Page 167 of Rush of Jealousy

“How long did that last?”

I can barely hear his voice, it is so soft.

“I don’t know. Not long. I didn’t do it very often…just when I was very lonely and felt like I couldn’t find any control in my life. So, a month? Maybe two?”

“Then what made you stop?”

“I had an incident.” I look out the window. It is a memory I’d rather not remember.

“Tell me,” Graham coaxes. “Let me in, please.”

“I accidentally nicked myself a little too much, nearly hitting my femoral artery.”

Graham hisses out a curse word but I continue before I lose the courage.

“My dad found the trail of blood all throughout the house as I searched for a bandage.”

“Did he get you some help?”

I shake my head no. “I never told him I was cutting. I lied to him and told him it was a wound still trying to heal from the accident. But from that day, I vowed that I wouldn’t cut again. And I didn’t. Instead, I became obsessed with finding out who killed James and fled the scene. I lost a lot of my memories—maybe it was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy. Or maybe it was that I never had any of the memories from the crash in the first place and just fabricated what I thought I remembered in my own mind’s space. But I needed a focus to survive without James. So I tried my best to find out who could do something so appalling. Hit us and then just leave.”

Graham nods, understanding passing over his face. “I understand the need for revenge.”

“With Penny?”

“Yeah. But I may have to let it all go.”

“Why? What has changed?”

He swallows hard and looks down at me with sympathy. “My biggest fear since I met you is happening.”

“What is that?”

“You’re being targeted.”

I flinch at his words. “How do you know that?” I ask in a rush.

“That’ll have to wait; we are here already,” he sighs, as we pull up the cobblestone driveway that is showcased by a beautifully manicured lawn. The house sits at the top of the lot with an intricate stone exterior and huge windows. The house is very geometric with sharp angles and rectangular windows. Balconies are featured at the sides of the house overlooking the majestic landscaping. It’s as if the house was transplanted in the middle of a private garden. The structure is modern despite being the home Graham grew up in—so at least twenty-some years old. Maybe his family did a lot of renovations recently.

“Wow, this looks amazing. I love all of the windows and all the stone. Looks earthy yet contemporary.”

“My dad is an architect and runs his own business. My mom is an interior designer.”

I laugh at this information. “I can see why they would be attracted to one another.”

“They are more in love now than they were when I was growing up. It’s obnoxious at times.” He scrunches up his face and looks boyish in a way.

I giggle at his fake disgust. No one wants to think of their parents ever being intimate with each other. But yet, it is refreshing that I am about to meet a couple who is happily married after decades together.

Graham pulls me out of the car and drags me up the front stone steps with excitement. He knocks a couple of times and rocks on his heels in anticipation. My heart feels like it is stuck in my chest as the sound of the door unlocking jolts it awake.

“Honey, our Graham’s finally home!” a woman greets, hugging Graham into her body. “C’mon in, both of you. Oh, how I missed having my family all home.” She is a friendly looking woman about my height, with beautiful blue eyes and shoulder-length auburn hair.

A taller man, around the age of sixty, with salt-and-pepper hair, crystal-blue eyes, a clean-shaven face, and broad shoulders peeks around his wife, shaking hands with Graham and then patting him on the back. “Good to see you, son.”

“You must be sweet Angie?” his mom says, pulling me into a hug. It catches me off guard, and tears instantly fill my eyes at how warm and safe she feels. Like my momma’s arms used to feel like.

“Yes, this is my Angela. Sweetheart,” he says to me, “these are my folks—Donna and Germain Hoffman.”

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