Page 39 of The Making of Marnie Jones

He reached for her and pulled his hand back just before their fingers touched. “I'm sorry.”

“I know you are.” The steadiness of her own voice surprised her. “Except you were the one who told me she had a drug-addicted mother who could be perceived as uncaring. You’d never even met her before this all started. You were the one calling the police to get updates. And, finally, you were the one who told me her situation mirrored my own. I wished I was dead, so is it any surprise she feels the same way?”

Her shock mirrored his expression of surprise as she stunned herself with her little tirade. She hadn't been aware she was capable of such emotion, but he hit a nerve that was always raw. Her father's absolute lack of interest in her well-being devastated her. That he’d been willing to cut her out of his consciousness was breath-stealing. Was it any surprise she felt strongly about Olivia's perception no one cared? Not necessarily a rational perception, but undoubtedly very real. Nothing Jake said would change the entrenched beliefs of his niece.

“I'm sorry—”

“I'm sorry—”

His features relaxed. “I owe you an apology. I frightened you. I promised not to push you. I promised…”

“Sometimes a person needs to be pushed.”You can do this.“I'm tiny, but I'm not fragile. I won't break in the slightest wind. I'm trying to learn to be more flexible. I'm trying to learn to bend.”

“You are being flexible.” He reached out, carefully keeping his distance, not touching her. “You're here, aren't you? I can't tell you how brave you are.” He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then stopped.

“You said she had a rough night.” She tried to steer the conversation back to Olivia. “What does that mean?”

“She didn’t sleep well, and this morning was uncommunicative again. Marnie, I’m frustrated because they’re offering her help, and she’s unwilling to accept it.”

The arrival of their food interrupted them, and she thanked the server while Jake barely acknowledged the food or service. Even after the waitress left, he still seemed withdrawn.

“What happens now?”

He dropped his head. The pain and frustration wearing on his soul were on display.

“We wait.” He met her gaze. “That's probably not what you want to hear. In fact, I’ll understand if you want to go home.”

“The doctors agreed that maybe, in time, I might be able to help?” She offered support.

“The consensus is it probably won't hurt, and there's a good chance it’ll help.”

“With words likeprobablyandmaybe, it makes you wonder, are they unwilling or unable to commit?”

“There are no certainties in psychiatry, of that they’re sure.” He chuckled sardonically, then he sobered. “She’s out of physical danger. If she could meet you…”

“And I want to meet her. From everything you've told me, she's a special young woman.”

“Please stay. Please give me a chance to convince her that I have her best interests at heart.” His blue eyes blazed, their plea clear.

“She will, Jake. She needs time.” Putting certainty in her tone she didn’t feel, she again fought the urge to reach out. To offer physical reassurance. “Be persistent. Right now, she doesn't know who to trust. If you don't give up on her, eventually she’ll see you as an ally.”

God, he’s so beautiful. And hurting.

“Jake.” Sharp.

His gaze snapped to her.

“You need to sleep.”

“No, I need to—”

“No, Jake.” She injected some force into her voice. The vehemence seemed to catch his attention. “Bed. We regroup tomorrow morning, and strategically plan our next move.” She softened her tone. “I'll still be here when you come back.” She waited as the emotions flitted across his face. Defiance. Frustration. And, eventually, resignation.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

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