Everywhere Unraveled Page 8

  “Sophia?”

  “Sorry.” I blushed, approaching Elizabeth. “I was thinking about Jules.”

  She passed a sympathetic smile in my direction and motioned for me to join her at the desk. The tall, tanned man across from her offered a similarly pathetic expression.

  “Darling,” his drawl sang straight from the theatre, “your friend here’s told me all about how your home was damaged. You’re mighty brave for making it through. We’re honored to have you staying here with us.”

  Right. You mean you’re so honored to take the thousands of dollars Elizabeth was forking over. I nodded, unable to smile. I was empty. Elizabeth looked between the man and me before laughing uncomfortably.

  “We’ll just take keys for the rooms and be on our way,” she sang.

  “Keys? Plural?” I whispered, nervously crossing my arms. I hoped she hadn’t invited Jules and Simon. I needed space from them too.

  “Honey.” She placed some hair behind my ear. “We’re staying here too. Thomas and Jameson will come later.”

  I needed space from them, most of all. Most of all? My heart couldn’t handle any of this. I know I was looking at her with a look of distaste, an automatic reaction that I couldn’t prevent.

  “What’s wrong, Sophia?”

  “Nothing,” I lied, thinking for a moment. “I just thought I would really be alone.”

  “I don’t think that’s the safest thing right now. We’ll just be in another room of the suite. It’ll be like you’re alone.”

  “Suite?” Oh, crap.

  My reluctant footsteps followed Elizabeth around the front desk toward the elevator, where she tapped her foot while we waited. As soon as it arrived, we piled in and stood in awkward silence. I wanted to be alone, but felt even more like a prisoner than I had during the actual hurricane. I was practically at the mercy of Thomas and Elizabeth now. And Jameson.

  “Honestly, Sophia,” she mumbled, looking down. “I’m concerned for you. If Jameson knew you’d almost electrocuted yourself in your room, he would never recover.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I hadn’t tried to electrocute myself. I just hadn’t thought about the fact I was knee-deep in my bedroom pool that also contained exposed wires. Forgive my mind for being overstuffed with trauma and thoughts that often prevented my intelligence from appearing.

  “We can talk about it later,” she shushed me once the doors opened. “It isn’t something to discuss publicly.”

  My mouth hung as she stepped onto our floor, twisting the key card between her bony fingers. Her hand was still adorned with sparkling rings that reflected light from every source within the Ritz, windows, fluorescents, all reminding us of her blinding wealth and status against the destruction that surrounded us.

  These aren’t my people. I don’t belong here. But these aren’t Jameson’s people either. Neither of us belong here. Yet somehow, Jameson fit in entirely. He was like a chameleon, morphing into whatever identity was required of him, and the thought of the fluidity and ease with which he could change frightened me. And there went my mind, slowly slipping into panic and its newfound inability to accept anything as true anymore. What if this isn’t real? What if Jameson isn’t truly who Gabe was on the inside?

  With shaking nerves and my head hanging low, I followed Elizabeth into the hotel room, unsure of what to expect. I saw the wires. I knew. What is wrong with me?

  “Your room is the second door on the left. I’ve had some clothes brought up for you. They’re on your bed,” Elizabeth rambled while we walked inside. “I hope you don’t mind. I figured you’re around a size eight or ten, right?”

  The interior was overwhelming and we had just stepped into the living space. There were two loveseats separated by a dark coffee table and one club chair at the head of the table, all of which were resting on top of a fancy rug. It was too fancy. This was all so fake, it made my teeth hurt.

  “Eight,” I replied. “Thank you.”

  I was struggling internally, but still managed manners. I stood in the living area, watching Elizabeth from behind as she moved around the space, heading toward the open kitchen area and flicking on every light on the way.

  “You need to eat,” she teased. “You’re skin and bones.”

  Hardly. What I needed was for Elizabeth and this disgusting reminder of the difference between Jameson and me to leave me alone so I could curl into a ball under a very warm, dark blanket.

