Jack And Jill: Dawn Of Forever Part 2

Not Luke. He loved her. Completely. Unconditionally. Eternally.

Jones Jessica was alive.

Time didn't exist for Luke, neither did his job. After waking in his bed with a slight concussion and Jessica's forlorn expression branded into his memory, he drank six Heineken and pa.s.sed out again. He woke eight hours later scrambling to the bathroom. Heineken wasn't his friend that day.

Reality ripped his world apart, holding him hostage in his home. Those people watched him, followed him, and knew his every move. Luke shot out texts to his family, Charlie, close friends, and his secretary, informing them of his bout with the flu and requesting they stay away for a few days. Then he polluted his body with an insane amount of alcohol over the next several days.

Jessica was alive.

He needed to save her. He needed to tell someone. He needed to know why she would leave him if no one was holding her against her will.

If he went to the cops, his family would be in danger. The only person who could help him was Jessica. Luke believed with every cell in his heart that she did not commit suicide. That's how he knew she'd been murdered and the suicide was just a cover-up. But in the past year ... not once did he imagine she was still alive. That realization knocked him on his a.s.s. She might as well have committed suicide. Either way, she made the conscious choice to leave him forever.

Teetering on the edge of dehydration and death, he crawled into the hot shower, followed by a tall gla.s.s of water and two Advil. Then he tore into his closet. Luke ignored his own insanity that had led to all of Jessica's belongings remaining untouched nearly a year later. Coat pockets, purses, shoes, boxes marked "childhood," he plowed through it all over the following four hours.

Nothing.

"f.u.c.k!" he roared, fisting his hair and falling to his knees in the middle of the ransacked closet.

There wasn't a single clue, not one dear-Luke-if-I-fake-my-death-come-find-me-here note. He knew her better than she knew herself, and yet ... in that moment, he didn't know her at all.

"Luke?"

He jerked his head up.

"Luke?"

In one swift move he jumped to his feet and combed his fingers through his hair.

"Coming," he called, emerging from the closet.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on with you? My G.o.d, you've lost weight."

Luke drew in a breath of courage to explain-lie-about his whereabouts and his condition. His sister, Lake, stood inside the door with her hands fisted on her hips. She'd mastered the tough role, even with her prosthetic leg that still tripped her up a bit.

h.e.l.l seemed to be the only fitting word to describe the previous year. Lake survived a car accident then flirted with death, locked in a coma for three months before waking to find her leg amputated below the knee. As if that wasn't enough to take in, they had to share the news of her boyfriend not surviving the crash and Jessica's death three weeks after the car accident.

Luke held it together for his family. The only time someone wasn't by Lake's side during those three months was the day of Jessica's and her family's funeral. How could Jessica do that to him? How could she leave him when he needed her the most?

Luke hugged his sister. She didn't return his affection.

"I've been under the weather."

"I see that. You look like s.h.i.t. But that doesn't explain why you stood Charlie up in Houston. She flew out there just to be with you. She rescheduled patients and a speaking engagement because you led her to believe that you were ready to commit."

"Tea? Coffee?" Luke walked toward the kitchen.

"Neither. Don't blow me off, too." Lake followed him like a nagging dog.

An empty refrigerator stared back at him. No Heineken. He'd finished it all off. Fetching the wine opener from the drawer, he grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir from the rack.

"You're drinking wine?"

"Yep."

"It's not even noon, and you stopped drinking wine after ..."

With his back to her, he paused, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "I know. After Jessica died."

Lake sighed. "Please tell me this is progress and not some sort of backslide."

He chuckled, uncorking the bottle. It was progress for sure. He'd gone from shock to devastation, finally settling into a sinking hole of anger and denial. At one point he told his best friend, Gabe, that he'd rather slit his wrists than ever taste wine again-ever taste Jessica again. Then he met Charlie, Lake's physical therapist.

The accident happened in San Francisco. Lake wanted to stay after she awoke from her coma instead of going back home to recover. She claimed it made her feel closer to her boyfriend. Luke knew it was because she wanted to be closer to her grieving brother.

Their parents rented a place near the hospital that was handicapped accessible. Tom and Felicity took turns staying with her while the others kept their bed and breakfast going in Tahoe. Once Lake received her prosthetic leg, Luke watched after her, taking her to her physical therapy appointments so their parents could have a break and much needed time together.

"I'll talk with Charlie. It really is disturbing that you're closer to her than I am. That's a big part of my acommitment' issues. If it doesn't work out, I'll be letting you down too."

"That's it?"

Luke winced at the incredulity in her voice. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. If he did, she would see it. She'd see the lies, the pain, the truth that could put her life in danger.

Stopping an inch short of taking a long pull straight from the bottle, he grabbed a gla.s.s and filled it to the rim.

"That's it." He took several numbing gulps.

"She flew to Houston. You weren't there. You didn't call. You didn't answer your phone. Jesus, Luke! She was worried about you. Have you even looked at your phone? We've all been worried about you since you stood Charlie up and then sent out the I'm-sick-stay-away texts."

He turned. "We?"

"Yes. Mom and Dad-"

"Wait. Mom and Dad know about the Charlie incident?"

Lake rolled her eyes. "Yes. I called them after Charlie called me about the aincident.'"

He swirled the wine in his gla.s.s, giving it his full attention as if the answer would appear on the surface. "I would have called Charlie but my phone died."

