Tranquility (Turbulence Series Part Two), page 36
Brit stared at her.
“Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“I can function without him. I just don’t want to anymore,” Brit clarified. “I need him. Right now, I need him.”
“Darling, you survived. Over and over. Give yourself credit for that. And for the next time you survive. And the next. And realize you’ve done it all on your own; the boys didn’t do it for you, and Sean didn’t do it for you.” Evie watched her.
Brit’s eyes filled with tears.
“Sean doesn’t love you because you need him; he loves you because you’re a fighter.”
Brit shook her head to deny it. “I’m not.”
It was Evie’s turn to shake her head. “We all have moments of doubt; you’re allowed, Brit. We all are.”
Skeptical, Brit asked. “You?”
“Of course. No one is immune to self-doubt. It’s how we react to it that separates us. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I don’t feel proud.”
Evie gave her a knowing smile. “But at least you can identify your feelings now.”
Brit let out a soft laugh. “And it sucks.”
“It only gets worse, and then it gets better. And then it can be amazing.”
Brit had taken a sip of her wine; she was ready for amazing. She was looking forward to amazing with Sean.
Chapter forty-one
BRIT
Brit understood Jasper.
Didn’t she, though? She’d been the one to offer the excuse for him initially when she didn’t know who the rapist was. She’d been the one to mortify Sean, causing him to say, “Killing as an act of remorse? That’s dark.”
But she was dark. So, she should understand why Jasper did this to her. How could she blame him when she knew him so well?
But she did blame him; she did. She loathed him for what he did to the other women. Whatever punishment the country of Ireland—or however it worked here—set against him, it wouldn’t be harsh enough.
And he terrified her. The specter of him haunted her.
But she insisted on seeing him. Not in a dream, and not with Sean waiting for her; not that she’d seen Sean since she’d taken a taxi and left. But Evie was waiting for her, probably nervously chewing on a manicured nail as she low-key seduced Detective Brady.
She was here because she had to know: his hold on her, would he ultimately win? Would he always be waiting for her in the dark? Good angel; dark angel. They were her yin and yang, as she’d teased.
When was dark too dark?
Sitting on the stool, she stared apprehensively through the plexiglass. It was a very different setup from her dream, and she was grateful for the barrier. Every time someone moved or coughed, however, she about left her skin.
War zone, rebel camps, even an attempted kidnapping… much less frightening than this moment, and she wasn’t downplaying the horrors of those moments. She was that scared as she waited.
And then he was there, walking through the door in dark trousers and a black turtleneck, a mischievous grin on his face. Handsome, hazel-eyed, red hair flopping over his forehead, giving her a glimpse of the boy she’d grown up with. Throwing his arms wide, he greeted her, “The return of the prodigal daughter.”
The words he’d welcomed her back to Ireland with; warm, welcoming, jovial… Jasper.
Her lungs seized, and her heart rebelled. A sob escaped her. Her hands flew to cover her mouth to stop herself from calling out his name. Tears streamed down her face as she shook with the force of the emotion that robbed her of sight, that devastated her on the spot.
This wasn’t fear.
It was desolation. Longing.
Heartbreak.
Jasper took his seat opposite her, head canted as he regarded her with curious concern in his eyes. “Cara.”
She had a hard time catching her breath, blinking through the moisture. She furiously wiped it away. Of all of the reactions she thought she’d have, this wasn’t one of them. But across the thick plastic from her wasn’t a fiend looking back; it wasn’t the man who’d terrorized and tried to kill her; it was her friend.
Lowering her hands, her bottom lip trembling uncontrollably, she could only stare at him.
He gave her a pained smile. “I’d say you look brilliant, but you’re a bleedin’ mess.”
It shouldn’t have been funny. Nothing about this was funny, but a small laugh flew out. Continuing to wipe at her cheeks, she searched his eyes, looking for her answers. But he was looking back at her as though this was an ordinary get-together; no animosity, no sinister undertones.
“You’re doing all right, then? Himself’s looking after you?”
Brit gave a little shake of her head. Glancing around at their surroundings, she settled her attention on him again. “What a question, Jasper: am I doing all right?”
His eyes dropped to her neck, then down over the long-sleeved denim button-up she was wearing. She assumed he was either assessing or imagining the marks he’d left behind. He leaned forward on his elbows; she startled backward despite the separating partition. He gave her a rueful smile. “Out with it then. You aren’t here to be my parrot.”
“Are you sorry?” The question just flew out of her; it wasn’t what she intended to ask. She knew he wasn’t; she didn’t need verbal confirmation of it. As his brows drew together, she walked it back, “Don’t answer that.”
His eyes dropped to the stainless steel shelf in front of him.
“Where…? When…?” She wasn’t sure what she needed to know, why she needed to know it. But this needed to make sense to her; she had to make some sense of this. “Did this start with my mother? What she did to you?”
Jasper made a face of contemplation. He gave his head a slight shake. “What she did to…?” He stopped suddenly. After a few seconds of further deliberation, he lifted his gaze and confirmed gently, “It did, cara; it started after what she did... to me.”
