Page 19 of Before You (Reckless Love #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JJ

I’VE BEEN TRYING to give Marley space, but it’s harder than I thought, especially when she’s the only person I want to talk to.

After the first night, she’s called me a couple of times over the last week and a half, giving me a second reason to sleep with my ringer at full volume after I hit the point of exhaustion when even my insomnia can’t fight off sleep.

She opens up a little more with each call, and I think I’m slowly winning her forgiveness.

I still haven’t seen her in person, but Bria made a comment a few days ago on our run that Marley seems more like herself, breaking our unspoken agreement to not talk about our roommates.

I’m glad she’s doing better.

The only days Bria and I haven’t run together was the day before our away game last weekend, and the day after because I couldn’t move, even after taking my pills.

I’m lucky Asher doesn’t know she’s running with me, or he’d be crawling out of bed to join us.

I love the guy, but I don’t feel like subjecting myself to an hour of his painful attempt at flirting every day.

Asher groans, tossing his controller to the side. “How the hell are you winning? I never even see you play video games unless I ask you to,” he grumbles, and I grin at him.

“Guess I’m just better than you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He rolls his eyes, reaching for where he threw the controller. “Rematch, but this time, keep your hands where I can see them.”

My hands have always been where he can see them, but whatever. “You think I’m cheating?”

“How else are you winning?”

“Maybe you just suck,” I say, laughing at the stunned expression on his face as he presses start on the game.

“Maybe you’re cheating,” Asher insists, leaning forward to get into his ready position. Sometimes he makes it really hard to remember why we’re friends. I shake my head, leaning back against the cushions as I try to remember which button on the controller does what.

Asher’s head damn near explodes when I win, and he turns everything off. “This is bullshit.” He scoffs, walking out of the room.

“Ash, come on! We could have played another round. I’ll even let you beat me this time,” I call after him, and his face is cherry red when he walks back into the living room, an energy drink in hand.

“That makes it so much worse, JJ. Now I’d rather lose than have you let me win.”

“Dude, I don’t know what to tell you then.”

He sticks his tongue out at me. “You suck.”

“You swallow,” I reply.

Luka walks into the room, flopping onto a recliner. “Did Asher lose again?” he asks, glancing at the dark television.

“I hate both of you,” Asher complains, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Bria you can’t beat me. I have a feeling she doesn’t date losers, but definitely not sore losers,” I taunt, and he flips me off, causing Luka to laugh.

“Walker’s right, but I bet he can’t beat me,” Luka says, tipping his head in my direction.

Yeah, I’m not falling for that. “I think Ash could use the practice instead,” I suggest, knowing Asher can’t turn down a challenge, even if it means getting his ass handed to him.

I like Luka, but he has awful taste in picking a best friend, because Trent would be the absolute last person I’d ever want to hold that title.

I spend every day watching him do one of three things: one day, Trent misses Marley, and the next, he’s claiming she cheated on him with some guy who left a flower at her door, or he’s fucking his way through the cheerleaders.

It’s taking everything in me not to beat the shit out of Trent when he talks about Marley. I don’t even care if Trent finds out I’m the one who left the flower for her.

Purple roses signify love at first sight, and I can’t think of a better way to describe my feelings for Marley.

I’ve loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her, and I never stopped.

I know what flowers mean in my family, and there is zero doubt in my mind Marley is my forever person. All I can hope is I’m hers, too.

I pass the controller to Luka as Asher turns the television back on, just as my phone rings next to me on the couch. I grab it, and the second I see the screen, everything around me fades into background noise.

Blocked caller.

It’s him.

I stand up immediately, sprinting up the stairs to escape to my room. My fingers are shaking as I accept the call, my chest tightening painfully. “Bailey?”

There’s a hoarse cough, and finally, I hear my little brother’s voice for the first time in nearly four months. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, sitting at my desk. I grab the piece of paper I tried— and failed —to write a letter on to Marley last night and my pen, straining to hear anything in the background I can tell the private investigator.

Bailey sighs, coughing again. “I’m okay. Sorry I haven’t called. It took me longer than normal to get a phone.”

He doesn’t sound okay. “Where are you?” I ask this every time, hoping it will finally be the time he tells me.

