The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)

I hold the phone above my face and read his texts again, wanting his nearness through the only contact I’ve allowed. My heart constricts and twists inside of me. I devour the messages over and over, memorizing them until they are etched into my heart, absorbing the words, letting the slice of agony they cause dim. Trying to find calm in my chaos yet still being connected to him in some small way.

What do I say? If I say nothing, I know he’ll come here at some point. Jake won’t sit back forever and wait. Do I even want him to come?

I don’t know if that’s what I want; my mind and body are at odds with one another, fighting a grand battle to the death. Self-preservation, PA Emma, telling me to keep him out, the new weaker me begging to let him come.

I sit up, take a deep breath, and wipe my face, steeling myself to do this, to do something. I don’t want him to sit suffering with my silence indefinitely, despite the pain he’s caused me. I can’t do that to him. I can’t keep inflicting silence when he’s trying to reach out to me in any way possible. My hands tremble as I impulsively type a response.

I needed head space to think. I’m confused and heartbroken. You hurt me. I don’t know what I need from you so how can I tell you what to do? X Emma.

I look at the text before sending it, inhale heavily, emotions swirling up again, my hands shaking violently. If I don’t know how to deal with my head, what chance does he have? This day may kill me after all.

My phone beeps seconds later. My heart skips a beat, and my fingers shake when I swipe my phone.

Let me pick you up so we can talk face to face. X J

I inhale sharply as panic sets in, knowing it’s too soon. I don’t know if I can handle seeing him right now. My heart bleeds that he’s so quick to connect like he’s been waiting. It feels like he’s right here beside me. But he’s not. He’s somewhere alone, mirroring what I’m doing, touching me instantly when I need him like he always has done.

What happens if I can never handle seeing him again? What happens if this destroys everything, so I can never move on? Maybe it’s better to see what happens rather than hide and die a slow, painful death of heartbreak.

I grab onto my hair at the temples of my head, tugging in frustration. My emotions and brain are tormenting me relentlessly. I can’t pick one path to follow, which drives me insane.

I take my phone from my lap and stare at it, taking a deep and calming breath before deciding what to do and say.

Not yet. I need time to digest all the messages and your letter. I only just read them. Give me time. That’s all I ask. My response to your song, Jake, Beyoncé’s “Broken-Hearted Girl.”

X

I sigh with a deflated breath as it sends onto him. My heart is aching, but I can’t see him yet. The song expresses the craziness of what’s going on inside of me. This war raging inside me, relentlessly consuming my thoughts, needs to be dealt with first. I’m scared about his response, holding my phone with bated breath. I wonder if he’ll listen to the song, pondering it, and then my phone beeps.

You’re killing me, Emma. I’ll do what you ask. Xxx, I love you so much.

I don’t feel any better with his response, an inner wave of disappointment that he’s not trying to change my mind. Anger boils up inside me, coming from nowhere, and with it, the impulse to smash my phone off a wall.

What the hell is wrong with me? What is with my undying need to make Jake come after me and devour me?

It was the same when we fought after Arrick’s birthday. My anger wanted him to take me with a vicious passion, as though he had no control, and now here I am, angry because he isn’t ignoring my wishes and pushing his way here to see me. It’s like I need the extreme from him. Maybe the lack of real love in my life growing up has caused this deep aching desire to have someone show their love in dominant ways. I can’t begin to analyze that right now. All I know is I want him to take away my decision not to see him, let his own needs takeover. That’s the Jake who swept me into his world. The guy who never took NO as an answer and pursued me regardless.

God. Maybe I do need therapy after all.

There’s a gentle knock on my door, and Sarah wraps her head around warily. Her eyes flicker over me very analytically; she’s clearly assessing my mental state.

“Emma … honey? Are you up for a visitor? There’s someone here to see you.” She looks sheepish, and my heart plummets in cold fear.

Oh, my God, he didn’t?! He couldn’t?! Forget all that pushing his way in stuff … NO! I really don’t want to see him.

She sees my face pale visibly and immediately cuts in.

“No, no, not him … God no … That girl you told me about. Leila?” She smiles in an almost terrifying effort at bravery, and I sag with breathless relief.

Oh lord … Leila.

I get up and start adjusting my casual, rumpled clothes self-consciously. I must look like a fright. My hair is wild. My face is tear-stained and puffy. God knows how crushed and dirty my loungewear is. Sarah takes my fussing as a cue to let Leila come in.

Within seconds the whirlwind that is Leila bounds in, dressed from head to toe in a gray tracksuit with fur trim and sparkly silver trainers. She’s like my modern-day Fairy Godmother. A crazy combination of a sporty woman and a cute child. She practically knocks me over with the force of her hug and over energetic hand gestures.

“Jake is an actual fucking idiot.” She releases enough to gaze up at me with angry eyes, carrying on her dramatic emphasizing sign language. “I told him as much before I threw the contents of his kitchen at him a couple of hours ago, complete fucking idiot … I swear. Him and that shithead best mate of his both need a major fucking brain overhaul.”

“Leila, you did what?!” I gasp in shock, unsure if this is what I want Jake to be enduring right now. With her mad temper, I can visualize her fiery little self, causing chaos in his immaculate kitchen. Images of her mounting a full-on arsenal of pans and cutlery fly through my head as Jake ducks and weaves to avoid the collision.

“Yeah, I did! It’s not like he can’t afford some new gadgets and a clean-up crew. I’m just sorry I have such a shit aim. He was stupid enough to tell me why you were no longer at the apartment; fuckwit!” She grins at me, and I can’t help but smile back, beautiful, crazy little Leila. I wish that smile meant she was joking, but I know it’s unlikely. I would never like to be on the wrong side of that small blonde cyclone in full fury. I can only speculate that, despite his ferocity, Jake was probably slightly scared.

“Please tell me you didn’t mark that face, though? As much as I hate him right now, it would be devastating to know you ruined it.” I catch her wrist as she fusses with my mess of hair and shake my head out of her palms. I know this mess is beyond repair and her efforts are completely futile.

“Stop right now with that pouty look of despair, and no, I didn’t … Lucky for him, he’s got fast reflexes. Pity his brain doesn’t have the same skills. We’ll get you dressed up and go somewhere cozy for cocktails, music, and a girl chat. It’s an order, not a request.” She lets me go and starts yanking through the cases of clothes on my floor that I still haven’t had the heart to unpack, pulling dresses loose and holding them up to investigate.

“I don’t think I’m up for this.” I balk at her, my voice on the pleading side. My stomach is doing somersaults at the mere thought of venturing into the public domain.

“It’s about time I made good with your side chick through there. I can’t have my girl mooning around with another woman without getting a look in. Bet you’re glad I like threesomes.” She winks at me with that devilish air that can only be described as Leila. She’s not going to take no for an answer. I sigh heavily and brace my hands on my hips, trying to look more authoritative.

“Leila. I look like crap and am just not in the mood….”

“Shh, not a word. Your job is to do as you’re told and let Auntie Leila take care of everything.” With one stubborn Leila look, I know I’ve no hope in hell of arguing my way out of this.