“Please,” he begs. “Give me my chance, too. Don’t write me out of the story yet.”
I shake my head because I haven’t — I can’t write him out.
But before I can answer, the ballroom door swings open.
And Jarrett flies into the room.
“Jess?” he calls, and then his head snaps in our direction, his eyes dilating when he sees us — Kade’s hands still framing my face, my hands on his hips.
His hands curl into fists at his sides, and Kade releases me with his jaw so tight I think he might chip a tooth.
Fuck.
“I got your voicemail,” Jarrett says, his eyes on his brother even though he’s talking to me. He doesn’t move an inch.
Kade blinks at that, a brief look of confusion washing over his face before he turns to me.
And the pain in his eyes makes my knees wobble.
“You called him first?” he asks me, but I can’t answer. I just swallow, reaching for him, wishing I had the words to make everything right, to make this all go away.
For both of them.
For all of us.
But he rips his arm away before I can touch him, sniffing as he grabs his shirt off the back of one of the chairs and storms toward Jarrett.
“Kade, wait,” I try, but he doesn’t so much as give me another glance.
Jarrett tries to catch his arm as he storms past, but Kade rips away from him, too, turning on him with a menacing glare. “Don’t you fucking touch me, you backstabbing bastard.”
He doesn’t react — not physically — but I see the way those words shred Jarrett, the way he knows he’s hurting his little brother, but can’t help himself.
Kade shakes his head, stepping right up to Jarrett’s face, the two brothers chest to chest as he says, “You left.”
Jarrett closes his eyes, a long blink before he opens them to face his brother again.
“You fucking left her. You broke her. And you know who loved her when she was in pieces, who helped her find herself again, who watched her build an even stronger version of herself with you out of the picture?” He jabbed a thumb into his chest. “Me. And now you have the fucking nerve to show up again, rip open her wounds, play with her like you always played with every fucking girl growing up? They didn’t deserve that shit, and neither does she.”
I frown, but don’t have time to wonder what he’s referring to before Kade shoves Jarrett — hard.
“Wake the fuck up and let her go, let her be happy,” Kade says as Jarrett steps right back up into his space. “Because we all know you don’t have any intentions past fucking her until you’re bored again.”
“You don’t know shit,” Jarrett seethes.
Kade just laughs, shaking his head and looking his brother up and down as he puts space between them. “I know everything about you. And I know even more about her. I love her, you piece of shit,” he says.
My heart squeezes so violently I feel my ribs creak with the pressure.
“So do I,” Jarret responds. “And I loved her first.”
Kade’s jaw clamps shut at that, but after a moment, he shakes his head and shoves through the ballroom door, letting it slam shut behind him.
I flinch at the sound, closing my eyes as my throat burns.
When I open them again, Jarrett is already on his way over to me, but I hold up my hands. “Stop.”
He does.
I shake my head. “You should go, Jarrett.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m sorry I—”
“Jarrett, please,” I beg, and my eyes shine with fresh tears that make his shoulders slump, make him nearly cry out that I won’t let him come closer. “Please, I need to be alone. Please. Please.”
I can’t stop pleading, can’t stop crying, and though I can tell it kills him, Jarrett scrubs a hand over his jaw and nods, backing up, giving me space.
“Okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “Okay. Just… call me. Tomorrow. Please.”
I nod, but it’s a dismissive one, one that says I can’t make any promises.
To anyone.
Not even myself.
He watches me for a long moment before he finally rips his gaze from mine and leaves through the same door Kade did.
And I collapse onto the floor and succumb to every heartbreaking sob my body lashes me with.
THE HOLIDAY SEASON ALWAYS feels a little off in Florida.
While the rest of the country is bundled up, drinking hot spiced pumpkin drinks and reading by the fire, it’s business as usual in South Florida — which is to say it’s very, very hot.
My hair is already damp at my neck after talking outside with a few people from therapy, and a single bead of sweat slides down my back as I trek toward my car, a heavy sigh leaving my lips after a long day.