Chapter 31 #2
He pauses to take a sip. “But the truth is, he was working a night shift. Had six people who saw him clock in. And no one ever found the little girl.”
I stare at them both, my mind racing, the pieces clicking together.
“You’re seriously telling me you believe this Pit stuff?
After all these years? When Pop would bring it up and you’d both shut him down like he was a senile old man?
You’d look at each other with that fucking pitying look and change the subject?
” I look at them. “Now you’re telling me you agree with him?
That he wasn’t crazy?” I shake my head, a bitter taste in my mouth.
“All this time, you let me think he was losing his mind. For what? To what? Protect me from the truth?” I gesture around at the perfect, sterile room.
“Or just to protect your own goddamn past?”
“Jaxwell,” my mother says firmly. “We will not have that kind of language in this house.”
A humorless laugh escapes my lips. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is ‘goddamn’ too harsh for the woman who just admitted she let her best friend get dragged to hell because she was jealous over a car?”
My mother actually gasps, a sharp, delicate sound of outrage.
“Jaxwell! We did what we had to do to keep you away from it,” my dad cuts in, his voice a low warning, his eyes flashing with anger.
“Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that.
” He glances at Sisk, who’s watching us like she’s front row at a tennis match, and I can see him visibly trying to rein it in, to be the calm, collected doctor for the guest. He takes a breath, but the damage is done.
Sisk doesn’t back down. She sees the opening and slides right into it.
“There’s gotta be another explanation… right?
” she says. “I mean, curses and wishes and all that—come on.” She tucks her hair behind her ear.
“I just remember reading about it,” she adds softly.
“Wasn’t she dating someone back then? Maybe he knows something…
maybe the fire wasn’t an accident. Maybe someone set it on purpose. ”
“Rourke?” My mom lets out a breath of a laugh. “Rourke was an imbecile then and he’s an imbecile now. He couldn’t see a trap if it was sewn into his own collar.” She lifts her chin. “Hard to believe they still call him detective.”
Oliver reappears, “Dessert, ma’am?”
“If the kids want,” she says, waving a dismissive hand.
“I’m good, thank you,” Sisk says, her voice polite.
My mother stands, “Forgive me, but I can feel the migraine creeping in. I’ll say goodnight here.”
Sisk watches her go, then turns back to my father. “Thank you for having me over.”
He nods. “Of course.”
I stand, pushing my chair back. “Walk with me?”
She rises and follows me out of the room.
We step out into the garden. The sprinklers are on, misting the trimmed hedges in slow arcs. Sisk wraps her arms around herself. “Well,” she says. “That went… better than expected.”
“Yeah,” I say, a little stunned. “Can’t believe it, actually. Thank you. You were… perfect.”
She glances around, her eyes taking in the perfectly manicured landscape. “A garden. In the middle of Tar City. I bet it costs a fortune to grow those roses.” She nods toward them, their dark petals glistening in the moonlight. “I hate that I find them beautiful.”
“Why?”
She looks at me. “Because the money it takes to keep those flowers alive could probably fix three houses on my street.” She raises an eyebrow like she’s expecting me to disagree but I don’t.
“Thank you, for doing this,” I tell her.
Her mouth softens. “All honesty? I came because I thought maybe it’d help clear your… problem with Ivan.” She stops, glancing at me. ”But…”
“But?”
She chews on her lip, a move that’s doing all kinds of things to my self-control. Then she just shrugs. “I mean… this whole pit thing…” Her voice turns cold, getting serious. “It’s just really hard to digest. The curses. The stains. The missing girl…”
We’re standing in the far corner now, half-hidden.
“What if…” she starts again. “I don’t know. We test it.”
I look at her, my pulse kicking up a notch. “Test it?”
She nods faintly, her eyes scanning mine like she’s looking for an answer. “There’s gotta be a way to know if it’s really real. Don’t you think?”
She moves close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath between us, and it’s messing with my head.
“And if it is?” I ask.
She looks up at me. “Then I guess we stop pretending anything’s normal.”
The sprinkler rotates, sending a fine mist that brushes against her hair, and still, she doesn’t step back.
I reach out and grab her hand. “I’ll do it,” I say.
“Do what?”
“Whatever you want me to.” I move closer until there's barely any space left between us.
“Jax…” she whispers.
I take another step toward her and she takes two back, her retreat clumsy. Her arm brushes against the wild rose bush climbing the side of the house. She hisses, pulling back sharply.
I catch her wrist gently. There’s a thin line of blood welling up from a scratch on her skin. I bring her hand to my mouth without thinking, an instinct I don’t even try to fight. I press my lips to the cut and I taste it.
Her fingers curl slightly against my palm. And for once, I don’t want to be careful with her.
When our mouths meet, the kiss is messy.
We forget we’re outside my house, forget the thorns, forget everything but the frantic need to close the distance.
My body pushes for more, more of her, more of this, whatever this is.
My hand slides down her back, grabbing her ass and pulling her flush against me until there’s no space left, just the heat of her pressing against my hard-on through my jeans.
I’m not gonna lie and say I want to take it slow, or that I want to be a gentleman.
Right now, all I can think is: my room, my bed, now.
I want to know what she looks like without this dress, want to know what it feels like to be the one calling her mine.
I can’t even think straight when she pushes me back, her hands flat against my chest.
“We can’t…” she says, her voice ragged, breathless.
I drag in a lungful of air, my body still screaming for more. “Yeah. We can.”
“I need to go home,” she murmurs.
“Stay a bit longer.”
“I… It’s just…” She shakes her head, a small, confused motion.
“I won’t push you,” I say, my voice rough. “Not ever. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know.” She looks away, then back at me, her eyes searching mine. “I… need to think this through. I’m leaving soon, Jax.”
Her voice shifts then—teasing. “Or should I call you… Jaxwell?”
“I hate that name.”
“Why? It sounds like someone who owns an oil company and gets away with crimes.”
“It’s my grandfather’s,” I force out.
Her smile fades. “Did you mean it?” she asks, her voice serious again. “Will you… help me figure out if The Pit is… you know… real?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Of course I meant it.” I squeeze her hand. “I’d do anything for you.”
I pull her in again, my mouth finding hers, and this time it’s not frantic.
I back her up until her shoulders hit the siding of the house.
My hand fists in her hair again, tilting her head to take the kiss deeper.
My other hand traces the curve of her hip, then slides up, my thumb brushing below her ribs.
Her hands move, sliding up my back, her nails digging into my shoulders just enough to make me groan. She kisses me back with the same desperation, and I come to realize, this is it. This is all I want. Her body, her time, her attention. All of it. Every last piece.
“Jax,” she whispers against my mouth, a weak protest.
“I know,” I growl, kissing my way down her jaw to her neck. “I’ll stop. Just give me one more second.”
My lips find that spot just below her ear, and she arches against me. I’m about to say fuck it and just throw her over my shoulder—
“Ahem.”
We freeze.
I pull back, and standing there, not ten feet away, is Ronny, looking anywhere but at us, his face a perfect mask of professional neutrality. “My apologies, sir,” he says. ”Your father sent me to get the car. Whenever you are ready, miss.”
Sisk pushes gently against my chest, and this time I let her go. She smooths down her dress without even looking at me.
I glare at Ronny over her head. “The fuck, Ronny?”
“Take me home, Jax,” she says, her voice tight and brittle. “Now.”