Page 31

Jules

A wooden door shouldn’t be so intimidating. But as I stand outside my grandfather’s bedroom, I can’t bring myself to even touch the handle so I can open it. Aside from pointing to it so Riley could check it out when we first got here, I haven’t been anywhere near it.

I haven’t wanted to go inside. Yet, I can’t help but feel like it’s the one place I need to be right now. You’ve got this, Jules. I hype myself up then grip the handle and turn it before pushing the door open.

My grandfather’s bedroom is the largest in the house and includes a small sitting area in front of a bay window flanked by cream-colored curtains. Bookshelves line the wall closest to the door, and each of his titles is still perfectly in its place.

His bed is made, the navy-blue quilt my grandmother made before she died still draped over the foot of it. His readers are still sitting on his nightstand, as is the bottle of water he took to bed with him every single night.

My throat burns as I step further inside then close the door behind me. I can still smell him in here. Peppermint and pine. I run the tips of my fingers over the end of his bed, remembering the times I suffered from night terrors and ran in here, seeking safety.

He’d been everything to me. Even before my parents died. He was my best friend. And I let him down by keeping the truth from him. Maybe if I’d have told him sooner, he wouldn’t have been looking so hard. We could have moved on together. Sought justice together.

But now I’m alone.

Forever.

Surveying the room around me, I look for anyplace he might’ve been able to hide something and not have it found. There are thousands of places though, thousands of books he could have tucked something away in. Drawers. Shelves.

Since I’m not sure there’s anything in here, I have no clue where to even start.

I step into his closet and flip on the light then walk through it, gently touching all of his clothes. What am I supposed to do with all of these when this is over? How am I supposed to move forward?

He’d kept each and every one of his shoes in clear plastic boxes, which is where I start my search. I open each of them up, checking inside the shoes and underneath the lid—which is a solid white.

My theory that he’d taped something inside vanishes when the search comes up empty.

So I move to the pockets of his jackets and pants.

Still nothing.

Growing more frustrated by the second, I search the closet, doing what I can to not destroy it even as I leave no area unchecked.

But after an hour—still nothing.

Am I crazy? Did he really not leave anything else? Or did he hide it in other places in the house?

I head back out into the bedroom and start checking through his drawers. Aside from normal notes he left for himself, there’s nothing.

The books loom ahead, so I move toward them, running my fingers over the leather originals he’d started collecting. He had one for every movie he acted in. They were his gift to himself each time a project was completed.

Maybe.

I open each and every one of them. One hundred and thirty-two of them to be precise, each one of them inscribed with the movie he’d made and the date it released.

But other than that—nothing.

Someone knocks on the door. “You can come in.”

It opens, and Riley steps in. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Hands on my hips, I face him. “I thought that maybe, if he left something in the theater, he’d hidden something else in here. I know you looked, but I just thought that maybe you missed something.”

“I might have,” he says. “I was thorough, but it’s possible he left something in a place only you could find it.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

Just the fact that he doesn’t dismiss me because he already checked the room means the world to me. “Care to help me look?”

“Absolutely. Where do we start?”

“I already looked in the closet. There’s nothing there.” I turn around the room. “I checked the drawers, and nothing.”

“Don’t think logically,” Riley says. “Focus on things that mean something to you. He hid the folder down in the theater room, under the chocolate. You said that movies were something you both enjoyed, just like you both loved the chocolate.”

“Right.”

“So that was hidden specifically for you. If there’s something else, he likely would have done the same.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay. Well, we both loved books.”

“Then we start there. Any particular titles you loved?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that,” I reply with a soft smile.

Riley laughs. “Fair enough. Then let’s just start looking.”

“Did you check any of these?” I ask. “So we don’t double-check anything.”

“The leather-bound ones,” he says. “And the bottom half of the shelves. I meant to come back and check the rest but?—”

“Things got crazy.”

He chuckles. “Things got crazy.” Riley raises a hand to run through his hair, and my gaze catches on his scraped knuckles. Before I can think too much on it, I step forward and take his hand in mine.

“This looks like it hurts.” The broken skin has scabbed over, and he’s washed most of the fingerprint ink from his hands, though they’re likely going to be stained for a few days at least.

“I’ve had worse.”

I remember seeing the scars marring the muscled expanse of his hair-dusted chest. The bullet hole that nearly stole his life. Keeping his hand in mine, I raise my gaze to his. “Thank you, Riley.”

“For what?” All humor is gone from his expression, and it’s replaced with a tension I know is likely mirrored in mine. The air around us grows heavy, and my lungs struggle to draw breath.

“Fighting for me,” I reply softly.

His gaze drops to my lips before returning to mine, but he doesn’t make a move toward me. And because I can’t stand the idea of waiting to know how it feels any longer, I stretch up and press my lips to his.

It starts soft. An easy kiss that soothes the ache I’ve carried over the past couple of days. Really, since I met the man, though then I’d believed that spark was merely frustration.

I was so very wrong. The spark turns into a wildfire, devouring all rational thought in my mind. Still, he moves slow.

His hand cups the side of my face, but he lets me set the pace, giving me space even when I’m giving him the opportunity to do the exact opposite.

I pull away and look up into his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He pulls me in again, more frantic this time, one hand on my face, the other around my waist. As his lips capture mine again, I lose myself in the feeling. In a kiss that I want.

Because it’s the first one I’ve ever had.

Riley pulls back and releases me. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do that.”

Yet he held back. For me. I raise my hand and place it on his chest. The beat of his heart is heavy beneath my palm.

“You’re the only man who’s ever made me feel like that.

I never thought I’d want any kind of relationship again.

Not after—” I close my eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again and looking up at him.

“You make me feel renewed. Like I’m not as ruined as I thought. ”

“You’re not ruined,” he says, cupping my cheek again. “You’re perfect, Jules.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I lean in, wrapping my arms around his waist and letting him hold me close. We remain just like this for a few moments. Then I pull back and wipe my eyes. “Now. Maybe we’ll find something that answers everything for us and this nightmare will end.”

Riley grins at me. “I’ll do my best to focus.”

Two hours and every book in my grandfather’s expansive bedroom library has been checked and confirmed to be empty. “Maybe I was wrong.” I take a deep breath and run a hand over my forehead.

“Is there anywhere else we could check?” he questions. “If there was only one thing in this room you could grab before it went up in flames, what would it be?”

“Easy. The quilt. But he couldn’t have hidden anything—” And as I’m shifting my gaze back to Riley, something catches my attention at the corner of the quilt.

I move toward it, a moth to flame, and lift the quilt.

It’s small, a minor detail, but the stitching is a different color on one of the squares.

“What is it?”

“My grandmother made this before she died. I was young, so I don’t remember much about her, but I do know that she was incredibly attentive to detail and didn’t use a different color thread.

This was also the blanket I used whenever I got sick.

It was my favorite. My grandfather knew that.

” I hug it close, my heart hammering excitedly when I feel a hard spot beneath the fabric.

Hope shoots through me. Victory. Because I know it never made that sound.

Eyes wide, I turn to Riley. “There’s something in here.”