"And you didn't have a charger?"

"I lost it."

"You could have replaced it."

"I told you I wasn't feeling well. I just wanted to get home to hug my own toilet. I'm fine. Charlie's fine. You're fine. Just ... I'm sorry." He looked up again. That much was true. "I really am sorry, and I'll call Mom and Dad then I promise I'll call Charlie."

"Flowers, buddy." Lake pointed her finger at him as she narrowed her eyes. "Lots of flowers. Chocolate too. She loves chocolate and s.e.x."

"Lake!"

"I'm serious. I'm not a kid anymore. Girls talk about this stuff. She told me you two haven't had s.e.x yet. Okay ... I asked, but whatever. She thinks it has something to do with Jessica. I told her that's not it. You're a psychiatrist for G.o.d's sake, you've worked that out."

Luke denied her eye contact again.

"You have worked that out. Right?"

He had. After keeping Charlie at a safe distance for months, he decided it was time to move on. She wasn't Jessica, and it didn't take a doctorate degree to figure that out, but he couldn't stop his heart from missing its sole purpose. Luke thought if he let his mind and body move on, eventually his heart would catch up. Houston presented the perfect opportunity, someplace that felt detached from Jessica, their bed, their life. What were the chances of finding her in the very place he went to escape her?

"Jones!" Lake greeted the small horse as he plodded into the kitchen, carrying his usual security blanket. "You and that crazy sweatshirt. Why are you always carrying that thing around?"

Jones dropped the red sweatshirt at Luke's feet.

"When I came over to let him out and feed him, he nearly bit my hand off when I tried to take it from him."

"It was Jessica's. Well, it was mine, but she laid claim to it." She'd slipped it on every morning over her naked body. Luke could still see her sitting at the table with her knees tucked up in it, using the extra six inches of sleeves as hot pads to hold her mug of coffee. There were never enough stars in the sky to count how many times a day he fell in love with her.

"Aw, Jones, poor baby." Lake stuck out her bottom lip. "Mommy's not coming home."

Reality gashed Luke's heart. He wanted to bleed out right there on the floor. Anything to take away the pain of knowing the truth.

Chapter Four.

Knight The day after Thanksgiving Ryn received a call from Jackson stating that AJ had died. His voice held no emotion. It felt like a service announcement from a stranger. She cried silent tears, barely able to say goodbye before he ended the call.

Flying to Portland for the funeral would have been financially straining, and Ryn wasn't ready to see Jackson, even if she did want to be there for Jillian. Something unexplainable steered her car to AJ's house on Tuesday morning. She wanted to clean his place one last time. She needed to say goodbye and that was her way.

The shambled dining room took her by surprise. Wilted flowers and shards of gla.s.s lay scattered on the floor, amidst smudges of what looked like dried blood. Two place settings remained on the table, but not a crumb of food. Depositing the gla.s.s, one piece at a time into a trash bag, Ryn tried to imagine what events led to the scene before her. They weren't going to have Thanksgiving dinner. AJ couldn't keep food down. So why the formal setting?

"What are you doing?"

"s.h.i.t!" She jumped, sending a sliver of gla.s.s into her finger. "Dammit," she seethed while holding her finger.

Jackson hunched down beside her. "Let me see."

She shook him off as she stood and headed to the bathroom. "You scared me. What are you doing here?"

He followed her. "I saw your car parked in the driveway."

Opening several drawers, she found a Band-Aid. "No. What are you doing in Omaha? Why didn't you go to the funeral?"

Jackson grabbed the Band-Aid from her. She narrowed her eyes.

"Sit."

"I don't want-"

He lifted her onto the counter. His touch still heated her skin. For some reason her body didn't get the memo that it was no longer supposed to be attracted to Jackson Knight.

"You have a piece of gla.s.s stuck in your finger." He held her finger.

She held her breath.

Retrieving tweezers from the same drawer as the Band-Aids, he washed them under hot water. Ryn couldn't stop staring at him.

"Here." He held her finger between his index finger and thumb. "Jillian didn't want me at the funeral," he said, keeping his eyes focused on her finger as he eased the sliver of gla.s.s from the cut.

"Why?"

With a shrug, he rinsed off the tweezers again then bandaged her finger. "She blames me for AJ's death."

"Why would she do that?"

He rubbed his thumb over the Band-Aid. What she wouldn't have given to read his mind at that moment. The intensity in his expression held the possibilities of a Trojan horse. One crack and his whole world could escape. What then? Would it crush her more than he already had?

"Because n.o.body wants to believe bad things can happen for no reason. She needs someone to blame." He brought her finger to his lips.

Ryn sucked in another breath and held it.

"So I'll take the blame. I'll let her hate me if it makes it easier for her."

Ryn eased her finger from his grasp. "That doesn't make any sense. How could she possibly blame you?"

Jackson's gaze lifted to meet hers. "Because I was with him when he died."

"Where was Jillian?"

"Waiting in his dining room."

Ryn's brow tensed. "Oh. He must have went quickly."

He nodded. "Like flipping a switch."

It wasn't until Jackson brushed his thumb along her cheek that she noticed her own tears.

"I miss you," he whispered. The pad of his thumb brushing along her lower lip evoked both desire and anger.

"Don't." Ryn pushed him away. Her feet reached for the ground as her heart reached for the door. It needed to escape before her brain served it up on a platter for Jackson to break again.