23. Elizabeth #2
A sob crawls up my throat, but I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to fall apart. I need to pack. And I have a feeling that once I give into my emotions, I won’t stop until I’m too exhausted to keep my eyes open.
Focusing on my task, I transfer neatly folded clothes into my beloved packing cubes until all that’s left are the clothes I’m planning to wear tomorrow. I’m zipping my suitcase when there’s a knock at the door.
I freeze. Could it be Jane?
But then a low voice says “Jacobs, is that you or is there a murderer in there that I need to be incredibly worried about? I am not cut out to be a final girl.”
Rather than answer, I open the door. And then there’s Wes Grant in all of his casually devastating glory.
I have no idea why he’s wearing a backwards Red Sox hat indoors at night, but I’m not mad about it.
Especially when he’s paired it with one of his slutty little cut-up shirts and a pair of black joggers.
“It’s just me,” I say. “Although jury’s out on whether or not I commit murder tonight.”
Wes’s mouth tilts up into a lopsided grin. “Who are we disposing of?”
Though a perfect rejoinder floats through my brain, I can’t voice it because my eyes fill with the tears I’ve been keeping at bay. I try to will them away before Wes notices, but I’m not fast enough. “Elizabeth, what’s going on?”
Horrified, I take a few steps away from the door and turn so my back is to him. I’m not going to cry in front of Wes Grant.
I hear the door close, and I’m momentarily thrilled that, for once, he’s left me alone. But when I glance over my shoulder, Wes is standing in the room, looking concerned.
About me.
Goddammit.
“Talk to me, Jacobs,” he says, his voice gentle, just as two fat teardrops careen down my face. “Why are you back so early?”
“You don’t need to worry about it.”
“And if I want to?”
I huff out a sardonic little laugh. “You don’t want that.”
Suddenly, he’s so close that I can feel the heat of his body at my back. “Why do you think I’m here?”
I shrug. “You were bored and my sister invited you.”
“You’re far too smart to believe that.”
A shiver dances over my skin. I ignore it. “Why else would you be here?”
“Maybe because I want to worry about you, Jacobs.”
That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. But the last thing I need is Wes Grant developing feelings for me. “You don’t have to do this, Wes.”
“I know I don’t. But I want to.”
I whirl around, my temper flaring. “Well, I don’t want that.”
“Too fucking bad,” Wes says, punctuating each word. “I’m going to worry about you whether you like it or not.”
I grit my teeth. “It’s a wasted effort.”
The man has the audacity to grin. “Nah. I don’t think so.”
I’m about to tell him to get out when he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s made you so upset you abandoned your night out with Jane and cried when I asked who we’re murdering instead of ordering me to get a shovel.”
“Why do you care?”
I mean for it to be a cutting question that puts him in his place. But my voice betrays me, delivering the words with a desperate edge.
“Because I want to know you,” he says immediately, casually, as if that’s a normal thing to say to someone else.
“I find you fascinating, Jacobs. You’re wicked smart and confident as all hell.
You command rooms without saying a damn word, and you aren’t intimidated by anyone or anything.
You know what you want, and you don’t just take it, you demand it.
But there’s more to you than just sharp edges. I want to know your full shape.”
I blink at him, dumbfounded. How the hell do I respond to that?
I don’t trust many people. I’ve never been good at making friends and my experiences with opening up about my personal life have rarely been positive.
I’ve learned the hard way that women don’t always support other women, and that when men find out your father is a misogynist, their eyes light up at the idea of daddy issues.
But Wes is already here. He already knows that I think Todd is a cheating bastard and has first-hand experience with my sexual preferences. Hell, he didn’t roll his eyes or pull a face when I mentioned feminine rage and sent him playlists filled with music by and about angry women.
And now, rather than putting distance between us, he wants to get closer. He’s asking to know me. No one has ever done that before.
So when he gives me a soft, patient smile, I take a deep breath and make a decision that I really hope I don’t regret. “Jane effectively ended our relationship.”
Wes frowns. “But you’re family.”
“She made it very clear that since I’m incapable of not hating her husband, I am no longer someone she wants in her life.” The words hang in the air. “Maybe she’s right,” I say, as a lone tear escapes. “Maybe I’m the problem. Maybe this is all my fault.”
“What do you mean?” Wes asks, stepping closer. He softly brushes his thumb over my jaw, soaking up the salty droplet that was about to drip off of my face.
And then it’s all tumbling out of me. I tell him about my conversation with Jane, about my parents, about how I don’t understand why my brilliant sister has changed so much, about how much it hurts that she values Todd so more than she values me.
When I’m finished, we’re sitting on the floor, our backs against the foot of the bed.
Since I’ve already said so much, it’s not so difficult to ask, “Am I an awful person?”
“No,” Wes says definitively. “I am firmly on your side here. Plus the fact that Todd isn’t fucking terrified of you lets me know that he has absolutely no sense of self-preservation.”
I snort. “I think your opinion of me is too high.”
“Nope,” Wes says. He reaches up and takes off his hat, running his hands through the messy waves.
“I saw that video of you dispatching Elio Rocca as if it were as easy as breathing. You’re a badass, Jacobs.
” He punctuates his sentence by placing his hat on my head and putting his arm around my shoulders.
“I’m really sorry your sister has done this. ”
I blow out a shaky breath. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to take it day by day. And you’re going to tell me if you need anything.”
“That sounds like a plan,” I whisper.
Wes hums in response, and I can feel the noise rumble in his chest. It’s only then that I fully grasp how we’re sitting.
I’m nestled firmly into his side with my head on his chest. He’s holding me and his fingers are tracing shapes on my arm.
I usually hate this. It makes me feel trapped. But this time? It’s…nice.
It also shouldn’t be happening.
“I need to sleep,” I say, sitting up and putting space between us. “I’m taking the first bus back to Boston tomorrow morning.”
“I can drive you to Boston.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Wes levels a look at me. “Don’t be stubborn, Jacobs. We’re going to the same place.”
“Yes, but I’m perfectly capable—”
“I know you are,” he says. “I’m offering to drive you. Just say yes. You can pay me for gas, if that’ll make you feel better.”
“It would.”
Wes’s mouth hooks up into a smile that unlocks his dimple and makes my stomach do a stupid little flip.
I have to get him out of here. I never should have allowed him to come to Cape Cod. I never should have let him in.
Wes follows my lead and stands, but we’re not on the same wavelength because he reaches as if he’s going to pull me in for a hug—and that is the last thing that needs to happen right now.
I take a big step away from him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Wes shoots a confused look my way, but nods. “Okay, Jacobs.”
I open the door so he can leave, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I can’t believe I’ve done this. I can’t believe I said all of that. I can’t believe I’ve continued to be so fucking unprofessional with him. What is wrong with me?
As Wes moves past me, I remember that I’m wearing his hat. I pull it off and hold it out to him, but he shakes his head. “Keep it. It looks better on you.”
Then, before I can stop it, he leans in and plants a soft kiss on my forehead. “Good night, Elizabeth.”
As he walks down the hall and I fight the urge to run to him, all I know is that I’m in a world of trouble.