Page 97 of Bourbon Truths
I gripped her tighter, letting my heart swell for the first time since I could remember, and I said, “I want you to be that person, Lyla. I want it so fucking badly.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My Present…
I lingered impatiently on the sidewalk, pacing back and forth as I waited for Jett to show up. He hadn’t been very happy when he answered his phone after the fourth consecutive time I called, but what I had to do was urgent.
I’d left Lyla while she was sleeping, leaving a note that said there were some things I had to take care of. She wouldn’t be happy. She hadn’t been happy after I told her I didn’t want to talk about my past. I was probably destroying the chance of being with her with every brush-off I gave her, but before I could commit myself, I had to straighten my sanity out first.
If we were meant to be, then it would happen.
The door to Jett’s hotel opened, and Jett walked out looking freshly fucked and wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, a casual outfit not too many people saw on such a powerful man.
Jett rubbed his eyes and said, “This better be fucking good.”
I gestured to the car that was idling with the air conditioning blasting since it was already eighty degrees at five in the morning. New Orleans in the summer was almost unbearable at times.
We got in the car and buckled up. I pulled out onto the empty street that was lined with palm trees and started driving toward our destination.
“Where are we going?” Jett asked, sounding groggy.
“Linda came and talked to me.”
Jett became more alert. “What did she say?”
“She knows,” I stated simply.
“What? How?”
“She saw me at the funeral and then saw me dropping presents off all these years. I guess I’m not as stealthy as I thought I was.”
“Holy shit,” Jett breathed, wiping his hand over his mouth. “Did you confirm?”
“I didn’t have an option.”
“Fuck, Kace,” Jett said, sounding shaken. “What is she going to do? Is she pressing charges? Does she even have any evidence?”
“She’s not going to do anything,” I responded, trying to calm down my best friend.
“Why not?”
“Look in the glove compartment.” Jett studied me for a second and then opened it. “Pull those cards out.”
“What are these?” he asked while looking at them.
“They’re all from Madeline. They’re thank you cards for all the gifts I’ve given her over the years. Linda gave them to me.”
Jett was silent as he looked through the cards, reading each and every one of them, taking time to note the way her penmanship improved by running his hands over it, the way her sentence structure grew stronger and the use of bigger, more descriptive words.
By the time Jett finished, we’d arrived at our destination. He looked up at me, tears in his eyes.
“I can’t believe she’s kept these.”
“She said she wanted to give them to me at some point. They mean the world to me, to see even though I was suffering, Madeline was incredibly grateful and happy about the little presents I gave her. Linda also gave me this,” I said while handing Jett an envelope.
“What is it?”
“Take a look.”
