“What are you saying?” I asked, shocked. “You think it wasn’t an accident?”
“No, Brooke, it wasn’t.” He glanced back to me with so much anger I flinched. “A boat doesn’t blow up. He would’ve noticed a fire and called for help. Maybe whoever did this shot him first before setting fire to get rid of any evidence. It was arson, I’m sure of that.”
I didn’t know what was more frightening: that I had never seen him so upset, or the fact there wasn’t a single thing I could do to help him. I regarded Jett’s angry face, afraid of his next move. Afraid of what this could mean for us.
Seconds passed, which turned into minutes, and Jett didn’t budge from the spot.
“Fuck!” Jett mumbled.
“I wish there was something I could do,” I whispered.
“There isn’t.” His tone softened, and for a moment the anger in his voice disappeared, only to come back directed at himself. “I should have known.”
I shook my head in confusion, unable to follow his changes in mood. “Known what?”
His eyes glazed over, lost in thoughts. He walked back to the couch and sat down. Another minute passed, and no reply came.
“What makes you think he was killed, Jett?” I asked cautiously. “Your brother would have said something. The police would be all over it.”
“Do you remember the five people on the list?” he asked.
I nodded, thinking back to the little black book we had found in Alessandro’s basement. Jett had mentioned five names, and one of them was Robert Mayfield.
“I think that was a hit list,” Jett continued in a tone that made shiver.
I sat down next to him on the couch, watching him in silence, as his words slowly sank in.
“There’s no way the five names were the only club members. It’s impossible. My father said—” Jett’s voice faltered with emotion “—he said there were seventy-eight members before he left. Maybe the other four decided to opt out as well.”
“You think he was killed because he wanted out?” I asked needlessly. I hadn’t seen this perspective before and it certainly didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense to me, but I couldn’t rule it out. A club like that probably thrived on wealthy members and their dedication for life. Maybe someone had taken the “silence to the grave” oath a little too literally. Possible. I thought back to Jett’s words.
I don’t think your way is the way they’re working. They’re not as peaceful.
Even I had known at that point that no one was let in easily, and definitely not out with a mere handshake.
“My father said it was a mistake to join the club,” Jett said. “They probably wanted to get rid of him. If I had mentioned the book and the list, I could have prevented his death. I know he would have listened to me.” His voice sounded choked. “I would have been able to save his life.”
“No, Jett.” I shook my head, my heart hurting because Jett blamed himself.
“Don’t think like that,” I whispered and shook my head again, my hand clutching at his arm to force him to listen to me. His eyes bored into me and for the first time his anger wasn’t directed at himself, but at me.
“But it’s the truth. The f**king truth, Brooke. Why won’t you accept that I made a mistake?”
Chapter 7
LIFE HAS A way of throwing everything around. Sometimes I couldn’t stop the feeling that we were all trapped inside a cup called life, and like dice shaken around and thrown out. Ready to be tested and played. Ready to risk and face the unthinkable. Ready to lose and get hurt. And it didn’t matter how high the social status was or how much money a person had, it could affect everyone, anytime and anywhere. We were all at the mercy of the shaking cup called life.
Watching the various emotions crossing Jett’s features, I realized how much I loved him and that I’d do anything for him. However, whatever I did or said, there was no recipe for taking away the pain. Nothing to ease his mind or guilt. Nothing to rid his conscience of the demons haunting him. As much as I loved him, love was not enough to release him from the guilt he’d probably carry with him for the rest of his life. It was as if guilt had become his companion and I had become his shadow—one trying to heal him and the other causing as much havoc as possible. And I knew all about guilt and the dirty tricks it played so it could haunt you forever.
The moment Jett found out about his father’s death, I felt him distancing himself from me. We packed up quickly and drove back to his apartment in freezing silence. The moment he unlocked the door, I felt like an intruder in his world.
“Gotta go to work,” Jett mumbled, and disappeared again, leaving me alone in the perfection of his place.
“Okay,” I said weakly, but he was gone already.
Work had to be an excuse to bury himself in his grief—or why else would he leave without giving me a kiss goodbye? That night he didn’t come home. And the following night, he was there with me and yet not there. Listened to me, and yet none of my words reached him through the shield he had built around himself. I knew this would happen. I almost expected it. What I didn’t expect was for him to shut me out of his world. To not let me get close, refusing to talk, refusing to listen. He had become emotionally distant and at times unavailable, but the worst was that I could feel him changing.
It was as if guilt had created an invisible barrier that began to separate us, harming our relationship, his playful nature replaced by something that scared the hell out of me. Like sickness, leaving a bitter aftertaste in its wake.
With each day, the walls grew higher, distancing him from me. And no matter how hard I pounded and shook at the gates, they seemed to be stronger than I, my love for him, or anything that used to matter to him.
Jett shook his head. “I’m okay.” He shot me a tender smile, and then he was gone.
I walked over to the buffet and grabbed a plate, then got in line, unable to decide whether to get the oysters or the salmon rolls. Everything looked delicious, and the baby inside me knew it.
“You’re Brooke, right?” A voice behind me startled me. I turned sharply to regard a tall guy with dark hair and blue eyes. The first thing I noticed about him was the tailored black designer suit; the second was the confidence in his eyes. His lips were curved into just a hint of a friendly smile—not too much and not too little, given the circumstances.
“Yes.” I nodded. “And you are?”
“I’m Jonathan, Jett’s brother. Call me Nate. Everyone does.” He shook my hand. “Jett’s told me everything about you.”