Page 223 of Because I Killed Him
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jack drags a hand down his face. “You really expect me to read your mind? To see injuries you went out of your way to hide and know who gave them to you? Is that really what you’re saying?”
Charlotte falters. “No, but…”
“But what?” Jack’s voice rises, gruff with frustration. “You should’vetoldme.”
Charlotte’s throat bobs, as if she knows he’s right. Still, her voice climbs to meet his. “YouknewI was sad, Jack. You knew I was hurting. And if you really loved me, you would’ve seen it. You would’ve been there for me.”
He flinches, hurt breaking through his expression. “Really, Charlotte? You think I didn’t love you?”
She hesitates, wavering, then snaps back, loudly enough to make Dickie jerk upright. “Yes. If you loved me, you would’ve seen it. But you didn’t because you were too busy picking everyone else over me. You ruined it, Jack. Not Rosamund. Not me.You.”
That does it. It rips the old wound wide open. Jack’s eyes darken, and when he speaks, his voice drops to a low, resentful growl.
“Pick you?” He laughs, hollow. “All right. Let’s pick. Let’s pick theRoyce Club. You told me you loved me—right there, drunk off my neck—and then you turned around and tried to crawl into Ed’s bed the same night. My best friend. And then you ran away when it all blew up. Didn’t say a word. Not until you came sniffing around on that train, crying for help like none of it ever happened.”
The floor tilts beneath me. I’m so stunned I barely register Dickie’s gasp or Charlotte going limp.
Jack’s chest heaves, his face appearing bloodless, but his eyes burn as if his resentment is finally clawing its way out. “So yeah. Maybe I was nice to Rosamund, but only because I didn’t know how she was treating you. Unlike you, darling, I don’t run. And you don’t get to spit my loyalty back at me when you killed it first.”
He looks at Charlotte a moment longer, with no rage left, only the wound laid bare between them, too deep and ugly for either to pretend anymore. In that stare, all Charlotte’s fire dies. The fight drains from her body, leaving nothing but a husk, even emptier than she was on Harrison’s jet.
Jack’s shoulders fold inward, as if the fight has drained from him, too. Whatever they were is gone now, and I think it cuts him deeper than her betrayal ever did.
When he turns to me and places a hand on my arm, his fingers tremor. “Sorry, Loredana. This wasn’t the place. Or the time.”
He heads for the door, scrubbing his palm across his neck as if he’s trying to sand off the last of this from his skin.
Dickie stays frozen, his eyes wet and wide in a way that makes my throat tighten. Like me, he didn’t know what had happened between Edmund, Jack, and Charlotte until now. The way he’s staring at Charlotte, as if seeing her for the first time, makes her shrink where she stands, as if one more word would be enough to blow her away.
Slowly, Dickie’s finger lifts, shaking so much he can barely point. “So, Ed was right about you, then. You’re reallynota lady.”
He spins on his heel and chases after Jack. The door rattles in its frame as it slams, loud enough to make me flinch.
I turn to Charlotte, and she raises a hand in front of her face, the same shield she uses when she won’t let me see the worst of her. Her shouldershitch as she stumbles past me, as if I’m just another piece of furniture in the salon, then she disappears into my bedroom.
And I stand alone in the wreckage, the echoes still ringing off the walls.
With so many thoughts racing through my mind, I can’t stay still. I pace up and down the salon, each pass faster, my pulse pounding so loudly it drowns out the clock. I know Charlotte mentioned she was looking for a way out of her relationship with Jack, but why did she use Edmund as an exit? Didn’t she realize how much coming onto Edmund would hurt Jack? Didn’t she understand she’d make an enemy of Edmund forever? There must be something I’m missing. There has to be, because it’s Charlotte. And she always has a reason.
I stop pacing long enough to sink onto the sofa, then shoot back up when my muscles constrict as if in revolt. I turn toward the bedroom door, tempted to force my way in and see if Charlotte’s okay. But my feet stay rooted. She’ll come out when she’s ready.
An hour later, when she finally emerges, her movements are so quiet I hardly hear the latch click. Her cheeks are blotchy, with dark hollows under her eyes that make her look older than me for once. She stops short when she sees me.
“Lore. You’re still here?”
“Of course, Char. I’m not going to leave you.”
She sniffs, then points to the table. We both sit. Charlotte pulls her mom’s emerald-studded lighter from her pocket, gripping it as if to ground herself, and gives me that look. Go ahead. Ask.
“Why, Char?” I ask gently. “Why Edmund?”
Charlotte sighs and wipes her nose with her knuckle. “Because I needed a way out. And it had to be permanent. I knew that if I just left, I’d go back to Jack the moment I got lonely. I loved Jack too much for that. I couldn’t trust myself, so I did the one thing that would make it impossible for me to return.”
“So, you planned to make a pass at Edmund?”
She shakes her head. “No. I didn’t plan any of it. I only knew I had to end things with Jack. That night at the Royce Club, I’d taken Bliss. Peoplethink it just makes you happy, but it doesn’t. It turns up the ugly parts of yourself. Every petty thought, every jealous piece of me, got loud. Jack getting the hovercar from Rosamund, and seeing him so happy about it, made me snap.” She exhales, a dry, brittle sound. “Edmund never told Rosamund or Dickie what happened. I think the only reason he told Jack was because he had to.”
I nod. Edmund probably kept the secret for Jack’s sake.
