Chapter Five #2
Jonah stepped toward me.
“I’m not putting you out because I’m angry. I’m not taking away your bed, food, or ride because you told me something I didn’t like.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“Good.”
He stopped close enough that I could see the darker flecks in his eyes.
“I need time to think,” he said. “That’s different from punishing you.”
“I know.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Jonah’s breathing changed.
For one second, I thought he might kiss me.
I wanted him to. I wanted his hands at my waist and his mouth on mine until neither of us could form another painful sentence.
He stepped back.
I curled my fingers against my palm.
“The eggs are probably ruined,” I said.
“They’re overcooked.”
“That’s a more accurate diagnosis.”
The corner of his mouth shifted without becoming a smile.
I turned toward the stove. “I can make another batch.”
“We can eat these.”
“They’re rubber.”
“They’re still food.”
“I refuse to let our emotional crisis lower our breakfast standards.”
Jonah watched me take another bowl from the cabinet.
“You’re making more eggs because you don’t know what else to do.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“At least you admitted it.”
“Personal growth often looks like aggressive whisking.”
A breath of laughter escaped him, then faded.
I cracked the eggs into the bowl. Jonah sliced the remaining tomato without asking whether I wanted help.
Our hands nearly touched when he passed me the cheese.
Neither of us closed the distance.
We ate at the table.
Jonah didn’t interrogate me about the Russo organization. He didn’t ask for names, crimes, or details I couldn’t safely give him. He asked only what affected him.
“Does your father know where you’ll be before the celebration?”
“He knows this address. His driver brought me here.”
“Is anyone coming to the cabin?”
“No. The instructions were for the celebration.”
“Will his people cause trouble in town?”
“They won’t start anything. Daddy wants me to come home. He doesn’t want a public spectacle.”
“He sent you to a stranger’s cabin as punishment.”
“He believed you’d accepted me.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Does he think the week ends because he says it does?”
“He does.”
“And what do you think?”
I set down my fork.
“I think he’s going to find out that I’m an adult.”
“Is staying with me the only way you can prove that?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Then what else are you choosing?”
“My own accounts. Graduate school. Continuing therapy. Work that doesn’t depend on Daddy’s approval.”
“You’ve thought about all of that.”
“I’ve thought about it for years. I’ve only recently stopped treating it like a fantasy.”
“Have you done any of it yet?”
“Not yet. I haven’t applied or opened an account, and I don’t have a complete plan that doesn’t depend on Daddy restoring access to my money.”
Jonah nodded once.
“You’re right,” I said. “Wanting independence and building it aren’t the same thing.”
“They aren’t.”
“I can still start.”
“You can.”
After breakfast, he carried his work gear outside.
I followed him to the truck.
The morning had turned hot. Dry pine needles crackled beneath my boots, and the air smelled of dust and sun-warmed timber.
Jonah lowered the tailgate and checked his gloves, radio, first-aid kit, water, and the tools he needed to inspect and clear the launch-zone perimeter.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“Not right now.”
I folded my arms.
“I’m not saying you can’t help. I’m saying I need to do this alone for a while.”
“That’s fair.”
Jonah returned to the gear.
I stayed on the porch with a book I didn’t read.
He worked without the easy conversation we’d developed over the previous days. When he needed something from the cabin, he came inside, took it, and left without brushing his hand over my waist or stopping to kiss me.
By noon, the heat pressed against the cabin windows.
I warmed leftover pasta while Jonah washed his hands at the sink.
He sat across from me and ate everything on his plate.
“Do you think I’m like him?” I asked.
Jonah lowered his fork.
“I think you did something he does.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I don’t think you’re like your father.”
“Only in the bad ways.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
His voice sharpened. “Don’t turn one thing I’m angry about into a verdict on your entire character.”
I pushed a piece of pasta across my plate.
“That sounded almost supportive.”
“I’m still angry.”
“I noticed.”
“You can be wrong without becoming a terrible person.”
I raised my head.
“Is that something you learned from Cade?”
“It’s something you taught me about Cade.”
Jonah took another bite of pasta.
“You’re using my material,” I said.
“It works.”
“I don’t know how to prove tomorrow isn’t about rebellion,” I said.
“You can’t prove a future today.”
“I hate that answer.”
“I know.”
“What can I do?”
“Make the choice you actually want when the car gets there.”
“And then?”
“Live with it.”
“That sounds easy when you say it.”
“It isn’t.”
He finished the pasta and carried his plate to the sink.
I followed him.
“What choice do you want me to make?” I asked.
Jonah’s shoulders went rigid.
“That isn’t fair.”
