Page 230 of Soul So Dark

Now she’s just being obtuse and I’m not in the mood to play any goddamn games.

“Goddamnit, Jor—”

I try to stop myself, but it’s too late. It’s done.

Dallas whips around, her eyes wide with shock as contempt slowly pools around her sapphire irises.

What the fuck did I just do?

The silence hangs like a cinderblock between us, and the longer Dallas looks at me with what can only be described as utter betrayal, the more dread washes over me. After a few moments, her face relaxes, but only slightly.

“What are you asking me?”

But regardless of her reaction, there’s nothing to quell the rage simmering beneath my skin. “I think you know what I’m asking.”

“Say it,” she bites out through clenched teeth.

I hesitate, but images keep flashing through my mind that I’ve tried to forget, but can’t. And now all I see is the purple dot on that map where it’s not supposed to be. In an instant, I reel back and hurl my phone at the back of the door, detonating it and sending shards of glass and plastic flying.

“YOU FUCKED MY BROTHER!”

But it’s not my voice that I hear; it’s Colson’s. Except he’s yelling the same thing at me in his living room—about Dallas. She flinches at the impact, but then straightens up and squares off with me.

“No,Ididn’t,” Dallas growls so deeply that it doesn’t even sound like her voice.

Then she turns and slowly stalks into the closet, not taking her eyes off me until she reaches the doorway. She disappears inside and returns with a white box. Gently, she places it on the edge of the bed and steps back, turning to me again with fire blazing in her eyes. Glancing between her and the box, I approach the bed and lift the lid apprehensively. Layers of tissue paper obscure its contents at first, but when I finally see the object inside, I’m not sure what to think.

It's a blanket, with green and white squares printed with frogs and lily pads—a quilt.I lift it out of the box, letting it unfurl to the floor. But this quilt looks different. The prints are a bit larger, but it’s similar enough to make me think for an instant that I imagined the whole thing, that one of the last pieces of my mom wasn’t obliterated and dumped over the hood of my car.

But it’s whole.

“My mom helped me make it,” Dallas says softly, “a little bit each time I went to their house.”

My eyes wander over every inch until I get to the center of the quilt, where my breath catches and everything stops. The original scrap of fabric, faded and worn, is stitched in the middle inside a bright lime green block of fabric. I lift the section up to look closer, examining the edges that have been neatly trimmed clean. And, somehow, what’s left seems brighter than it was before.

Dallas takes the corner and folds it over, revealing a large black and blue flannel triangle mirroring another pink and black flannel one to make a square. There’s one in each corner of the quilt, and I recognize the patterns immediately.

“They’re from the jackets that belonged to your parents,” she explains. “In Tulum, I told Luca and Adrian that I was going to try and save your baby quilt, but I needed to find more fabric. Luca said that he had these, but you didn’t know about it. He said these were the jackets that your parents wore all the time when they worked on houses together. He had them cut out and ready for me to sew on last night—the final pieces.”

I remember them; the camel brown ones with the flannel lining that was always warm, no matter what.

Dallas lets the fabric fall from her fingers. “He thought that if I put them in here, then you’d see that he’s serious—that he’s truly sorry for what he did to you.”

I press the back of my fist to my lips, trying to still my chin trembling underneath. Gathering my thoughts, I drape the quilt over the box and pull Dallas to me, wrapping my arms around her waist. She remains still, her arms dangling at her sides. I squeeze her tighter, but she still doesn’t move.

No. No, no, no…

“Dal,” I murmur into her hair, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I pull back, brushing her hair away from her face as I look her in the eyes. “I love it, and I loveyou.”

But her only response is to stare back at me blankly. I pull her tight against my chest again, her body just as loose as before as I move my hands over her back like it’ll jump-start her muscles.

Come back…come back…

I squeeze her tighter, my heart pounding harder as the panic rises. Until, finally, she slowly raises her arms and rests her hands on my shoulders. I tilt her head, scattering kisses up and down her cheek, trying to bring her back to life. Soon, she gives my shoulders a squeeze and gently pulls away.

“Dal, I—” I glance around hectically, my eyes falling on the clock on the thermostat.

Shit.It’s getting late and I almost forgot about the match.