Page 46 of Jett in Jeopardy

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Daniel said. “It means you can accept Jett for who he is and not be thinking about him as a replacement for Ryan.”

“I would never,couldnever…” Ryan was one of a kind—and so was Jett. “I need to end it.” My voice was barely a whisper in the quiet room.

Daniel sighed, clearly exasperated. “Why would you do that? You care about this guy. That’s a good thing. Ryan loved you. He would have wanted you to be happy, and he definitely wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the rest of your life alone.”

No, Ryan wouldn’t have wanted that, but not wanting to love Jett was about more than just remaining loyal to Ryan. I knew what it was to lose the person you loved most in the world, the nearly crippling pain that tore me open from the inside out. If I let myself love Jett and I lost him, I didn’t think I could survive it twice.

Chapter Twenty

Jett

AfterBrodyleftforthe bar, I’d quietly packed my things. Not that I’d had a lot here. Brody had cleared some of the drawers in his dresser for me and made some space in his closet. My bathroom toiletries had cluttered the vanity and one of the shelves in his shower, and I’d packed away my laptop and schoolwork. After tomorrow, it would almost be like I’d never even been here, and I was sure Brody would appreciate it.

Tomorrow, no matter whether I could get Simon to confess what he’d done or not, I was going home. I would give the police Simon’s name even if I couldn’t record a confession from him. While I would prefer the police arrest him before I go home, I would at least be able to tell Grier and Sawyer about Simon, so they could be on the lookout.

In the meantime, I was staying at Brody’s place for one last night, and after the awkward conversation from earlier, I didn’t know where I should sleep. He’d been clear when we’d first started messing around that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, and just because I’d let myself really care about him, that was on me. He hadn’t promised me anything more, after all.

Now, after he’d caught me with his photo album of pictures of his dead husband, it felt like I’d inadvertently crossed a line I hadn’t even known was there, and what little there had been between us had been irreparably damaged.

I should probably just grab a pillow and blanket and sleep on the couch, I thought, standing at the end of the bed we’d been sharing for the past few weeks.

I heard the click of the door opening and froze. Brody was back. Everything inside me tensed. I hated how awkward everything had become between us, and I wished I could go back to just a few days ago before I’d made everything weird.

I left the bedroom and hurried into the living room, where Brody was shrugging off his coat. He was glancing around the open space and frowning. When he saw me, he asked, “Did you clean up?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “I packed up my things.”

I tensed, waiting for him to ask when I planned on leaving.

Instead, he sighed and sank onto the sofa. “So listen, I owe you an apology. I was an asshole before.”

“It’s fine,” I started to say, but Brody held up a hand and stopped me.

“It’snotfine. I completely overreacted, and I really am sorry for how I spoke to you.” He sighed and scrubbed both hands down his face. I wondered if having me here was draining for him, as he looked tired and worn out. He wouldn’t have been the first person to find me a lot to handle. I had that effect on people. “It’s no excuse, but when I saw you looking at the photos, I knew I needed to tell you about Ryan, that I probably should have long before now, and I wasn’t prepared. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know what to say. When he found me looking at the album, I knew I’d crossed a line. I shouldn’t have been touching his personal things. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have looked through something so personal.”

He shook his head. “Really, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s hard for me to talk about Ryan sometimes. Losing him was the single most painful event in my life. I really didn’t know if I would get through it, and when I saw you looking at the photos, I was afraid all of those feelings would resurface.”

“Did they?”

“Not the way I thought they would.”

I tried to swallow around the lump that had once again lodged in my throat. I felt bad for both Brody and Ryan. To have loved each other so much, only to have lost each other. Yet despite their loss, I couldn’t help the small flicker of jealousy inside me. I’d never been loved that way.

“I didn’t mean to dredge anything up for you,” I told him.

“I know.” Brody stood and closed the short distance between us, until his large frame was inches from mine, towering over me. I wanted to throw myself against him, to feel his arms wrapped around me, to know that everything was okay. That we were the same as we were before. Before I brought up Christmas decorations or found pictures of the man he’d really loved. Instead, I stood where I was, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around my middle.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Brody said, again. He reached out and cupped my face with his big hand, his skin rough and warm against mine. Gently, he guided my head up so I could meet his dark gaze. Something low inside me pulled tight, and almost without thinking, my hands rested on his solid chest, fingers curling into the soft t-shirt he wore under his open plaid flannel.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely more than a whisper, before he dipped his head towards mine and his mouth grazed my lips in a soft, almost chaste kiss.

As if acting purely on instinct, I closed the gap between us, wrapped my arms around his neck, and parted my lips to deepen the kiss.

His tongue took immediate advantage, and what started as an almost sweet brush of his lips against mine quickly morphed into something hotter, hungrier, a maelstrom of emotion and desire dragging us both into its tumultuous currents.

We kissed each other with desperate need, pulling at each other’s clothes as Brody maneuvered us back down the hall toward the bedroom. By the time we’d reached the foot of his bed, we’d both lost our shirts somewhere along the way. My jeans were open, shoved down a little past my hips. Brody’s jeans were open too, his snug boxer briefs molding the line of his hard cock like a second skin.

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