Chapter Forty-One
I don’t know why I waited, but I waited.
After getting back to the flat. After showering and stress-eating chocolate. After climbing into bed at 3 a.m. I waited.
I waited the morning after, and the night that followed. I waited as sunlight burned through darkness and as darkness cloaked the sun.
For a total of sixty hours, I waited. For what? Of that, I’m unsure.
A text? A call? An apology? A goddamn acknowledgment, maybe?
For crying out loud, I let the man into my body, my head, my heart. Don’t I deserve even a smidgeon of acknowledgment?
Sadly, this is the wake-up call my soul needed to return to me.
Jaxon cares about me. I’m not delusional for believing he does. He just doesn’t care enough.
He’s not a mistake, and I don’t regret being with him. The mistake was getting attached to him, even knowing it was forbidden, knowing the end would be bitter.
I can’t resent him. I can’t fault him. I knew the situation and the inevitable outcome. Which is why my surprise is so surprising.
I should not be surprised. I should have been prepared. My heart should never have been involved, should never have been in a position to be caught off guard or suffer pain.
I might be letting go of him with reluctant, scraping claws, but I’m letting go.
On the sixty-first hour of silence, I re-hack into Jaxon’s secret room. It looks just as I left it, as though he’s not been back in here since then. The necklace, the knife, and the music box are still there beneath the floorboard.
I take them all.
I also take the first issue of Xxendra, the Virgin Warrior.
All these things I pack in a travel bag, along with the lingerie Collin bought me—I’ve grown to love those. Yes, but why have I grown to love them? Because Jaxon fancies them? Because he delights in snapping pictures of me in them while I’m asleep so he can text them to me when he’s thinking of me?
Maybe.
But, aren’t these also reasons I should be leaving them behind?
Ha. And while I’m at it, I might as well put back his pillowcase and the worn T-shirt I stole from his hamper because they smell of him.
Nope. Not a chance.
I keep them all, because I’m not strong enough to drop him like hot chips with no evidence of struggle. I’m letting go, sure, but there’ll be claw marks left behind.
Once I’m all packed, I adjust my bag on my shoulder and walk right out of there. Not a soul questions where I’m headed. Because as far as everyone’s concerned, I’m no longer a hostage.
I’m the boss’s girl.
Not until I’m across the bridge to Brooklyn and securely inside my haven, do I shoot my partner a text update.