Page 81 of Jesse

He nods. “I know. Not very homey. But…” He shrugs and looks a little more innocent and light. More like the man I thought I knew instead of the one I don’t. “But it’s all I really have left, you know? So I stay, I guess.”

“It’s not bad,” I say, glancing around. There’s literally nothing to look at but him and the windows. Or the floor. But the floor is creepy. So shiny and black.

“There’s more,” he says. “I have a whole floor, remember? You wanna see it all?”

I don’t know why I hesitate, but I do.

“Or… you can leave if you’re not into it.”

And I have to admit. I might want to leave. “I just don’t understand what’s happening,” I say.

“No, me either.” Then he closes that short distance between us and places both his hands on my hips as he leans in. Kisses me. The kiss is just as nice, just as perfect, just as sexy as it’s always been. But then he whispers, “I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re afraid of, Emma. None of us will.”

Which implies… what? That they hurt other people?

“Should I take you back downstairs?” he asks. “Or can you find it in yourself to take one more chance with me?”

And I don’t know what to say.

I really have no clue what the right choice is. Because that power play game we were playing all weekend was bullshit. The whole thing was bullshit.

I am nothing and no one compared to these people. And it’s not about who has more money, or who has a bigger jet, or a better, flashier car.

My influence over him was a carefully crafted illusion.

The last three minutes since I pulled up to this building tell me all I need to know about how different Emma Dumas and Jesse Boston really are.

And how decidedly unequal the division of power would be in a relationship with him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - JESSE

She’s gonna run.

I see it. Picture the whole shit show in my head. Maybe she gives some babbling explanation or maybe she doesn’t. Won’t matter. I know how this ends. I’ve lived in this world, in this building, in this skin my whole life. And even I don’t know what to think about it. Even I don’t fully understand it.

Why do people think I escaped with drugs and alcohol? Why did I run away to sail the world? Why does Joey fly all over the fucking planet partying like an asshole? Why does Johnny lock himself up in that tower of his own making?

This is why.

No one knows this, of course. Because no one knows us.

Not even us.

So how can I expect Emma to get it?

“Listen,” I say. Because I don’t know what to do to make her feel better. I don’t know how to change something that is so… intrinsic. So much a part of me. But I know I have to at least try. “Just give me ten minutes, Emma. Just ten minutes. That’s it. That’s all I’m asking for.” I look down at her. Have the urge to kiss her again and make this all go away. Pretend it’s not happening.

Part of me wishes I didn’t invite her over. But if we’re going to be together—and I really want to give that a try—then she has to know what she’s getting in to. And she has to find a way to navigate her way through this… whatever it is that hangs over our family like a thick, black cloud.

She lifts up her head and meets my gaze. Locks eyes with me. “Who are you people?”

“I wish I had a straight answer for that. I really do. But all I can say is… we’re just… us. That’s all I know. This is me, OK? And I invited you here so you can know me. The real me, Emma. Not the messed-up guy in the tabloids. Not the drug addict or the alcoholic. Not the guy you thought I was when I left. And not the guy you think I am now.”

“So… this whole weekend was what? A lie?”

“It wasn’t a lie.”

“My family. I brought you to meet my family. Why did I do that?”