Page 37 of Fatal Collision
It’s Kane.
Of course it fucking is. He won’t leave me alone.
“Prick,” I mutter, deleting the message without reading it.
ELEVEN
JESSICA
Kane won’t leave me alone.
The phone pings in my pocket for the third time. Turning off the tap, I head out of the kitchen with my sandwich and glass of water. It’s him again. There’s no need to check. The man has been blowing up my phone since I left the hospice.
Slouched on the couch, Chris barely spares me a glance when I walk past the living room. We haven’t spoken a word to each other after our interaction earlier. I don’t have the energy to get into any more arguments.
Malice’s eyes flick up as I pass the doorway. He’s rolling a joint on the coffee table while Jackson is on the phone, laughing at the person on the other line.
It’s almost on the tip of my tongue to ask them if they have homes, but that would be a pointless argument. They always hang out together at our place.
“You alright, sunshine?” Jackson calls out after me,earning him a glare from my brother. I would flip him off, but my hands are full. Jackson snickers as he reaches across the couch and shoves Chris. “Relax, bro. You’re too fucking easy to wind up.”
“She’s off limits,” Chris mutters, propping his beat-up shoe on the edge of the coffee table. The soles of his Chucks have seen better days, like everything in our house.
God, he’s such a dick sometimes. It’s the way he said it, as if he’s got a say in who I see.
Newsflash, he doesn’t.
I raise a brow, and he challenges me with a sharp look of his own.
“Hang on, Sam. One second.” Jackson lowers the phone from his ear and puts his hand over the receiver. “What did you say, Chris? I couldn’t hear you?” he asks my brother, who silently seethes.
Turning his head, he glowers at him. “I said she’s off limits?—”
“Sorry, what was that?” Jackson cups his ear, and my brother reaches for a flowery scatter cushion behind him, which he tosses at him. Jackson falls back, barking a wheezy laugh. I throw them a withering look and head for my room. They might be in their twenties, but I swear they act like kids.
Once I kick the door shut, I set my glass of water on the bedside table and plop down on the springy mattress. I still have a few episodes left to watch of the final season of Riverdale. Although the show has beenout for years, I’ve only recently gotten around to watching it.
I finish my sandwich in three bites before sliding the laptop toward me and scooting farther up the bed until my back rests against the wall.
Music thumps in the living room. Eminem’s “Til I Collapse” pounds through the speakers.Sick song, sure. Doesn’t mean my brother has to wake the dead with the bass, though.
I plug in my headphones and check my text messages to see if my sister has reached out yet. She’s babysitting the neighbor’s kid tonight. He is six and a whirlwind of energy.
Never a dull moment.
I’m not great with kids, but my sister has that natural maternal air about her.
There are no new messages from Summer, so everything must be good on her end. Rain has sent me a voice message and three new reels. I’m in the middle of watching one when a new text from Kane pops up on my screen.
Kane:
You can’t ignore me forever, princess.
I tip my head back with a groan. His messages go unanswered because, let’s be real, we’re not a thing, despite him always reaching out. What part of‘we’re from different worlds’is so hard to understand? Besides,every time we’re near each other, we do insane things I’ve never considered doing before.
Crazy things… like me pulling a gun on him.
Ugh,I wasgonefor the spark in his eyes when he goaded me. Why was it so hot?