“Neither was asking me whether I’m staying and refusing to say what you want.”
“I told you that you matter.”
“You also told me you imagined me here.”
“That was before I knew the rest.”
His expression softened, but he didn’t take the sentence back.
“I still want you,” he said.
My breath caught.
“I still care whether you stay. I also don’t know whether wanting you here makes sense for either of us.”
“I don’t need you to decide what makes sense for me.”
“I understand. That’s why I’m not asking you to stay today. Tomorrow, when your father’s car is in front of you, you’ll choose without me making promises I’m not ready to make.”
I pressed my palm against the counter.
“You think I’m leaving.”
“I think you might.”
“And you’re preparing for it.”
“I’m trying to.”
I reached for his hand.
He let me take it.
His fingers closed around mine, rough and warm. I curled my fingers around his.
“I didn’t tell you because I thought the truth would change this,” I said.
“It did.”
“I can see that.”
Jonah’s thumb moved once over my knuckles.
Then he released me and returned outside.
The afternoon passed in small separate tasks.
I cleaned the kitchen, though it didn’t need cleaning. I checked the itemized receipt from Mabel’s and made sure the amount remained in my phone. I laid the red dress across the bed, checked the hem for wrinkles, and hung it back on the bedroom door.
My diamonds waited inside the structured handbag.
I didn’t pack.
Packing would’ve declared a choice I hadn’t made.
Jonah came inside near sunset.
Sweat darkened the collar of his olive work shirt. Dust streaked his forearms. He set his gloves beside the door and drank a full glass of water at the sink.
“The truck is ready,” he said.
“So is the dress.”
He glanced toward the bedroom.
“You’ll need the boots, not the stilettos.”
“I planned on wearing them.”
“I wasn’t trying to manage you.”
“I know you weren’t.”
He filled the glass again.
“What time do we leave?” I asked.
“Early. I need to inspect the perimeter before the event gets crowded.”
“What about the driver?”
“You said he’ll meet you at the celebration.”
“That’s the plan.”
Jonah set down the glass.
“I’ll take you there.”
“Thank you.”
“I said I would.”
“You said it before you knew who might be waiting.”
“I’m not changing the ride because I’m angry.”
“Will you stay when the car arrives?”
His fingers curled against the counter.
“I have work there.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“I won’t leave you alone with a situation I’m already part of.”
Warmth pressed behind my ribs.
“You don’t have to protect me from Daddy.”
“I’m not making your choice. I’m making sure you get to make it.”
We made sandwiches for dinner because neither of us had the energy to cook.
He cut an apple and divided it between the plates. I added cheese to his sandwich without asking, and he slid the mustard toward me before I requested it.
Night cooled the cabin.
I showered first and changed into sleep shorts and Jonah’s dark shirt. The fabric had become so familiar against my skin that wearing it felt more intimate than being naked.
When I returned to the bedroom, Jonah was sitting on the edge of the bed in gray boxer briefs and a black T-shirt.
The pillow remained near the dresser.
“You can keep that,” he said.
I stopped beside the bed.
“I wasn’t planning to steal it.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Why are you giving it to me?”
Jonah rubbed one hand over his thigh. “You like it.”
“I like wearing something that belongs to you.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
I stepped closer.
Jonah’s hand settled at my waist when I stood between his knees. His palm was warm through the shirt.
I touched his beard.
He turned his face slightly into my hand.
For one breath, we stayed there.
“If I kiss you,” I said, “I’m not trying to avoid the conversation.”
“I know.”
“I still want you.”
“I know that too.”
His thumb moved against my waist.
I leaned down until my mouth nearly touched his.
Jonah closed his eyes.
Then his hand fell away.
“Not tonight,” he said.
I straightened.
“Because you’re angry?”
“Because I’d use it to forget I’m angry.”
“That’s annoyingly emotionally healthy.”
“I had a difficult week.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Jonah looked at my mouth, then away.
I climbed into bed.
He used the bathroom and returned a few minutes later. The mattress shifted when he lay down on the other side.
There was no pillow between us.
There didn’t need to be.
The empty space did the work.
I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling while the fan moved cool air across the sheet.
“Jonah?”
“I’m awake.”
“If I don’t get into Daddy’s car tomorrow, will you bring me back here?”
Jonah turned toward me.
“Then I’ll bring you home.”
My breath caught on the word.
“And if I do?”
His gaze held mine in the dark.
“Then I’ll drive back alone.”
He turned toward the window again.
The red dress waited on the bedroom door.
Tomorrow, I’d wear it to meet Daddy’s car.
By nightfall, it would either be hanging there again—or gone with me.