turn my head, hands capture hold of my waist, whirling me around completely.
Jase’s lips capture mine as his hands slide up to the nape of my neck, and I’m too caught off guard to react with any sense of rationality at first, allowing my lips to part, inviting him in.
It’s over far too quickly, but he takes advantage of the time he has, devouring me so thoroughly that my knees threaten to buckle.
The ragged sound that leaves him may very well be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard—
And just like that, he severs the connection.
It doesn’t leave him unaffected, though. His chest heaves as if he’s been running a marathon, yet he’s still backing away.
“We’ll talk later,” is all he says, taking his lips and breath and muscles with him back to his motorcycle.
“ When? After your booty call?” Before my brain can process his words or that kiss, he’s long gone, leaving my words echoing into the night air.
Seriously, what the fuck was that?
He admits he’s missed me for years, is being cagey as hell, kisses me, and then runs off to hook up with Natasha?
“What the actual fuck?” It’s the only thing my brain can verbalize amid the blood roaring through my ears as I storm through the parking lot to the back door.
Never in my life have I been so relieved to hear heavy metal blaring from inside.
At least one of the guys is still here.
Before I reach the door, I get a message from Maggie reading:
I nrd 3 gave ses1!
Huh?
Another text immediately follows, simply reading:
SES
Which clarifies absolutely nothing.
Does she mean S. O .S.? Is she in trouble?