“If you try to tell me you were a virgin, then I won’t believe you. Mary Elizabeth at college gave me a graphic description of the hip-roll thing you do in freshman year.”
He smirks for a second before looking away and frowning. Okay, now I’m concerned.
“Your phone was buzzing in your bag downstairs. I was going to check it wasn’t anyone important and then bring it up to you, but it was an unknown number.”
“Okay. No problem.”
“Great.” He swallows. “It’s just that that wasn’t the only thing I found in your bag.”
It takes me a second to realize what he means. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the letter I received at the prison. The one I tried to hide from him when we left our interview with Connor Maddox. The one from Thomas Vale.
“You read it?” I ask tightly.
He winces before nodding, his eyes flitting between mine as if he’s trying to get a read on me.
“You can't just go through my personal shit, you’re not my boy—” I pause, clearly the sex hormones still haven’t dissipated. “You’re just notallowed.”
“Well, it sort of fell out of your bag.”
“And the letter just fell out of the envelope and into your hand?”
His jaw twitches before he answers, a grimace pulling at his eyes and mouth as I try to pull away from his death grip. “Yes?”
“Jonesy...” I rub the heels of my palms into the tops of my eye sockets near my brow, knowing I should book a massage soon. I don’t think I’m even mad at him. I’m just annoyed that an explanation is now required. Something that was being handledby mewill now become a shared problem. Because that’s just how Jonesy is. He’s a soldier, a protector. There’s no way he’s going to let this go when he finds out that it wasn’t the first letter I’d received.
“Nah, don’t act like that. You know it’s not right that he’s sending you a letter. So spill. What’s the story? I’m going to assume you’ve taken the appropriate action and reported Thomas Vale and the prison guard who gave you the letter?”
His eyebrows lift comically higher with each second that passes, and I don’t answer.
“Katie...you can’t be serious? Not even Detective Biceps? He’s a douche canoe, but he’d have this fixed in no time.”
“It’s not that simple.”
He huffs, his arm slipping from behind me so he can cross them over his chest, holding up theletter.
“‘You looked so beautiful in that skirt. I could see your nipples through your blouse. Was that for me, my perfect specimen? I miss our chats, Dr. Murphy. Perhaps you cancomefor an off-the-record chat before my appeal.’”Jonesy’s face contorts as if he’s sucked on something sour, his whole face turning away from the slip of paper as if it shows him the foulest image you can imagine.
“He underlines the word ‘come,’ Katie. It’s disgusting that the guard would pass this to you.”
“Listen, I’ve got it under control, okay? Thomas Vale cannot hurt me in prison, no matter how many letters he sends me.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and he’s the one to draw back this time. “Excuse me? Explain what you just said.”
Shit. I just saidletters, right? Like plural?
“He’s in prison. He can’t hurt me from there.”
“One, this isn’t the first letter he’s sent you? And two, Thomas Vale, as stated in his most recent letter, has an appeal coming up. What if they let him go? What will you do then?”
I take a deep breath, knowing that this is probably going to make no sense to him at all. “If Thomas Vale wants to spend his time in prison writing me creepy messages, then that’s up to him. It stops him from creeping on anyone else, and frankly, I’d rather be the one he did it to because I know that I can handle it. He’s not goingto hurt me because he’s guilty, and no one in their right mind would let him out of prison.”
“You’re trying to be a martyr.” He scoffs.
“No . . . no. That’s not it. I’m being protective.”
“That’s bullshit, Katie, and you know it. You’re being a martyr. You’re taking on all this shit because, I don’t know, you feel guilty, or responsible in some way. I have no idea what’s going on inside that brain of yours. But you say you can handle it? Then why hadn’t you slept in nearly a year? Why couldn’t you have sex with anyone? That’s not coping; that’s avoidance. And a seriously messed-up sleep pattern.”
I rear back as if I’ve been slapped. “Screw you,” I hiss. “You think you can fuck me one time and then tell me how to live my life? I’m my own person, and I’ll make decisions based on what I think is best. Not you. Not anyone else.”
