“Wish I’d been here for that.” My serious side slips into place once more. “Please don’t talk to the media again. We don’t want them to twist your words out of context.” Which they’ll do if they need her comments to fit the rhetoric they’re spinning.
“I’m not all that interested in talking to anyone. Especially not the media. I just want them to leave me alone. And the protesters too.”
I also want that. I want them all to go away and for them to realize how wrong they are about Jess. “Any idea who painted those words on your front door?”
“None. They were there when I got up this morning. I tried to paint over them. After I tried to scrub them off.”
I cringe at what that means. If there’d been any trace evidence, she destroyed it when she attempted to get rid of the words. “Have you reported the vandalism to the cops?”
“Zara did…but I’d already corrupted the evidence by then.” Her lips compress into a stubborn line, irritation flaring in her eyes. “Don’t worry. The officer told me off for that apparent lapse in judgment.”
Christ, nothing like making the victim feel like they’re the one who committed the crime. Jess doesn’t trust cops as it is. That careless response will only add another brick to the wall of distrust she has built against the police department. “I take it they didn’t do anything about the crowd in front of your house?”
“The officer told me there was nothing he could do about it. Not unless they violate the law.”
I release a tight breath. After everything Jess has gone through, she deserves to live her life in peace. She doesn’t deserve this clusterfuck. “I’ve got some white paint at home I can use on the front door for the time being. Will you at least stay at my house until this all blows over?”
“I think you already know the answer.” She huffs out a dry laugh. “This is my home, Troy. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of chasing me away from it.”
I roll my eyes, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of my mouth. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
Jess turns her head to me. “Granny always said my stubbornness would get me far in life.” She grins, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that no amount of smiling can remove. “What she didn’t realize was that it would be the one trait that would keep me alive.”
Except that’s not true. Jess had finally given up on life when she thought she’d never see her daughter again. I tighten my hold on her hand. I came close to losing the woman I love the day she was literally stabbed in the back. Came close to her never being in my life.
“If it makes you feel better, you can stay with me tonight.” The smile on Jess’s face is brighter this time. Then it fades. “Aren’t you supposed to be with the Warriors group until later this evening? I know I haven’t been in here all that long. It can’t be that late already.”
“My brothers can handle it.” I would do the same for them if our places were reversed.
“No, you should go back. I’ll be fine until you finish there. I’ll probably just shoo Zara and Simone away so I can read the books Garrett loaned me.”
“I’m still so glad you’re attempting new things to try to find what you’re passionate about,” I say and press a gentle kiss on her forehead. “But either way, I can’t leave you here while those assholes are in front of your house.”
Jess sits a little straighter. “Yes, you can, and you will, Troy Carson.”
My mouth tugs into a wide grin at her indignant tone.
“I mean it, Troy.” The flare in her eyes matches her tone.
“Christ, I love it when you’re this stubborn.” I brush my mouth against hers. “I love you, Jess. Love you and every infuriatingly stubborn bone in your body.”
She smiles, her expression bright and so goddamn gorgeous. “Glad to hear that.”
Her reaction, her words…they send my heart rate into double time and my gut tightens in a good way. I can’t imagine life without her now that she’s part of it. And maybe one day…one day she’ll feel the same way about me.
I rise to my feet, hold my hand out to her, and pull her up. “Call me if you need anything. I won’t be too late.”
27
JESSICA
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
Baileyand I step out the back door of my house, a floppy straw hat on my head. The early Monday morning sunlight greets us, painting long shadows across the garden.
At some point during the evening, the reporters and protesters called it a night. But a bunch of them have reappeared since daybreak. They’re quiet now, but as soon as they see me that will no doubt end.