  “Sophia,” I heard her mumble while resting on one of the loveseats. “We can talk now if you’d like.”

  “No. Thanks.”

  She patted the cushion next to her, “Please, dear. Before the boys get here. We should discuss what happened at your house. You must be in utter shock.”

  I am in shock—shocked that someone with any sense would continue probing someone who did not want to talk. My mind was a mess—why was she still talking about this and probing like a nosy parent? Part of me felt comforted that Elizabeth was trying to care, as awkward and uncomfortable as it seemed for her to attempt to support someone so beneath her stature, but I couldn’t let anyone in. I wasn’t about to divulge anything to her. I just found out my aunt’s boyfriend was watching me. Stalking me to get to Jameson. I didn’t know who I could trust anymore.

  “What happened at her house?”

  I spun around, my heart stopping, feeling as though it had been days since hearing his gentle tone. I had been too involved in my own thoughts to hear him enter. He should have brought me comfort but, in that moment, I wanted to cry.

  “Soph,” Jameson continued, approaching me hesitantly. “What happened at your house?”

  “I thought you weren’t coming until later.” Elizabeth stood from the couch. “Where’s Thomas?”

  “Downstairs. Parking. What happened at Soph’s house?” His eyes were fixed on mine, unrelenting and accusatory.

  “Nothing,” I sighed, turning my back on Jameson.

  It was a strange sensation, a creeping feeling that began in my fingers, inching just under my skin toward my chest. It pooled beneath my throat, tightening its grip around my breath and I had to escape.

  I felt…angry. My feet carried me, almost floating, in a frantic rush toward the second room on the left. The bedroom was larger than half of Jules’s home, with an attached bathroom. Everything was white or gold. Everything was exquisite. Nothing was me.

  Slamming the door, my body hurled itself forward, landing against the floor. I felt so attacked, demanded of, and not given time to even accept that not only was I an orphan, but I was homeless.

  What happened at Soph’s house? Everything.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JAMESON

  My eyes were glued to the door, the echoing sound of Soph slamming it radiating through the room. Elizabeth was saying my name, her futile attempt at regaining my attention. I didn’t know how I felt: angry, confused, concerned, lost. I was hot, boiling from the sunny day in my sweats, and now also consumed with fear about Soph’s emotions.

  “She really needs space,” Elizabeth’s tone was remorseful. “She was quiet, but fine when we went with Jules this morning and then something flipped. We ran into some of your friends at the coffee shop and she hasn’t been the same since.”

  “Who?” I questioned, my eyes reluctantly lifting from the door to watch Elizabeth shuffle in her seat.

  “Michelle and that boy she’s with,” Elizabeth thought, a finger rubbing along her temple, “…and some other boy.” Some other boy? “She’ll be fine, Jamie.”

  Elizabeth’s soft, natural use of my nickname left me alarmed. She had never done that. That was too maternal, too affectionate for her. Soph didn’t even call me Jamie. My lungs lifted, filling the room with a heavy sigh.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I mumbled, not expecting a response from Elizabeth.

  The suite door swiftly opened, Thomas entering with his presence unusually reserved. My hands fell against my hips, grasping my body in a pathetic attempt to
ground me. I was starting to pace in circles, clinging to my waist as thoughts of Soph isolating herself in the room swirled throughout my mind. I understood, even appreciated, her desire to close in on herself, but she needed someone right now. She needed me. Or maybe I needed her.

  I left Thomas and Elizabeth in the living area of the suite and quietly marched toward the closed bedroom door. Placing my hand on the knob, I rested my forehead against the panel, unable to actually turn and enter. I pressed my ear against the door, listening to the muffled sobs and soft, heaving breaths resonating from the opposite side. I was trying to think of what Elizabeth said, and what the switch was that drove Soph to feel so confined within herself. She wasn’t the same since they went for coffee. What happened? She ran into Michelle, Luke, and someone else. It didn’t matter. Her friends. It did matter. And then it hit me harder than a bolt of lightning from the storm.

