The front door swings open, and Jason’s broad frame fills the doorway. His eyes find mine, and a bright smile spreads across his face. “Miss Rivera, on time as always,” he chirps, moving aside to let me pass. I force a smile and step inside.
Feeling restless, I fidget with the sleeves of my sweater as I wait for Jason to lock the door. “I actually slept in today,” I reply, my voice hoarse from the screaming and crying last night. “But thankfully, I made it here with two minutes to spare.”
“Oh? Did I keep you up last night?”
“No. Not at all. I just didn’t have a good night’s sleep.”
“I can get my dad to mind Jake if you’re not feeling up for it tonight?”
“I’ll be fine. I promise. I just need a coffee or two and then I’ll be good as new.”
He chuckles softly and nods. “Well, if you’re okay with it, Jake and I have something to show you.” There’s a hint of excitement in his voice which immediately makes me smile, and a little curious.
Before I can stop him, Jason grabs hold of my wrist, and a sharp, throbbing pain shoots through my arm, making me yelp loudly. Startled by my reaction, Jason immediately releases his grip, his face displaying genuine worry and shock.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I press my wrist to my chest, gently massaging it as I look up at Jason and shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I hurt it while I was sleeping. It’s nothing serious.”
He doesn’t say a word, likely still stunned and confused by what just happened. Then his eyes narrow, fixated on something on my arm. I glance down to follow his gaze and it’s then that I realise my sleeve has ridden up, revealing the reddish-purple bruise on my wrist.
I cover it up as quickly as I can and move my hands behind my back, but it’s too late—the distinct outline of a handprint on my skin is all he needs to see to figure out what caused it.
“Jason…”
“What the fuck was that?” he asks, his voice sharp now.
“I... uh... I just had a little accident at home.” My voice wavers, betraying my nerves.
“What kind of accident?” he presses, his nostrils flaring. I can see by his expression that he’s struggling to keep his cool.
I swallow hard, my eyes dropping to the ground, unable to face the intensity of his gaze.
As if sensing my discomfort, Jason steps closer, gently placing his fingers under my chin and lifting it until our eyes meet. “You know you can always tell me anything, right?” His voice is gentle and reassuring.
There’s a silent pleading in his eyes, begging me not to lie—to trust him and confide in him the way close friends do. But I can’t. I don’t know how. Telling him the truth would only ignite a war between him and Dean, and I don’t think I have the strength to deal with that right now.
“I fell in my sleep,” I force out, the lie tasting bitter in my mouth. “My wrist got caught between the bedside table and the bed frame. I put some ice on it this morning, so it should be fine.”
The lie slips out smoothly, but guilt coils tight in my chest, aching more than the pain in my wrists. I hate lying to Jason. I hate hiding the truth from him. But it’s either that or have him hunt Dean down and beat the living shit out of him.
Jason drops his hand from my chin, and for a fleeting moment, he looks disappointed.
“Are you sure that’s all that happened?”
I nod slowly, silently hoping he’ll accept my excuse and let it go. But I should’ve known that he’s not the type to give up easily.
“Mila, if something serious happened to you, I need you to know you can always come to me—anytime, day or night. You can always trust me.”
I shake my head, keeping firm with the lie. “Nothing serious happened. It was just an accident. That’s all it was, I swear.”
Just then, Jake comes running down the stairs, stopping short when he sees Jason and me standing by the door. “Did you show her yet?” he asks his dad, completely oblivious to the growing tension in the room.
Jason answers his son calmly, his eyes never leaving mine. “No, bud. We were just about to head over there now.”
“What are you waiting for, Dad? Let’s go!” It’s only then does Jason finally look away, shifting his focus to his son.
We’re quiet as Jake leads us upstairs to the library, but the silence feels deafening. I avoid looking at Jason, even though I can feel his eyes on me the entire way.As soon as Jake opens the door, my jaw drops. The walls are lined with all the butterfly paintings Jake and I created the night before. They’re elegantly displayed in black frames, each one labelled with a small name tag. The room resembles a mini art gallery, and I can tell Jason put a lot of time and effort into making it extra special for Jake.
