Page 44 of The Omega Verse

And if anyone deserves a fresh start, it’s you. I don’t know where you are or what you’re dealing with, but I want to help. That’s my only regret. That I couldn’t help you earlier.

Does giving you this place fix everything? No. I know things don’t make up for actions. But I hope you like it, anyway. As soon as I saw it, I thought of that house near the train station. The one with the old lady always fucking around with her roses. You remember that cow? We called her Mrs Blobhead, because she wore those hair rollers and acted like her shit didn’t stink. But I saw the way you looked at the garden, and the birdbath, and all those stupid little statues she had. I knew you wanted that life so bad.

There are other things I want you to have, but that will probably come later, knowing how slow shit moves when the suits get involved. If you need money now, there’s some in the lockbox. And if you need help with anything else… Well, that’s what Jett’s for.

You’re there, right, brother? He better fucking be. So just know I’m sorry I did whatever stupid thing got us to this place. I’m sorry I’m not there to smooth stuff over if he’s being his usual dickish self - but I’m not sorry for getting you guys together. I don’t know the woman you are now, Cassie, but I know the man he is. And there’s a fucking good heart hidden under all that trashy ink.

I hope this isn’t too weird. That the voice from the grave stuff hasn’t sent you running a mile. I guess all that’s left to say is I wish I caught up to you for real. But then, if life has taught me anything, I’m better on paper than in person, so maybe this is how it was meant to be.

Your loving brother,

from the motherfucking stars and back,

Steven xxx

I have some vague awareness that the wad of papers is a contract of some kind. A house deed? I don’t know, since it’s the first one I’ve ever seen, and I’m in no state to read it. And it’s on the floor anyway, crushed under my knees as I clutch the coffee table, sobbing over those old paperbacks.

“It’s okay, Cassie. Don’t cry. It’ll be alright. I promise.”

I can’t see through my tears, but I can hear the gentle thread of Jett’s voice and feel the soothing pressure of his arms as he lifts me. He doesn’t put me back on the sofa, but carries me over to the old rocking chair, arranging me on his lap. I don’t fight him – I’m not sure I’m even in my body right now – and he gently drags the sheepskin throw over us both. He tugs it up high, almost to my ears. I smell wool, and sunlight, and a faint musk that might be my brother. I try to hold my breath, to keep that scent inside me, but my tears push it out. I cry harder, and Jett presses my cheek to his chest with a large, warm hand. Gentle fingers strum through my hair, brushing wet strands away from my cheek. It feels so good, but I want to scream. I want to tear at the grief tightening like a steel band around my throat. But Jett just rocks the chair and holds me.

Flashes of Steven play through my mind, taunting me. His Ghost Rider bike. The view from high on his back. The smell of his shampoo. Thin arms with bitten nails. Angry lines next to a mouth too big for his face. Wicked, laughing eyes while he tickles me. A bloody lip, a broken tooth, a black eye. The cords on his neck as he kicks a wall. The curve of his shoulders as he storms out. The slap of the door, the thud of his running feet. As he left me. He left me. He left me and never came back.

But Jett’s a solid warmth against my shaking body, his scent musky and sweet, like amber and chocolate. His chest is moving, and it takes me a moment to realise…He’s humming. A song, or snatches of it. I try to hear the words under the vibration, but it’s dipping deeper. Changing into something else.

He’s purring.

Jett Colson is purring for me.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, and he rocks us harder, the purr echoing through his breastbone. “Can you hold me tighter?”

He does, holding me until I can feel the thud of his heart against my ribs. I count the beats and think of my brother. How he was, and everything we never got to be.

But eventually, I have to lift my head. I can’t stay here curled on his lap, no matter how good it feels.

Just five minutes more.

He hasn’t pushed me off, even though his shirt is wet and his legs must be aching. There’s a hug, after all, and then there’s a full-scale breakdown. Jett probably felt obliged to give me the first, but ended up here, buried under the weight of the second.

I can’t help but think of how Steven described him in his letter. That he has a good heart. That he’s here to help me, whatever I need. But while I want to believe that so much my chest aches, I’m not my brother. Jett hasn’t given me his heart.

I don’t know how much time goes by before he mutters against my hair, “I should call your mate. Is your phone on you, or is it in the car?”

“Rockstar. Barbie. Stole. It.”

I grunt the words out, still pissed about the fact, but mostly because my throat feels like sandpaper.

“Shit.” He curses a bit more under his breath – maybe says something about kicking her bony arse – and then tugs his own phone free. He tilts it to look at the screen, but when I try to pull away, he just holds me tighter. “Kobes? Sorry to wake you, brother.”

There’s concerned rumbling at the other end of the line, but I’m buried so far under the sheepskin I can only hear Jett’s heart.

“Yeah, we’re good. It’s just a lot. Steven left Cassie a letter. And a house.” There’s a pause for more gentle rumbling, and then Jett sighs. “I know, Kobes. We’re both wiped out. There’s no way we can drive back, but I need to call Tom… Yeah. Is he there yet? Okay, I’ll text you the address. And tell him the gate code is her birth date if I can’t let him in.”

When he hangs up, I should move, but I don’t. He’s stroking my hair and murmuring, “Tom’s coming, Cassie. Want me to put you to bed until he gets here?”

I should answer. I’m not crying anymore – I don’t need to be coddled and rocked. And I can put myself to bed, especially now Tom’s on his way.

But I just close my eyes and let myself drift away to the beat of his heart.

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