Page 96 of The Bad Brother
If I were her, I would be.
The bar is dark and deserted when I let myself in. After locking the door and resetting the alarm, I drag myself upstairs, both mentally and emotionally exhausted. Preparing myself for another confrontation with Jensen, I open the front door of the loft to find it empty. I expected to find him waiting for me, ready to pounce the second I walked in the door but the living room and kitchen are clear. While there are signs that he’s been here, wherever he is, he’s not here now.
I’m alone.
For some reason, the realization makes me want to cry.
Seriously, Sloane? After what you just read? After what you just found out about him, you’re actually sad that he’s not here, waiting for you to come home?
Yes.
Which makes it glaringly obvious that leaving Barrett and Getting away from Jensen is the only option because my judgment clearly can’t be trusted.
Setting my bag and keys on the counter, I slowly trudge my way upstairs, silently thanking Amy for keeping 99% ofmy clothes and personal belongings. It means I can grab a few hours’ sleep, pack and still be on the road to LA before?—
Cresting the landing of the sleep loft, I feel my heart ping-pong around my chest before it’s sucked into my lungs on a soft intake of breath.
Jensen is here.
Not more than ten feet away. Sitting on the edge of the bed, in a pair of loose-fitting track pants and a T-shirt. Hair damp like he recently took a shower. Feet bare and planted on the floor, elbows resting on his knees, arms dangling between them. Head bent. Gaze aimed at the floor.
On the nightstand behind him, there’s a water glass stuffed with wildflowers—bluebonnets and black-eyed Susans.
“Did you eat?”
The question draws my gaze away from the nightstand to find him looking at me, waiting for me to answer and I feel my equilibrium start to slip. The tightrope I’ve been balancing on for the past twelve hours starts to wobble because how can a man who picks you flowers and worries if you’ve eaten or not, also be the man who did the things Jensen was accused of doing.
No, Sloane.
Not accused.
Convicted.
He wasconvicted.
“River’s here—” He swallows hard, looking away for a moment because he knows he’s on borrowed time. Any second now, I’m going to start screaming at him to get out. “She fell asleep watching TV, so I took her across the hall?—”
“I want you to leave.”
When I say it his gaze flicks away from mine. “I grilled steaks. I can?—”
“Ineedyou to leave,” I say it louder this time, the tone and volume of my voice pushing me the rest of the way into the room, closer to him. “I don’t want to eat and I don’t want you here.” Something in the back of my brain is telling me I should be afraid of him. That the Jensen I know is not the real Jensen. That he’s dangerous. Capable of doing things I never thought possible, but I’m not. For some reason, I’m not afraid. “After what you did, I don’t understand how you could even—” My breath hitches in my chest and that tightrope I’m balanced on starts to wobble again. This was easier at the hospital. I was Dr. Merrick there. I’d just finished saving a man’s life. I was cool and capable. Knew what to say.
I’m not that person anymore.
I’m just Sloane here. The woman who keeps falling for fake smiles and false promises. The woman who fell in love with someone who just wanted to use her to get even with his brother.
“You lied to me.” I hate the way I sound. Weak. Broken. Most of all, I hate him for making me feel that way. “Youusedme?—”
“I didn’t.” Jensen shakes his head at me, face pale, his mismatched gaze never leaving mine. “I never lied to you, Peach, and I never will. Ask me. Ask me anything. I’ll answer you. I’ll tell you the truth. Iwantto tell you the truth.”
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. What to ask. Words and questions jumble inside my head, the mess of them making it impossible to speak. I don’t know where to start, so I start at the beginning.
“What was your last name before it was Barrett?” It’s the same question I asked him earlier—the question he wouldn’t answer. This time, I get the truth.
“Pryce. Before I changed it, my name was Nathaniel Jensen Pryce.” A small, bitter smile touches the corner of his mouth. “The third.”
Nathaniel.
