Page 52 of Reclaiming Adelaide

Jake was the equivalent of a parent who made empty threats. Sure he’d put me in there before, but the look in his eyes when he found me shaking in the corner had me hoping he’d never do it again. So when I challenged him, I’d based it on that sole thought and hoped for the best.

I shook the thought off as I finished my other shoe, then followed him to the garage, where he threw my pack inside the trunk.

Becca sat in the back seat, her posture painfully straight while she worked her thumbs over her phone.

I got into the front passenger seat, wishing Jake had given me back my burner phone so I could talk to my parents or even Monica, but he’d refused. The only advanced piece of technology I could touch was his smart TV—which he’d disconnected from the internet.

I missed my mom and dad. What must they be thinking?

“Jake?”

“Hmm?“ he hummed as he backed out of the driveway.

“Have you talked to my parents?”

“Yes, they know you’re with me working off your debt.”

“Her debt?”

I turned to Becca. “Yeah, your brother—“

“It’s nothing,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” Becca said, drawing out the word, then returned to her phone.

Interesting.

He didn’t tell her. I thought they shared everything.

We drove past Monica’s house, and I sat upright in my seat, watching like a kid seeing Christmas lights for the first time.

Three moving trucks, two parked on the street and one parked in the driveway with movers shoving furniture wrapped in blankets into it.

“Did you know?”

He shook his head. “No. But the for sale sign has been there.”

Poor Monica.What must she be going through?

I was fortunate enough to have parents that loved each other very much. Nothing impeded that. They always made time for each other and talked out their problems. I doubted Monica’s parents ever did that.

Tears pooled in my eyes, blurring my vision, when I felt a tickling touch on my pinkie.

It was faint, but there was no mistaking it. Jake’s arm rested on the center console beside me, his tattooed finger brushing mine with the faintest of touches.

I spun my lip ring with my tongue, sucking my lip into my mouth as I did. One moment he hated me, and the next, he acted like this—like he cared. I brushed my tears away with my right hand, not wanting to move the one he touched. It was a rare occurrence these days to experience such tenderness from him.

He drove down the freeway, his finger never leaving mine except to turn on the music, but he took up the same position as before. My breath stuck in my chest, and I averted my gaze out the window.

Tempting fate, I tucked my pinkie into his, our tattoos touching in a symbolic expression of the way my heart felt about him. His warm skin to my cool yet on fire hand.

I quietly sucked in a deep breath, only for it to rip from my chest when he tore his hand from mine and tucked it under his thigh, with his elbow still resting on the center console. I guess I’d crossed the line he’d already lingered over. Pulling my hand into my lap, I rubbed my pinkie, substituting his touch.

After a moment of silence and quiet humorous laughs from Becca, we drove through a security gate at a private airfield.

Well, he wasn’t kidding when he said airplane. A big black lear-jet sat inside the hangar. Its size became more visible when he parked inside.

The pilot and a woman met him by his door, and the pilot opened it for him.

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