“You okay, miss?”
I raised my gaze to peer at a guy, late fifties, dressed in dirty pants and a jacket that had seen better days. A guitar dangled on his back, kept in place by a frayed leather strap. I nodded and he raised a plastic bottle, offering me what looked like orange juice. I shook my head and opened my bag to pull out my wallet, the way I always did when I saw a person in need.
“I have no need for it,” I said, pushing all the banknotes into his hand. It was the truth. Soon I would live a different life with a new identity and spend money I didn’t earn. Robert Mayfield could buy me a new identity, but he couldn’t buy me love. He couldn’t buy me happiness. A family or a place that felt like home.
“Please don’t kill yourself.” He held my arm, his warm hand not able to penetrate the cold blanket covering my heart. Even though I hadn’t been thinking of committing suicide, I knew I had been close to forming the thought. So very close to it, because I felt like jumping off a cliff. Step in front of a car. Drown to stop the pictures of the happy and familiar faces flickering before my eyes.
I would raise a child on my own while Jett wouldn’t stop searching for us. Eventually he’d believe I had left him, or that we were dead. I knew what death brought upon people and didn’t want anyone who cared about me to go through so much pain. The guilt would kill me slowly.
Where lay the difference between starting a new life—full of emptiness and loneliness, knowing that my absence caused pain to those who loved me—or stopping it right now to enter complete darkness? A place where I could rest and forget, where something like a conscience might not exist.
I swallowed hard as I considered my options.
The outlook of forgetting was pleasing. Much more than a new life with happy memories haunting me, reminding me of all the things I had lost. Living a life that was forced upon me, rather than chosen by me, was senseless. I didn’t want to go through that kind of agony.
“Don’t kill yourself,” he repeated, his pale gray eyes interlocking with mine. “It’s not worth it.”
“That wasn’t entirely my intention,” I whispered, “but thanks.”
“Well, in that case new cannot always replace the old.” He let go of my arm.
I frowned. Did he think I was involved in a love triangle and couldn’t decide? I opened my mouth to set things straight when he cut me off. “Whatever you decide, never choose the most straightforward option. Believe me when I tell you this: the easiest choice is always the wrong one. Choose the path that matters in the long term, the choice that would never hurt others. It might seem difficult at this point, but the right choice is the one that takes the most courage. It’s the one that seems impossible at first.”
He pressed my money into my palms and then he cupped my hands in his, the roughness of his fingertips chafing my skin.
“Please, keep it,” I said, weakly.
He shook his head but didn’t let go. “Even the best of us have bad days. We fall, we climb. That’s life. I can promise you, your worst day is never your worst. Your worst day’s the day you realize you gave up too soon and you can no longer rectify your mistake.” He scanned my face, waiting for his words to sink in. My throat was tight from the knowledge he was right despite not knowing me. He was so close to the truth.
“What if I have no choice?” I asked. “What if that choice was taken from me?”
“There’s always a choice. Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow. But life never stays the same. Sooner or later, maybe in a few days or a few weeks, something you never thought possible will happen. That’s the beauty of fate.”
I nodded, overwhelmed by the fact that of all the people who had walked past me, it was the poor and probably homeless man who showed compassion still existed.
“You’ll be okay, kid.” He smiled gently. “God would never give you a situation you didn’t possess the strength to handle. You have everything you need to deal with that situation within you. The only thing missing is courage.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, meaning every word. “Please take the money.” I gently pulled my hands away from him.
“No.” He shook his head again.
“But I insist.”
“Then let me play a song for you so your generosity makes sense.” He sat down on the pavement, back pressed against the dirty wall of a building, and began to strum the chords. I recognized the song. Tears formed in my eyes as I listened in silence to the old man’s soft voice as he sang Tears in Heaven. When he finished, I realized I knew what to do.
“You have a gift,” I whispered. “You touch people.”
With a last smile at him, I started to walk slowly as my mind kept circling around his words.
We were two random strangers, and yet he decided to listen. Even when he had no idea what I was talking about, he was right. I couldn’t do what I wanted. I couldn’t stay with Jett just because I loved him and couldn’t bear to be without him. I had to stop thinking about myself and to start caring for the safety of those who mattered. It would be hard to leave them behind, but it would also be selfish of me not to.
Maybe Robert Mayfield was bluffing, but at this point I couldn’t risk not believing him.
It would be the hardest decision I had ever made, but it was the right choice. It would be the choice that would come with the smallest risk—a broken heart. I could deal with that, but I wouldn’t cope with fear and regret keeping me awake at night, knowing their lives might be at risk because of me. And if this man was right, maybe sooner or later, hopefully not too late, the tides of life might turn in my favor.
Chapter 13
THE WALK TO Jett’s expensive neighborhood was long but gave me enough time to understand what had just happened. By the time I arrived at Jett’s apartment, the sun was long gone and my mind had settled, accepting that fate had made my decision for me, which meant this would be my last day with Jett.
I greeted the concierge in the foyer and rode the elevator up to Jett’s penthouse, my gaze shying away from the mirror. I couldn’t bear to look at myself because my image reminded me that soon I wouldn’t be Brooke anymore. I pulled the keys out of my handbag and let myself in. For the umpteenth time, I wondered how Jett would react if he knew his father was still alive and that he was the threat Jett feared. Would he believe me?
Feeling tired and defeated, I opened the door, expecting an empty apartment since Jett spent much of his time at the office lately—until I saw the lights switched on.
“Where have you been?” Jett was standing in the doorway, his hands buried in his pockets, a frown on his face.
“I grabbed a coffee with Sylvie.” I avoided his gaze as I kicked off my high heels. “We had a girl talk. You know Sylvie. She couldn’t wait to tell me all about her relationship with Kenny and her new job offer, so I stayed a little longer than anticipated.”
“I’m going to take a bath and go to bed early.” I paused for his answer. When it didn’t come, I continued, “Don’t worry about me. Just give me a little time alone, Jett. It’s been a long day.”
We fell silent, but I knew he lingered outside. Inches separated us, and yet they felt like miles of sand-covered dunes ready to pull us apart if we tried to near each other. He might not know me well enough, but he was an expert in reading body language. If I opened the door, I feared I might confess. I had to stay strong, for myself, for him, for our baby’s sake.
“Brooke.” His voice was like silk caressing my senses.
“Yeah?” I held my breath.
He let out a sharp breath. “I know I’ve been neglecting you—us—those past few days.” His hand brushed over the door. Or maybe he was leaning against it. I couldn’t tell, but I imagined him out there, sensing something, worrying, and my heart broke just a little bit more. ”I’m sorry I didn’t spend as much time with you as usual. I just didn’t want to stress you out with my problems.”