  I am asking Soph to keep even more secrets, to become a recluse like me, hiding her identity from the friends she didn’t even want to make in the first place.

  “Soph.”

  My voice was a whispered groan, shaking with the guilt that rattled through my heart. Listening against the panel, I heard and felt her weight shift at the bottom of the door. It rattled against the hinges, informing me she had been, and was no longer, sitting against it. She was moving away from me and I was terrified to intrude, afraid of what to expect.

  “Soph,” I whispered, beginning to turn the knob. “Can…may I come in?”

  “Whatever,” her muffled sigh replied, filling my heart with hope.

  I opened the door with hesitance, but my body was humming with excitement. I realized the last time I glanced upon those precious eyes, Soph was huddled between Simon and Jules in our driveway. This time, she was standing at the side of the queen-sized bed, her back toward me.

  “I see Elizabeth got you clothes,” I commented, hoping to break the ice.

  Dammit. This was painfully awkward; in half a day, we weren’t communicating and a wall had begun constructing its foundation between us. I was consumed with recent memories of the last day, of her sleeping in my bed, holding her during the storm. Protecting her.

  “Can I hold you?” Maybe that was too brave. But she turned, facing me, revealing the fragile girl I was hopelessly falling for.

  Her eyes barely lifted, looking at me from beneath her wet eyelashes. “No.”

  I could tell she was beginning to shake. She was drained of color, pale like a porcelain doll. I felt at a loss, unable to say words she needed to reassure her about whatever was causing the panic to swirl its way throughout her delicate heart.

  “I heard you got coffee this morning. I’m jealous.” I shrugged. “I feel like I’m about to crash.”

  Her eyes were finally on me, directly on mine and burning their blue flame directly through my soul.

  “There’s one bed,” she muttered, her voice weak.

  Right. A two-bedroom suite with two beds and four people. I wasn’t about to cuddle between Thomas and Elizabeth.

  “I can sleep on the couch,” I muttered, pulling on my neck.

  Please say no. I don’t want to leave you alone. Soph stood along the side of the bed, her fingers delicately tracing the fabric in the comforter.

  “Whatever you want,” her voice barely escaped her precious lips.

  I stepped from the doorway, inching closer to her. Her tracing fingers were trembling ever so slightly as they stroked the invisible patterns back and forth mindlessly while she processed something heavy in her heart.

  “Soph,” I held her left elbow, distracting her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything.”

  “But right now,” I clarified. “What are you thinking about right now? What has you avoiding me and favoring the comforter?”

  Her face lifted to mine and that’s when I noticed the tears beginning to slowly tip over the edge of her raw eyelids. Her expression was hopeless. There was nothing there but a lost, empty girl screaming at me in silence. I scanned her face, memorizing each delicate feature as the tears trickled along her pale cheek, when I noticed her bottom lip quiver. Oh, Jesus.

  “Sophia.” I lightly yanked on her wrist, pulling her from the comforter and into my body. “Talk to me.”

  “No.” She wiggled from my hold, slowly stepping backward with but a glance at me.

  With each step behind her, she took a small piece of my heart. As Soph approached the door to the attached bathroom, she turned from me and found the knob. The latch connecting, clicking into my awareness, pulled me against the bed in defeat. Where did she go? Where is her mind right now?

  My hands adhered tightly to the comforter at my sides, squeezing the fabric and imagining it disintegrating as I tried to exhale. I tried counting, deep breaths, and thinking of something happy, but my happy was Soph, and all I wanted was to breathe her. She was already in my blood, pulsing through my body, and she didn’t know.

  I knew the feeling of caring for someone, for wanting them to succeed and be happy. I knew affection and I knew love—my parents showed that to me. I knew the effort required to make people happy, and for Sophia I would have done anything. This affection, the feelings binding themselves to the lining of my soul—that was new, foreign. I was falling hard, dangerously close to submitting to the intoxication that was Soph’s heart.