Unfortunately, today isn’t that day. “Somewhere safe,” Bailey answers, but I’m not sure I believe him. I don’t think he’d tell me if he wasn’t safe, and the possibility terrifies the hell out of me.

“Bailey, please , tell me where you are.”

“You know I can’t tell you because you’ll tell them. I’m not ready, JJ.” He doesn’t sound angry, he sounds tired.

I bet it’s exhausting carrying around so much anger all the time.

“Mom and Dad miss you. They don’t care about the past. They love you so much, B. They just want you to come home— we all do. Hunter and Mirabelle—”

I’m cut off by Bailey’s now sharp tone. “No.”

I feel my stomach twist, and I drag a hand over my face, feeling the stubble growing on my jaw after skipping shaving for a few days. “Okay,” I say, conceding before I push him too far. “Do you need me to send you anything? Money? Food? Clothes? A phone?” Anything he wants, and I’ll give it to him.

“I’m fine, JJ. I don’t need anything—just checking in.”

I bite back the scream begging to escape my lungs. There’s no way whatever money Bailey took with him has lasted this long. If he would accept just once, I’d stop feeling so damn useless because it’d give us a shot at finding him. Bailey’s not stupid, though.

“I love you,” I say instead, refusing to miss a chance of letting my brother know no matter what’s happened, that hasn’t changed.

“I love you too.”

“Please, Bailey. Please come home,” I whisper.

I hear yelling in the background on Bailey’s end, but it’s too indistinct for me to distinguish anything specific. “Shit, I have to go.”

“Wait,” I blurt out, panic flooding my system. I need more time. I’m not ready for the clock to restart.

“I’ll call soon. Tell everyone to stop looking for me. I don’t want to be found.”

And then Bailey hangs up, ending the call as I sit there in pure agony, knowing I can’t fix this. The pain is too much, and everything is too damn loud. I need it to stop.

I drop the pen on the unfinished letter, my chest tightening as I try to figure out what exactly I have to relay from his call, and what I can carry myself.

I spot the bottle on the corner of my desk, sitting in front of a picture of my family after one of Dad’s games.

I know I shouldn’t, but I still pop two pills in my mouth to swallow them dry as the memory of that day taunts me, craving the sense of calm they bring.

Grabbing the frame, I shove it in one of the drawers, slamming it shut before beginning the round of calls to inform my broken family I heard from Bailey.

~

I went through the motions at practice, muscle memory taking over as my mind was shrouded in the fog of recalling the sound of my parents crying when I told them Bailey called.

The fog allows me to breathe without my lungs collapsing under the weight of guilt I feel telling Mirabelle I learned nothing new.

It allows me to momentarily forgive myself when I tell my other brother, once again, his twin called me instead of him.

The pills can’t be any worse for me than being trapped inside my head with no escape.

They still aren’t enough to fix everything, though.

I could feel them start to wear off when I began my run, and as the fog clears, my feet slow to a stop as my knee throbs from the lengths I’ve been pushing it to recently.

I’m not surprised to find myself in front of Marley’s building, knowing I should keep running.

I’m not supposed to be here, but it’s also the only place I want to be. Marley is my safe place.

But I’m aware Marley isn’t ready to see me in person, and it’d be selfish of me to go up there. I’m not sure I can be a big enough person to walk away after today.

I just need to see her, even if it’s only for a second, and then I’ll go back to waiting and writing, but I need Marley.

It’s enough for me to rationalize climbing the stairs to knock on her door. I change my mind a dozen times before I knock, but once I do, I’m frozen in place.

Marley opens the door, a look of confusion marring her beautiful features.

“JJ?” she asks, and I’m highly aware of my heart quickening in my chest. God, she’s fucking stunning.

I scan over her face, committing every detail to my memory to fill in the small holes of what I struggled to remember before in case this is the last time I get to see her.

Her olive skin has a slightly darker hue to it, and I wonder if Marley’s been spending more time outside.

It could also be the shadows from the lighting, though.

More noticeable is the haircut Marley’s definitely had, her brown hair hitting an inch or two below her collarbones, instead of falling down her back.

She’s wearing a large graphic tee with a faded snowman on it, reaching the middle of her thighs.

I wonder —I force my gaze back up, dragging a hand over my jaw.