Page 88 of Call It What You Want
Ava
The air is heavy, thick with the metallic tang of blood. Lucas stands in the living room, one hand covering his mouth, while Roman hovers in the doorway, his gaze darting to where Yates lies motionless on the kitchen tile.
Jackson hasn’t moved at all. He’s standing between me and the rest of the room protectively, nostrils flared, chest heaving, his father’s blood spattered across his neck and T-shirt.
I’m untied, but still in the chair, trembling, afraid to breathe and shatter the stillness.
“We need to move fast,” Lucas finally says. “Yates won’t stay out forever.”
Roman looks at Jackson. “We’ll call your uncle, then handle Yates, and…the body.”
Jackson’s jaw flexes, and he nods.
His eyes flick to Chase, still cowering half-hidden behind the counter. Jackson’s hand tightens into a fist. “Take Yates back to Rush House,” he says flatly. “And bring Chase with you. We’ll deal with them both there.”
Lucas hesitates but nods. Roman jerks his chin toward the front door. “Lucas and I will be out front, making some calls.”
Before they move, I hear the faint, paper-thin whine of Chase from the corner, small and useless. My stomach clenches.
“What are you going to do to him?” I ask, my voice coming out like a rasp.
Jackson looks at me, and something unhinged and cold slides into his eyes. “I’m going to make his death long and drawn out,” he says quietly, the words measured and terrible. “I’ll make sure he remembers every fucking second.”
A sick taste rises in my mouth. Part of me wants to recoil, disgusted by what he’s saying, by the cruelty in it—but the image of Chase handing me over to men who would’ve killed me leaves me hollow. No sympathy surfaces. Not for him. Not after that.
On his way out the door, Lucas slaps Jackson’s shoulder, “You good?”
A single, clipped nod.
“You did what you had to do, man.” Lucas’ gaze flicks to me. “Anyone of us would have done the same thing.”
Then, Roman and Lucas are gone. The door closes, and silence falls over the apartment. It only takes a few seconds, but Jackson finally turns to fully face me. The mask he’s been wearing cracks, and for the first time since all this started, I see real fear in his eyes. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, even though every muscle in my body aches. “I’m fine.”
“Ava—”
“You killed him.” The words erupt as a sob. “You killed your own father.”
His eyes close, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “I know.”
“Forme.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He crosses the space between us slowly, cautiously, like he’s approaching a wounded doe. His hands hover inches from my skin, trembling. “Because I knew he’d never stop coming after you.” His voice drops, a rasp of possession and exhaustion. “And I couldn’t breathe knowing he was still out there. You don’t understand, I’d burn down the world before I’d lose you again.”
And suddenly, I see it. All of it. The obsession, the hunger in his eyes every time he looked at me. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. This whole time, he’s been trying to protect me from the kind of love that kills everything else in its path.
“For three years, you’ve been carrying the burden of what really happened all alone,” I whisper.
His gaze searches my face. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.” My fingers trace the line of his jaw. “You chose to protect me.”
“Every-fucking-time,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’ll choose you every time, Ava.”
