Page 68 of Jett

“Then he better pull his fuckin’ head in.”

I sigh, staring at the hallway as if Grim will just magically reappear. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the decent thing to do, Jett.”

“Fine, but if he says anything to upset—”

“Then I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

“When did you get so fuckin’ stubborn?”

“About the time I was held at gunpoint, kept hostage in lockdown, and you impregnated me.”

“Jesus, woman. I may impregnate you again talkin’ like that.”

“Later.” I leave him with a wistful smile and walk down the hall. I rap on Grim’s door. He doesn’t answer, so I knock again and enter without permission. He’s sitting in a ratty old armchair, smoking a joint and nursing a bottle of Jameson Whiskey. He puts out the smoke in an ashtray on the coffee table and kicks the chair beside him to indicate I should sit down. “I guess congratulations are in order, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You two sure moved fast. Your husband’s been dead, what? A week? Or is it two?”

I wince. “I’m almost eight weeks.”

“You fuck him just that one time in lockdown, or have you been goin’ at it a while now?”

I shake my head. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t treat me like a whore when you know I’m not.”

“Had sex with a man who wasn’t your husband, didn’t ya? I call it like I see it, sweetheart.”

“You know, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came here today. I thought maybe Jett might reject me, but I never expected it from my closest friend.”

He laughs humourlessly. “Your closest friend, huh? Damn, I didn’t know you thought so fuckin’ highly of me.”

“Why are you being like this? Why can’t you just be happy for me, for us?”

“Because I fuckin’ love you, Raine!” Grim stands and kicks the coffee table with his foot. It flips on its side, ash and cigarette butts spilling out over the worn carpet.

I flinch and get to my feet.

“I don’t know how much clearer I could have made that without dragging you back to my room by the fuckin’ hair. I’m not happy for him. I’m not happy for you. I’m fucking miserable because you just broke my goddamn heart.”

“And you’ve just broken mine. I guess we’re even now, huh?” Tears well in my eyes and I head for the door before he can see them fall, but he grabs my arm and jerks me back to him, my spine against his firm torso. His arms wrap tightly around my body and he rests his chin on my crown. “Let me go.”

“No. Don’t leave. I’m an arsehole. I’m sorry.”

I bring my arms up and slide my hands over his forearms, still wrapped around me, feeling the scarred, mutilated flesh. He stills, and I can tell he’s trying hard not to pull away. I rub his arms, gently, carefully, showing him I’m not afraid of his imperfections, only of his temper, only of the harsh and wicked things he says. “I need you, Grim. You’re my friend, and I don’t have a lot of them. I want you to be happy for me.”

“And if I can’t?”

I shake my head and he turns me in his arms. My tears are spilling freely down my cheeks. He gently wipes them away with his thumbs as he cradles my head in his hands. “If you can’t, then I guess we’re no longer friends.”

“Is that what you want?” He studies my face, his gaze lowering to my lips.