Swallowing hard, she wondered at his hesitation. But she pressed, “And the bathtub?” Referring, of course, to her mother’s death.
He swallowed, looking at her as though she should understand. When he spoke, his words sounded disconnected from his expression, “For what she did… to me. It was all about what she’d done to me, Brit. You want someone to blame, then I’m to blame for the whole lot of it.”
Hearing him say it, odd though his confession was, especially in contrast to the angry words spewed at her during the violence of his act on his floor, lifted a weight. It hadn’t been about her; it had been his madness—all of it. And he was, for once, owning it. Right? He looked sincere.
What had Sean said more than once? Jasper was allergic to responsibility. Well, he was accepting it now.
She hoped. That’s all she could do, right? Because he was embracing his atrocities, his sins, quite easily. Even the Jasper she knew—the one she thought she knew—wouldn’t have jumped up and so quickly taken the blame.
She raced forward because she wanted to hear this; wanted his act of selflessness, this act of his relieving her of the burden. If she stayed too long, she was afraid this surreal moment of Jasper’s concession would dissipate.
And more than anything, she needed this act of contrition from him.
“When did you…?” She grimaced. “Why? Those women; they’re innocent.”
He scratched under his eye. “Don’t know that I should be talking to you about that.”
Fury had her shoving her face up against the partition, her fear of him secondary to her rage. “You terrorized innocent women! You destroyed their lives, their peace of mind. One is dead because of it. You better talk to me about it! You better offer me something.”
“What do you want to hear?” he challenged. “It wasn’t about them.”
“It’s about them,” she insisted. “They had lives. Normal lives; they didn’t deserve you.” She paused before admitting the truth, “They didn’t deserve you because of me.”
He didn’t correct her. He just stared at her.
His silence was condemnation.
Well, fuck him. He didn’t get to guilt her into any of the blame.
There was an image she had of the three of them since she could remember, the Trinity Knot: three points, infinitely entangled: she, Sean, and Jasper. They would always be wound around one another, a never-ending pattern. But his was tarnished, burnt metal, decaying. Still there, part of the whole, but… damaged.
His intention for her had been for her to disappear forever, and she was still here. Her gaze landed on him again. As though he sensed her change, his jaw tensed—a Sean habit—clearly bracing himself for her words.
“I love you, and I thank you,” her voice caught, and her chin trembled again against the onslaught of sadness, the emotion of almost twenty years. Because she did owe him for her youth, her beautiful memories that he did not get to diminish. She continued, her voice unnaturally high with grief, “But I fucking hate you. For me, I will forgive you one day. For the other women, I will never forgive you. I’ll always carry their pain; I will never know it, but I will carry it.”
Jasper nodded. “Fair play, Brit.”
His callous disregard, his easy dismissal pissed her off. “Seriously, Jasper?”
“You asked if I’m sorry.” His look reached into her soul. “I’m sorry you couldn’t love me the way you love him. I’m sorry you’ll be moving through life fucking hating me. I’m sorry I love you.”
…The love of a rapist. Of a murderer. Of a boy who’d tried to stand between her and nightmares; who became her nightmare because of it.
“Goodbye, Jasper.” She should have turned, said the word, and gone. But she looked a beat too long.
His lips twitched.
It made her pause, that micro-expression. Her heart slammed. Her cheeks heated, and her head spun. The sense of closure, her relief, was replaced with the familiar foreboding.
“You think so, Brit?”
Evie stood when she saw her approach. “What happened?”
Brit shook her head, darting a look to a severe-looking Detective Brady. He wasn’t angry with her; he was concerned by what she imagined was her pale face. He was probably regretting his decision to get her in to see Jasper.
Reaching out a hand to touch his arm reassuringly, she informed Evie, “He knows just what to do to mess with me.”
It was an understatement.
Jasper had shown up how she’d needed to see him: the non-threatening man she’d always known, appealing to every memory, every heartstring that desperately wanted to believe she’d been mistaken. The one who had been easy to love. He’d said the right things, allowed her to feel the peace she’d been craving; needing. Took the verbal blows in place of the physical ones he used to let her land.
And then he robbed her of it with a smile that to a casual bystander would have looked benign.
Pushing back against the terror, she felt an overwhelming need for Sean. Not because she wasn’t strong enough; she didn’t need his strength. She wanted the comfort and safety of his arms; he was her shield. And… It was time.
Chapter forty-two
JASPER
What more proof did anyone need that the three of them were inseverable?
Neither one of them could stay away. They both needed him. They were unraveling without him.
He’d tried to warn them; he’d given her a chance—the choice.
Sean broke first; of course he had. He was driven mad by her silence. It’d been a treat, watching him twist, seeing his bewilderment over how fiercely Jasper was able to command Brit’s dreams, her terror.
But his girl herself…
He’d been surprised, to be sure, to get the notification of her request for visitation. He’d gone over every scenario of how to greet her. What would be the most effective? The fastest way to cripple her heart?
To punish her?
Because he’d never stop punishing her, haunting her. He had one claim on her now, and that was through her fear. He owned that, and he wasn’t going to relinquish it. As long as he could fuck with her mind, there was a part of her that would always be his, a part of her that Sean could never have.
