For a girl who gets it wrong quite a bit, she can be surprisingly perceptive when she wants to be.
I snort. “Why are you playing peacekeeper?”
“Because I like Yulian and I care about you. I just want everyone to get along.”
“What a charming little Girl Scout you are.”
She shrugs. “I like to see the good in people.”
“That’s backfired on you a few times now, hasn’t it?”
She considers that for a moment. “Okay, yeah. I’m wrong a lot. But I’ve thought about it and I’d rather be like that than the alternative. I’d rather trust too much than too little. I’d rather love too much than not at all.”
I shake my head. “My father’s head would have exploded if he heard you say that.”
“Yours looks like it’s not far from exploding, too.”
I nod. “You’re not wrong. That mindset would have gotten me killed a long, long time ago.”
“You don’t trust anyone?” Jessa asks, sounding almost sad to hear it.
“I trust my inner circle.”
“And your inner circle consists of whom?” Jessa asks. “Lev and Yulian, right? That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Don’t you think that’s kind of sad?” she asks.
“It’s smart.”
She sighs. “I notice I didn’t make it into your circle. Does that mean you don’t trust me?”
I give her a sideways glance. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“Answer the question, smart ass.”
“Of course I trust you,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t have asked you to move in with me if I didn’t.”
She stops talking, which strikes me as odd, considering the conversation was more playful than serious.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, taking the last corner before her street.
“Um… sorry. Can you pull over?”
I pull to the side of the road immediately and Jessa practically jumps out of the car. I follow after her, wondering what I said to get this reaction. Then I see it’s not anything I said at all.
She bends over and places her palms on her knees. Her back roils as she tries to suppress a heave. I move closer to her and put my hand on her back.
“Go back to the car,” she groans. “You don’t need to see this.”
“I’ve seen far worse things come out of people than vomit, kotyonok.”
She groans again, louder, and tries to push me away with one hand, but her concentration is split and I’m not willing to move. She dry heaves a couple more times before straightening up.
“Jesus,” she breathes.
“Just throw up instead of suppressing it,” I tell her. “You’ll feel better after.”