Dying by the Hour (A Jesse Sullivan Novel Book 2) (39 page)

He comes into the room and closes the door. He looks good in his button up ocean blue shirt, his hair a little wet from the shower. I like the scruff he’s growing and I’m about to say something inappropriate about rug burns when I see his face.

“Somebody die?” I ask.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Just kind of bad?” I ask, sinking onto the edge of my bed. Gabriel tucks his legs in and fades into the background. He doesn’t disappear. The days of Gabriel disappearing are over I’m afraid. I’ve known it since I woke up from the coffin. I might have been able to forget him for years, and fight him off for another, but now—now that’s over. At least, he’s been doing this super polite fading thing when I talk to other people. I can still feel him, but he sort of smudges into my peripheral vision.

“Just yank the Band-Aid off,” I say because Lane is taking too long. “I don’t do slow pain.”

He exhales and looks up to meet my eyes. “We need to take a break.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” I ask. My chest tightens and my throat feels like I stuffed a bunch of marshmallows down there. “Why? Because I let you die?”

“No.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Well, sort of.”

“Caldwell was beating the hell out of Al, if I didn’t go—” I am pacing the floor again. I appear to have a hard time sitting still these days.

“No,” he says, throwing his hand up to stop me. “No, I know. It’s not about Ally.”

“What the hell then? Am I supposed to stop everything I’m doing every time you die? Because people with NRD die
all
the time, dude. Get used to it.”

“It’s not that,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Then spit it out,” I say. “Caldwell is still alive. I don’t have telepathy skills.”

“I am not sure I love you.”

I take a step back.

“Let me explain,” he adds, quickly.

“Uh, okay. Please explain in excruciating detail your reasons for not loving me.”

His brow furrows. “It’s not like that. Shit. Just let me talk okay?”

I throw my hands up again and gesture for him to continue.

“I respect you and I admire you,” he says, which is the most bizarre direction I’ve ever heard a guy take off in for a breakup, but whatever. “But I don’t think I love you the way Ally loves you.”

“No one loves someone the same way, that’s the stupidest idea,” I say.

He takes his hands from his black slacks and holds them up in front me. “Let me finish.”

“Go on then,” I say.

“Ally has this really selfless love for you. She’ll accept anything you throw at her. She’ll stay by you and fight for you and if you give her shit, she’ll just forgive you.”

“You’re making me sound bad.”

“What I’m saying is,” he presses on. “I’m mad at you for the dying thing. The first time when you chose to save Ally instead of me, it really hurt. And then again in Illinois, I was there all over again, even though I knew I would wake up and be fine.”

“I don’t get your point.”

“My point is I wasn’t scared for you!” he says. “In both those instances, as I was dying I was
mad
at you. I was jealous. I should’ve been scared for you. I should have been terrified that I was going to wake up and you would be
dead
.”

I just stare at him for a long time unsure of what to say.

“If I was really in love with you, that’s what I should have been feeling, but it wasn’t. It’s not what Ally would have felt.”

“Stop comparing yourself to her. You’re different people.”

“I forced your hand last year for selfish reasons. And I’m breaking up with you now in hopes of fixing that.”

“What about what I want?” I ask. “What if I find selfish dicks really hot? Like super attractive?”

His smile tightens and flattens out. “I tell you I don’t think I love you and you aren’t crying. You aren’t heartbroken. Brinkley is—was—right. If I’m not 100% on your team then I’m a risk to your safety.”

“What do you mean Brinkley? Brinkley is dead. How could he have said anything?”

Lane shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He comes closer and forces me to look up into his face. He wipes away a tear from the corner of my eye.

I shrug him away. “If you want to dump me, fine. But don’t baby me afterward. I don’t need your pity.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Then why are you still here!” I say.

“I just want a break, Jess. It’s not like I want to stop seeing you,” he says. He slides his hands back into his pockets.

“You can’t have both!” I say. “You can’t dump me and want to see me.”

“We just need time to think,” he says. “And if we come together again, naturally, when we are both ready—”

“Come together—” I say, laughing, but it’s malicious and snide. “What is this? A Beatles song?”

Lane backs toward the door and I almost stop him. I start moving forward without meaning to but stop myself. There’s no way I’m begging him for anything.

“I’ll call you,” he says.

“Don’t bother!” I yell at the door the moment after he shuts it. I feel stupid. I wish I could’ve come up with something better to say.

I hear a small scratching at the door and open it. Winston sits there in all his chubby glory. When I open the door wide enough he waddles into the room and takes the little doggie stairs up into my bed. Gabriel is solid again and the dog seems to sniff the air around him suspiciously, but sees nothing before curling into a ball on the fluffy duvet.

“What the hell was that about?” I ask Gabriel. “Can you believe that crap?”

“He’s afraid Caldwell will use him to hurt you.”

“That’s stupid,” I say. “The stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

But I’m already thinking about that last motorcycle ride we took to watch the sunset. How beautiful it was and how totally naïve I’d been. I couldn’t simply forget what was happening by running off with Lane. I was in this mess. It would follow me no matter where I went or who I dated.

By the time I sink down onto the bed beside Winston I’m crying, whole-heartedly. Gabriel opens his wings on either side and draws me into his arms.

“Do not be afraid,” he says, softly into my ear before planting a warm kiss on my right cheek. “I am right here. I will be everything that you need.”

Ally

I
’m watching Jesse lounge on the back porch singing breakup songs at the top of her lungs when the doorbell rings. I open the door to find Gloria, manila envelope in hand and her arm in a black sling.

