Page 103 of Possessive Sinner
It… loosens something. Like a knot inside my chest that slowly unravels.
"So you don't think it's bad," I ask carefully, "that the dirt hasn't even settled on my husband's grave, and yet here I am… attracted to another man?"
Jenna's lips curve, not unkind, not surprised. "You like Gabe?"
My throat tightens. I nod.
"Yeah," I admit, so quietly it barely makes a sound.
Jenna shrugs, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Life's short. And it sounds like you'd already emotionally checked out."
"I was," I whisper. "I was." I swallow hard. "Still… I loved him. Not like I was supposed to. But I did love Pete. He was a good man."
Jenna nods, understanding flickers in her eyes. "I hated Carter," she states simply. "That made it easier."
Her hand closes around mine, warm and steady. "There's no judgment here," she adds softly. "None."
And for the first time since everything fell apart… I believe someone when they say that.
"If you want to talk about it…" she glances at her watch in an exaggerated move. "I'm free until ten tonight."
A small, unexpected laugh escapes me. She grins. And just like that, the weight on my chest lifts—just a little.
"I met Pete when I was eighteen. He offered something that I never had before. Stability." I dive in, hoping she meant what she said and it wasn't just a polite gesture, because no matter if she likes it or not, the floodgates are open, wide open. "I needed a change and turned my life upside down, not fully, not right away, I still liked to go to parties and stuff, but not for long…"I know I'm rambling and probably not making a whole lot of sense, but I don't know if I can talk about Razor again. I only want to talk about Pete and what he meant and didn't mean. If I can make her understand that part, maybe I can too, and maybe, just maybe, if I can understand, then I can forgive myself?
"Pete was very… structured and put together. He knew what he wanted, while I was more… floating. Living day to day. He had a plan, college, and a job he wanted. Nothing that I ever had in my life."
"One night, I panicked, I thought… somebody was after me, and I called Pete to come get me. I let him think I was drunk," I confess quietly, and I was drunk and high, but I was also sober from fear because I had seen a motorcycle drive by the house where the party was, and worried Razor had found me. "He came," I add quickly. "He always came. No questions. No drama. He would just… be there."
"And that mattered," she guesses.
"It did," I nod. "It still does."
Because Pete was safe. Pete was steady. Pete was everything I needed.
"But it wasn't everything," Jenna guesses again.
I look at her, and I realize she's not guessing. Sheknows.
"I thought it was," I whisper. "I was eighteen. It felt like enough."
I laugh weakly. "Turns out… six years later, it's not."
Silence settles between us.
"What about him?" she asks after a while. "Gabe."
My stomach flips instantly at the mention of his name, as if that's telling enough.
"I don't know what that is," I admit. "But it's not… safe."
"No," she agrees.
"But it's—" I stop, searching for the word. Everything? Too much? Addictive?
"Alive," she finishes for me.
My throat tightens. "Yes."
