Page 47 of Jessica's Hero
That’s what I want. For Jess to feel special. Appreciated. To realize just how much I care about her. I want to help her forget about all the shitty stuff—her damagedhouse, the unidentified person who has it out for her, the nightmares she’s been struggling with all week—and be able to really enjoy herself.
So I planned out this whole date with that intention. Lots of flowers. Candles. Sultry music to set the mood. Presents. And Jess’s favorite food for dinner, not ordered from a local restaurant this time, but prepared by me.
“It’s more romantic,” Shea told me when she stopped by the station the other day. “Even if your food isn’t quite as good as a restaurant’s, it means more if you make it.” At my skeptical look, she doubled down, adding, “Trust me, Kane. As a woman, I promise Jess will be much more impressed if you cook dinner for her yourself.”
I’m still not completely sold on the idea, but I decided to give it a try. So I called up my mom to ask for her famous spaghetti Bolognese recipe, which she gave to me after a twenty-minute interrogation about Jess and when I was planning to bring her for a visit.
The answer? Soon, I hope.
The idea of bringing a woman home to meet my mom never crossed my mind before. But with Jess, I’m looking forward to it. I want Jess to get to know my mom and see all the photos of my dad and show her the treehouse I used to spend hours in as a kid. I want Jess to feel welcomed into my small family. To know she doesn’t just have my support, but my mom’s, too.
But taking Jess back to Rochester is something for another time, when the threat against her has been resolved and we can take trips without worrying about bringing the danger with us. When things get back to normal again.
Which, unfortunately, they’re not; much to my frustration.
It’s not for lack of trying. The police department is on it. So is Blade and Arrow. My friends are helping, too—Ben pitching in with the investigative side of things, while Grant and Ian have been volunteering their time to take Jess to work and back when I’m not able to.
But despite our best efforts, we’re still coming up empty. We’ve found a lot of people in town who still hold a grudge against Jess, but nothing more substantial than that. No clues linking the writing on the rock to anyone. No useful video footage of the exterior of Jess’s house from that night; just a shadowy figure throwing some rocks at the windows before running away. We even looked into Stella, Liam’s mother, who’s currently serving a twenty-year sentence in a prison upstate. But the only person she’s communicated with in the last three months is her attorney, and there’s no evidence of her involvement in Jess’s case.
My jaw clenches as impotent anger rises inside me again.
I should be able to fix this.
I’m a damn cop. It’s my job to protect people. But somehow I’m failing when it matters the most.
Yes, Jess is safe at my place. But that’s not good enough. She should be safeeverywhere. She should be able to go into town without being afraid. She should be able to drive to work on her own instead of needing an escort. And she shouldn’t have to suffer through regular nightmares—ones that wake her up on a strangled scream and leave her shaking from fear.
It’s not fair. And yeah, I know bad things happen togood people all the time. But Jess alreadywentthrough the bad stuff. She still bears the scars to prove it. She still goes to monthly meetings with her PTSD support group to deal with the memories of that terrible night when she was almost killed and saw her high school crush die in front of her.
And on top of that, she’s been dealing with bullshit from people in town since she moved back here. Five years of shit I wish I’d known about sooner, because I would never have allowed it to continue if I had.
Not anymore. Not my Jess. Not the woman who feels like a lot more than just my girlfriend.
She feels like someone I could see myself with.
And that’s why I want tonight to be perfect.
Shoving my frustration down, I draw in a steadying breath. Then I walk to the center of the living room and slowly turn in a circle, scanning the room again.
Despite my concerns about the flowers—note to self, order double next time—I think it looks pretty good. Candles of all sizes are scattered around the room, the golden flames casting a warm and intimate glow. Jazz plays softly in the background; the singer crooning about finding love and spending the night together. The aroma of the flowers blends with the scent of Bolognese sauce wafting in from the kitchen, which doesn’t seem like a good combination but actually works.
And there, on the coffee table, a small stack of gifts. More gold-wrapped truffles, the newest expansion pack for her game, and topped with a tiny box that can’t be mistaken for anything other than jewelry.
In the dining room, a bottle of Jess’s favorite wine is uncorked and ready to pour. To either side of it sit newwine glasses I bought just for the occasion, handcrafted in blue glass from a local artisan. The table is set with a crisp white tablecloth and deep blue napkins; the finishing touch to my blue theme of the evening.
But willshelike it?
I think so. I hope so.
Just as I’m about to head into the kitchen to check the food, my watch vibrates with a notification. Glancing down at the small screen, I watch Grant’s car as it creeps up the driveway and comes to a stop right in front of the garage. Seconds later, he hops out and walks around to the passenger side, opening the door and helping Jess out.
I hurry to the front door, suddenly feeling more nervous than I’ve been in a very long time.
Worries spin through my head, one after another.
What if she doesn’t like it?
What if I did too much?
