Page 73 of The Fixer

A grumble rushed through the crowd, the people disbursing, one couple at a time. Rachelle followed, ushering them into the other room, though she paused at the doorway and looked back.

“Jet?”

When I peered around his shoulder, I found him shaking his head, brow pulled down in a deep V. “I can’t stay. I’ve got…” He pointed over his shoulder, and his mother’s face fell.

“Yes. Of course.” She clutched her hands together. “Eliza?”

“Give us a minute,” Jet rushed, refusing to let go of my hand.

Rachelle gave a curt nod and stepped out of the room. Jet turned to me, his hand going to my face as his arm wrapped around my back, tugging my chest into his.

“Eliza.”

“Shh.” I swept a lock of hair off his forehead, pressed my face into the curve of his palm. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain right now. I’ll be alright.” I pushed up onto my toes, kissed at the furrow between his brow. “I need you to be okay, too.”

“Eliza.” He buried his face in the side of my neck, pressing a gentle kiss against my skin. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” I whispered back, hugging him close. “You’re a good man, Jet. Never forget that.”

His lips found mine, a soft presence more inviting than anything I’d ever known. The hand on my face slid behind my head, tilting me so he could slant his mouth over mine. I opened to him, invited him in, the man giving more than he could ever take.

Even as he was slowly stealing my heart.

“I have to go,” he whispered against my lips, his own pressing more and more kisses to the edges of my mouth. “I have to go.”

Hands at the outsides of his shoulders, I gave him a gentle push. “You need to go.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“Just make sure you come home safe.”

Jet pressed one last kiss to my lips. “I promise.”

* * *

After watching his car drive away out the kitchen window, I drew in a steadying breath and turned toward the doorway leading into the house. They were there, waiting, eight sets of eyes staring in.

It was easy to pick out the siblings, despite their differences. The biggest one and two of the women had the same nose, the same shape to their lips. I found four pairs of eyes that matched Jet’s in shape, though the color ranged from the dark gray of Rachelle’s to a warm brown. One of the men looked somewhat similar, but there was something different. Something that didn’t match.

“Come on, now,” one of the women chided, pushing through to the front of the crowd. “Rachelle told us to welcome her. Let’s let her come into the house.”

She turned to me as the others shifted, offered an awkward smile as they made their way into the next room.

“Hi there.” She waved, then took a step toward me. “I’m Emilia Pasternelo, Ed’s wife. What’s your name?”

I accepted her offered hand and murmured, “Eliza Westbrook,” before she gripped my arm and pulled me after the others.

“Well, Eliza, come on in. Have a seat.”

Settling into the chair she motioned to, I let my gaze sweep the room. They were staring, and other than Emilia, they looked none too happy to see me there.

The biggest of the men, the one I pegged as one of Jet’s brothers, stood with his back against the wall, arms over his chest. “You the one keeping our brother from us?”

“Alex!” Emilia hissed, shooting him a hard stare.

“He has every right to ask,” one of the women said, her dark eyes locked on me. “We’ve barely seen Giraldo for nearly five years, and he hasn’t set foot in this house for over three. And when he does, it’s a dump and run?”

There was so much hurt swirling in her eyes, and it matched what I’d seen in her mother’s only minutes before. My heart called to me to help them, to guide them through their grief and their loss. I wanted to heal them the way Jet had helped heal me.