Page 52 of Jett in Jeopardy

My chest squeezed. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“It was my fault, though.”

What kind of painkillers did they have him on? Whatever he was taking, it must have been making him confused.

“Nothing was your fault,” I told him.

“I set up the meeting.” His words slurred a little, but whether it was a result of whatever drugs the doctors had him on or the pain and swelling around his mouth, I couldn’t have heard him say. “I figured out who was stalking me, but I knew I needed proof for the police. So, I met him on campus and tried to record him, but he guessed what I was doing. Simon must have followed me out.”

Who the fuck was Simon? How long had Jett known who his stalker was and hadn’t bothered saying anything?

“He hit me from behind,” Jett continued, “catching me off guard. Once I was down….” He winced, but didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. The evidence of what had happened was written all over his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

He shot me a rueful smile, and my chest squeezed as if it was caught in a vise, tightening a little more every minute. “I had already turned your life upside down by moving in with you. I didn’t want to cause more trouble.”

In other words, me keeping him at arm’s length while I tried not to let myself care about him had left him feeling like I didn’t give a shit, and so he didn’t think he could trust me or rely on me.

Cold flooded my veins, chilling me to my core. I might as well have landed him in this bed myself.

What the fuck was I doing? He could have died. Tonight could have been like Ryan all over again, and all because I couldn’t get my shit together.

I couldn’t do this. Whatever Jett and I were at the start of, I didn’t have it in me to see it through, and trying was fucking Jett up. It wasn’t fair to him. I needed to let him go, no matter how much the idea left me feeling hollowed out inside.

A light tap on the open door dragged my attention from my dark, swirling thoughts. Alistair was standing in the opening, Grier slightly behind him.

“Is it okay to come in?” Alistair asked.

“Yeah. Of course,” I said, quickly in spite of the faint frown pulling Jett’s brows together. I leaned down and brushed my lips against his forehead, doing the best I could to ignore that ache in my chest.

“None of this was your fault,” I whispered again, then I left his hospital room and didn’t look back.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jett

Ihadtostayin the hospital for two nights, before the doctors let me leave, but first thing the following morning, Sawyer and Grier were there to pick me up and with a change of clothes for me to wear home. The day before, Grier had brought me a pair of pajama pants to wear under my hospital gown, so I wouldn’t have to worry about flashing my ass every time I left my bed.

Normally, I didn’t really have an issue showing off my ass, but hobbling around a hospital while feeling like I’d been hit by a truck wasn’t ideal. If I were honest, I was surprised Grier had found something for me to wear. Most of my things were still at Brody’s.

Thinking of Brody, I hadn’t heard from him since he’d first visited me in the hospital—no texts, no phone calls, and he definitely hadn’t tried to see me again. I shouldn’t have been surprised, and I wasn’t. Not really. The deal had been for me to stay with him until we worked out who was stalking me. I’d found Simon and turned over everything I knew about him to the police. They hadn’t found him yet, but they seemed sure it was just a matter of time.

So, I guessed that was it for Brody and me. It might have been nice to say something, tell him goodbye and to thank him for letting me stay, but maybe it was better that things had ended the way they had. No awkward goodbyes meant I wouldn’t say anything I’d regret later. That I wouldn’t inadvertently give away how much he had started to mean to me over the last few weeks or how much I would miss him going forward.

I had no business feeling as sad, and empty as I did. Brody had been completely upfront about not wanting anything more than sex. It wasn’t his fault that I liked him as much as I did, that I’d felt more for him than just fuck-buddies. Besides, I’d seen firsthand how much he’d loved his husband. I could never even hope to meanthatmuch to him.

The drive home from the hospital was unusually quiet. I stared out the window at the hard, winter-blue sky and tufts of fat white clouds, resting my forehead against the icy glass. Every bump in the road, every stop, every turn, jostled my bruised body, making me wince and grit my teeth.

By the time we’d pulled into the driveway in front of our house, my jaw began aching. Grier scrambled from the driver’s seat and opened the back door to help me out while Sawyer raced ahead to unlock and open the front door.

“Here,” Grier said, holding out his arm so I could use him for balance as we made our way up the walk from the driveway to the porch steps.

“I’m okay,” I told him, trying not to limp but with little success. By some miracle, Simon’s kick hadn’t broken my leg, but it felt bruised right down to the bone—especially if I put weight on it. Despite claiming I didn’t need his help, I did grab hold of his arm with one hand while climbing the porch steps, holding onto the rail with my free hand.

Sawyer waited on the porch, holding open the front door. I might have told them both they didn’t need to be making such a fuss, but just the short drive from the hospital to our house seemed to have zapped me of what little energy I’d had, and I all but collapsed onto the sofa.

It was strange being back here after nearly a month at Brody’s, but not in a bad way. This house had never felt like home—not the way our old place had. Maybe it was knowing our time here was limited, or that the house was still filled with Oliver Mackenzie’s things. Either way, I’d always felt like a guest in this house, but then, we kind of were.

---