“Come in,” I say and step out of the way.

“I can’t stay. I have to get to the airport,” she says.

“Where are you going?” I ask. But she doesn’t answer me. Instead she gives me the envelope. “What’s this?”

“Brinkley wanted me to give it to you,” she says. “You’re supposed to decide how much Jesse should know.”

“Why?” I ask, peeling back the flap to see what is inside.

“She’s unstable and it will only get worse.”

“You said Gabriel was real,” I say. “And we can’t ignore her abilities. I don’t know about you but I am inclined to believe after what I have seen.”

“She will try to go after Caldwell,” Gloria says and her brow furrows. “She isn’t ready.”

I find a letter, keys and a notebook inside the envelope, one of those black and white composition notebooks we used in elementary school. I look up at Gloria with questioning eyes.

“Read the letter,” she says.

I peel back the topmost flap of the pristine white envelope and slip out the single sheet of paper. I know Brinkley’s handwriting and my chest swells a little at his scratchy script.

“Alice—” I begin, reading the top.

“Just to yourself,” Gloria says. “I don’t need to know what it says.”

Alice—

I asked Gloria to keep an eye on us. Be careful what you wish for, right? When she told me my own death day just a month after we got out of that godforsaken basement last year, it wasn’t that I expected to live long. I’m a cynical old bastard and I always prepare for the worst.

But I can’t say I wasn’t surprised.

I want you to know I made preparations for Jesse. I talked to the few people I trust. Really trust—and I told them I was going to die and that when I did, Gloria would come to them with their own letters and requests. Everyone I asked has a good reason to fight, that’s for damn sure. But I know people can be cowardly—so I am not sure how much help is on the way. I trust Gloria to make sure the information makes it right into their hands. But I only know one who will come for sure.

If I’m wrong and no one steps up, I want you to know that I trust you too. You’ve always had Jesse’s interests at heart and I think that’s the real thing that scares Caldwell. Not this sleuthing crap. You’re suspicious of everyone—and you need to be. About Jess—

Don’t let her forget who she is.

She’s a good kid and the minute she forgets that, we’ve lost.

It’s a hell of a hard thing to ask, but I know you’re the best person for the job.

If you want to continue working with Jeremiah, know a couple of things—yeah I know, digging is unethical. Save your lectures for the living, kid.

Jeremiah has the money and connections that he has from his filthy rich wife, Tamara. From what I can tell, she gives him anything he asks for, which is fine and dandy until you realize she is a billionaire because her father built Develacor, the pharmaceutical company. Also, a problem if you know that Caldwell has invested a lot in Develacor, before and after Tamara replaced her father as CEO. I’m not saying Jeremiah is dirty. I’m just saying you need to question who offers you help and ask why they are so damn interested in helping. Everyone has their own agenda.

That’s rule #1.

You’re smart. And I know you can be ruthless when it comes to Jesse. And it will be ruthless.

In the meantime, keep her head on. Keep yours on too. Read this journal and know there’s more if you want it, just ask G for the rest. And the keys are to a deposit box in your name. G knows where. But with knowledge comes a hell of a burden. If you can get through the first journal and if you still want to know more—it’s your choice.

I wish you both luck, kid. I’m sorry this was my stop but I’ve done all I can to make sure you receive help along the way.

I hope to God it’s enough.

Brinkley

I turn the letter over though I know nothing is on the back. Only then do I fold it up and put it, the journal, and the keys back in the envelope.

I speak to Gloria who has patiently waited this whole time. Maybe making sure people read the letters is part of Brinkley’s last request. “So you’re flying off to deliver letters, I assume.”

“Jeremiah offered me a job,” Gloria says, adjusting her arm in the sling. Only a small shimmer of pain crossed her face.

“Are you going to take it?” I ask.

“It was a very good offer,” she says. “And it would allow me to stay close.”

“This is getting very dangerous,” I say. “You took care of the AMP—”

“Micah,” she says, correcting me.

“Micah,” I agree. “If you want out of all this, now is a good time.”

Gloria smiles and because it’s a genuine smile, it is gorgeous. “Did Brinkley tell you how we met?”

“No,” I say, amused. Amused as I can be anyway with allegations laid against Jeremiah and the journal heavy in my hand.

“I’ll tell you sometime,” she says, moving away from the house toward her new yellow Jeep. “But let’s just say there’s a reason we go way back. I’m no runner.”

“Be careful,” I call out, waving to her until she is safe in her car.

I slip the envelope into my bag by the front door. It isn’t that I don’t want Jesse to see it. I just want to look through it before I show it to her to better prepare myself for her reaction—whatever reaction that might be.

I check on Jesse who is lounging in her patio chair with a snoozing Winston between her legs, her empty root beer mug beside her on the glass table. Her words fall away just as I appear.

“Gabriel?” I ask.

She sighs. “Is it weird? It’s got to be weird for you.”

“No,” I say and place a hand on her knee. “You’ve always been pretty weird.”

She smiles a sweet, genuine smile. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“Though I could do without all this terrible breakup music,” I say, reaching across her to turn down the volume. “The neighbors are sick of ‘You'll Think Of Me’ at this point.”

“May I remind you that I was dumped yesterday? I’m
processing
,” she says, thrusting her chin out. “I’m
releasing
. It’s healthy.”

“Lane is an immature idiot,” I say. “I don’t believe for a second that this was some magnanimous gesture.”

“Who knows what he’s thinking,” Jesse says and lets out another deep sigh. “But you know what’s great for sad people like me?”