Chapter forty-three
BRIT
Brit smiled when she heard Ferris’s voice boom to her out across the crowded beer garden in Cork’s City Centre: “Hey baby, you from Tennessee? ‘Cause, you’re the only ten I see! Are you a parking ticket? ‘Cause you got ‘fine’ written all over you!”
Her gaze swung in their direction, and she spotted Ferris immediately as he began to stand. But her interest was in the man who had his back to her, his hand frozen mid-air with the beer in his hand. Her heart just about jumped out of her throat as her body warmed head to toe, an electric pulse ripping through her.
As she approached them, Sean completed the path to his mouth, taking a long drink. She’d expected him to greet her with as much enthusiasm as Ferris—more so. In the taxi here, she’d envisioned him grabbing her up and kissing her hard, passionately, happy to see her; she’d been looking forward to it, being in his arms, his mouth on hers. It hadn’t occurred to her that he wouldn’t bother to turn toward her, welcome her, that he would visibly tense as she approached, his head lowering slightly.
Ferris was standing, a hand held out to her as she approached the table; he stepped down the plank to make room for her across from Sean. Her grateful look at his greeting slipped to Sean, who turned his eyes toward her when she stepped into his line of sight, his expressionless blue eyes traveling over the simple sun dress and crop jean jacket she wore, her red hair now cascading past her shoulders in fat, curly waves.
Sitting down, she greeted him breathlessly, “Hi, Sean.”
His gaze dropped to the low cut of the dress where the slight swell of bosom was visible despite the loose fit; he looked confused by her choice of fashion, but he acknowledged, “Brit.” His tone was cold, hard; his expression guarded and wary.
Sean’s stoic stare confused her; made her nervous.
Ferris commanded her attention, bumping her shoulder. “I’m glad you came out tonight, Brit, since I’m only in Ireland for a few days. You look stunning. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”
She blushed and dropped her gaze momentarily before looking back up at Sean hesitantly, hurt by his chilly response, only interested in his approval. It wasn’t forthcoming.
Trying to lighten the obvious tension, Ferris kept at it, “I mean, I’m about to ask if you have a fire extinguisher with you because you are on fire!”
Brit couldn’t help the small smile and head shake at the ridiculous pickup line, her blush deepening as she tried to read beyond Sean’s stare.
Ferris nudged her with his shoulder. “I’m in the mood for pizza. A pizza you, that is.”
At that one, both she and Sean gave him questionable looks, although Brit let out a giggle.
Sobering slightly, the tense mood not shifting, Ferris addressed her although he indicated Sean with a tilt of his head. “Peanut, I think you need to say something to him.”
Brit nodded. “I know.”
Ferris winked at her. “All right then.” He pushed his beer toward her before he looked around and spotted the waiter. “Let’s see if this works.” Standing up, he stepped away from the table and snapped his fingers.
Brit returned her gaze to Sean’s shuttered blue. Her heart was beating so loud and so fast, she was sure he could hear it, see it. Her hands shook as she reached for Ferris’s beer and pulled it even closer to herself; she couldn’t hide the trembling of the glass as she brought it to her lips for a small sip.
“You’re drinking?” he asked. The disapproval was evident in his tone.
She gave a slight nod. “Very little. Doctor Thomas said a little was okay. It’s been a couple of months.”
“I know how long it’s been.” Slight rebuke.
Brit pulled in a calming breath. She was thrown by the reception, his distant response to her. This wasn’t Sean. Dropping her head slightly, feeling defeated already, she said quietly, “I thought this would go differently.”
“How’d you think it would go, Brit?” His tone was slightly mocking, and she felt chastised for holding any fantasies of romance novel-like reunions. “You walked out; after that, you disappeared.”
She shook her head, confused. “I didn’t… no, I didn’t walk out.”
“You didn’t walk out?” he asked incredulously. “Where’d you go, then? Did the Little People grab you? Has my impression of events been wrong all along?”
Brit looked up and shook her head. “No, I mean; I did, I left, but I didn’t leave you; that’s not what it was.”
“How many messages have I left you? Did you even listen to them? Read them?”
“I… I haven’t.” She was ashamed, most likely looking like she wanted to smack herself in the forehead, as though she’d walked into an exam without studying. “I don’t have my phone.”
“You had to know I’d go mad the way you left after what happened that morning.”
“No, Evie said she’d explained. She gave you…”
Sean let out a humorless laugh and lifted his glass. He watched her over the rim as he took a drink. Setting the glass down, he asked, “Can you guess how well she’s explained it?”
Brit considered his overall demeanor, a cold feeling rushing over her as she realized that Evie hadn’t delivered Brit’s message; her camera. “I’m guessing not very well.”
He grunted in agreement. His eyes traveled over her again, lingering again at the low neckline, contemplative. Brit felt the tips tighten under his perusal; the slight narrowing of his eyes and flaring of his nostrils told her he noticed her physical response. She didn’t care; he knew what he did to her. As angry as he appeared to be, she still wished it was his hands roaming over her instead of his eyes.
