Fumbling with the lock screen, I swiped it on and stared greedily at the first text from Jethro in almost a month.
Kite007:That’s cruel, leaving the message unfinished.
My heart thundered. Resting against my pillows, I replied:
Needle&Thread:You’re cruel, not replying to any of them.
Kite007:Cruel is my middle name.
I glanced at my fingertip tattoo and its inked JKH.
Needle&Thread:No, it’s not.
Kite007:Believe what you want to believe.
Needle&Thread:What happened to you? Tell me. You seem different.
Kite007:I am different.
My chest deflated, sorrow drowning my veins. He’d let them win. He’d changed.
Needle&Thread:You might believe you’re different, but I know what happened between us. It’s not over because you care for me.
Kite007:That’s in the past. But you’re right. What happened between us isn’t finished.
My spine whipped straight. What did he mean?
Needle&Thread:The world knows. I heard they questioned your father. It’s only a matter of time before he’s convicted. The debts are over. It means we can be together—truly with no horrible ending hovering over us.
Kite007:Still such a naïve little Weaver.
Tears bruised my eyes. In a few words, he’d successfully tarnished my memories of him and made me doubt.
My hands shook as I responded.
Needle&Thread:You said you’d tell me everything—who you are...what you suffer. I’m asking you...tell me. Don’t let them win.
I couldn’t stand the thought of Jethro going to jail for what he’d done. Even though he deserved punishing—he’d been under the control of Cut. If he let me help him...he could stop his family and finally be happy...with me.
Kite007:I’m not that man anymore. There’s nothing to tell.
My heart fell out of my chest.
Needle&Thread:Don’t do this, Jethro.
Kite007:It’s not up to me, Threads.
My world screeched to a halt. That nickname. It wasn’t his to use.
Needle&Thread:How do you know that name?
Kite007:Come on, silly girl. You think I don’t know everything about you? You think the past month you’ve been free of me? That I’m not there...watching you?
Goosebumps splattered across my arms. If his tone was nicer, I would’ve been thrilled to know he’d been watching me. That he missed me and had to stay close.
But his tone was sinister—reminding me all too much of Milan.
I tried to reply, but I had nothing left.