  The bubbling noise of her filling bathtub echoed into the bedroom, my guilty mind pulling me from the bed toward the door. I didn’t tap, but leaned my head against the panel. I could hear her softly sobbing and it was taking everything within me not to be with her, to support her and help her cope.

  “Soph,” I whispered in the seam of the doorframe. “I understand you need to hide, but please don’t hide from me for too long. I’ll…I’ll be outside with Thomas and Elizabeth.”

  I waited, willing her to open the door, but after a minute I respected her need for space and left the bedroom entirely.

  I was running my hands through my hair, hoping to spark circulation and end the numb sensation along my scalp as I stepped into the shared living room of our suite.

  Elizabeth was curled in a club chair, mindlessly flipping through a magazine while Thomas appeared opposite of her calm demeanor. His reading glasses were resting in his hair, despite his eyes feverishly reviewing the contents of his laptop screen, and his brow was furrowed so intensely that I worried for his forehead.

  “Soph’s taking a bath.” I sat across from Thomas on the opposite loveseat, stretching my legs out and closing my eyes while my head rested along the armrest.

  I didn’t want to look at them, the ceiling, or anything. I couldn’t. The only image to which my soul subjected my brain was Soph tracing her fingers along the comforter, effectively resisting and pushing me away.

  “We ordered a pizza,” Elizabeth said, continuing to flip. “It should be here any minute.”

  “Jameson?”

  “What?”

  Thomas cleared his throat, informing me that it was imperative to look at him before he would continue. So I did, with only exhaustion and questions liquefying my eyes.

  “How is she?” Elizabeth interrupted, setting her magazine on the coffee table between us all. It slid across the glass surface, tapping against a vase of small yellow roses.

  “A mess.” A beautiful mess.

  “That’s to be expected. You know, I’m not sure of the best route for dealing with Bellini here. I’ve been in touch with some friends at the DOJ but without any tangible evidence…”

  “But her phone,” I suggested. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “It’s hearsay. No proof.”

  “Bullshit,” I snarled, sitting up and staring at Thomas. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Watch your tone.” Thomas glared at me as though I was a child, someone over which he could truly hold authority.

  “Screw that, Thomas. Are you kidding me?”

  “Jameson,” Elizabeth chirped, “please stop that language.”
<
br />   My eyes rolled so hard that I saw the back of my brain. These two had to be kidding. They couldn’t be serious. We were discussing how we had no evidence or proof against Simon, who had basically stalked Soph, and they were disappointed in my choice of vocabulary.

  “We may not have enough to sway a jury,” Thomas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose while his temper collected. “And I don’t know how much further I can delve into this without risking my own reputation…as well as your safety.”

  “Thomas,” Elizabeth muttered.

  “I respect the girl. I know she’s important to you. I like her aunt. But…once this storm is over, maybe it’s time for you to consider yourself in all of this. For once. Let her go, Jameson. For good this time. Use this nonsense with Bellini as your chance. We can talk to someone about getting you a new identity somewhere else. It breaks my heart, but…”

  “Thomas. Enough.” Elizabeth’s words were barely a whisper, a nervous, mumbled hum between her clenched teeth as her eyes glanced behind me and back at her husband.

  I felt the pain drive through my heart, entirely aware of Soph’s presence and uneasily terrified of how she interpreted what she heard.

  I spun around, taking in the fear swirling in her beautiful, aching eyes. “Soph…”

  I flew over the couch, my legs barely scraping the back as I stumbled over it to try and catch up with her while she ran back toward the bedroom. The door slammed in my face. Slammed in my face, warning me that I wasn’t welcome. She didn’t want me. She wouldn’t let me help her. I knocked on the door, my ears barely able to make out the muffled sobs and pacing feet within the room.

  “Sophia,” I groaned, my heart throbbing in agony at her confusion. “Please let me explain. Thomas…he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t have a soul. Please let me in.”

  I could hear her move in the room; back and forth, zip, unzip, shuffle…zip…she is going to leave. It’s what she does. She’s terrified and she only knows to protect herself. She is going to leave.