Twisted Hate (Twisted, 3)

The next day, I accompanied Jules to her mother’s funeral. Besides the minister and funeral home staff, we were the only people in attendance, and the service passed without any fanfare.

“Would you like to say any words before we put Adeline to rest?” the minister asked after he delivered the eulogy.

Jules shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to say anything.”

I reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, wishing I could do more to help. Jules didn’t look at me, but she gave me a small squeeze back.

The minister nodded, the staff lowered the casket into the ground, and that was that.

It was, in Jules’s words, anticlimactic, but that didn’t stop a knot from forming in my stomach when I stared at Adeline’s burial plot.

Decades of life, snuffed out just like that, with no one except her daughter and a stranger seeing her off. A lifetime of dreams, fears, accomplishments, and regrets, wiped out by a single freak accident.

It was fucking depressing.

I allowed myself to dwell in melancholy for a moment before I pushed it aside and placed a gentle hand on Jules’s elbow. The minister and funeral home staff had already left, but she hadn’t moved since the service. “We should head out. Our flight leaves soon.”

There was only one evening flight from Columbus to D.C. today, so we were flying together by default.

“Right.” Jules sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Thanks for being here with me,” she said as we walked toward the exit. “You really didn’t have to.”

“No, but I wanted to.” My mouth tugged up in a half smile. “Who knows what trouble you’d get into if I leave you alone?”

“The possibilities are endless,” she said solemnly. “You sure you don’t want a tour of the Whittlesburg police station before we leave?”

“I’m sure it’s fascinating, but I’ll pass.” I examined her, trying to figure out where her head was at. “How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly okay.” Jules tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think the shock has worn off, and now I’m just…resigned, I guess. I’ll never get to say bye to my mom or make amends.” She hesitated. “Actually, I know our flight leaves soon, but can we make one stop before we head to the airport? I’ll keep it quick.”

“Yeah, of course.” We were squeezed for time, but I wasn’t going to say no to her after her mother’s funeral.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at a small, dilapidated house near the outskirts of town. Chipped blue paint covered its exterior, and the door was unlocked when Jules twisted the knob.

“The house my mom rented before she died,” she said after she caught my questioning stare. “When I notified the landlord of her death, they said I could drop by and pick up any personal items. I wasn’t going to, but…”

“I understand.” It was Jules’s last chance. She was probably never coming back to Ohio.

We stepped into the house. There wasn’t much furniture except for a couch, TV, and a dining slash coffee table. Dirty dishes piled high in the sink, and a pot of flowers sat dying on the windowsill.

It was eerie, like the house was patiently waiting for an owner who would never return.

I followed Jules into the bedroom and stayed by the door while she approached the cluster of framed photos on the dresser. They all featured a beautiful older woman with red hair, obviously her mom. In one, she was wearing a gown and smiling at a fancy-looking party; in another, she was being crowned Miss Teen Whittlesburg, according to the sash across her chest.

There were no photos of anyone else, including Jules.

“I thought she would have at least one photo of me,” Jules murmured, running her hand over the teen pageant picture. “All these years…” She shook her head and let out a self-deprecating laugh. “It was stupid. I held out hope, but Adeline’s never cared much about anyone except herself.”

An ache bloomed in my chest. Neither of us had model parents, but I hated seeing her hope vanish. “I’m sorry, Red.”

“Don’t be.” Jules dropped her hand before facing me. “We can leave. We have a flight to catch, and I got what I wanted.”

“What’s that?”

“Closure.”

Closure.

The word echoed in my mind during our ride to the airport.

Maybe that was what I needed with Michael. I’d avoided contacting him for two years, thinking that was the solution to my problem. All it’d done was allow thoughts of him to fester like cancer. Slow, invisible, and gradually bleeding me of life until I was nothing but a shell of myself.

The monsters in our imagination are often worse those in reality.

The sudden, blinding clarity sliced through me like a blade.

“You okay?” Jules asked after we passed through security. Whittlesburg was so close to Columbus it took us less than an hour to arrive at the airport. “You look delirious.”

“Yep,” I said, still high from my discovery. It was so fucking obvious I felt like an idiot for not thinking of it earlier, but we were the blindest when it came to our own lives.

I didn’t look forward to seeing Michael, but it’ll be like ripping off a Band-Aid. Once I did it, I could finally move on. I was sure of it.

Closure.

The answer had been there all along.

“We spent two whole days together and didn’t kill each other.” Jules cocked an eyebrow as we picked up sandwiches and chips from one of the airport’s delis and settled at a table in the food court. Our flight didn’t leave for another seventy-five minutes, so we had time to kill. “We’re making progress.”

“It was a day and a half, tops.” I smiled, welcoming the shift to a lighter tone after the heaviness of our morning. Sadness lingered in Jules’s eyes, but she seemed determined to leave the past behind her. “We still have some time left.”

“How reassuring.” She bit into her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed before adding hesitantly, “I’ve been thinking about what you said at Bridget’s wedding…”

My pulse quickened. “Yeah?”

“You might be right.” She didn’t look at me, but pink crept over her cheeks. “About there being a difference between what something is supposed to be and what it actually is.”

The quickening turned into a roar. Warmth glowed in my chest and filled some of the cracks that had formed over the years.

“I’m always right.” It was all I could do to suppress a grin.

I’d never wanted an exclusive relationship. It came with too many expectations, and honestly, I’d never liked anyone enough to go on more than three dates with them.

Lusted for, sure. Liked? No.

But with Jules…fuck, I didn’t even know how it happened. I liked her, even when she pissed me off, which was half the time. Our arguments lit me up more than my conversations with anyone else did, and when we actually talked, she was the only person I felt like who got me. The only person who saw past the doctor, the playboy, the adrenaline junkie, and every other mask I wore to hide the messy imperfect pieces underneath.

I swallowed the odd lump in my throat while Jules rolled her eyes and smiled. “Always modest.”

“That too.”

Her smile widened, and our gazes lingered for a moment before her expression turned serious again. “So, what does that mean for us?”

Good question. I had no experience with the whole relationship thing, but…

“It means we should probably go on a date.” My grin exploded at the way her eyes widened. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s a date, Red. Not a marriage proposal.”

“Obviously,” she huffed, though the nervous look in her eyes remained. “I’ve been on dates before.”

My smile slipped at the reminder.

Of course Jules had been on dates before. That didn’t mean I wanted to think about it.

A ribbon of possessiveness unfurled in my stomach, and it took all my willpower not to grill her for the full name, number, and address of every guy who’d ever fucking touched her.

“Not with me.” I rubbed a speck of sauce from the corner of her mouth. My thumb lingered on her bottom lip, and dark satisfaction flared through me when her breath hitched. “When I take you out, it’ll be the best damn date you’ve ever had.”

“Your ego truly knows no bounds.” The breathlessness of her voice erased the sting of her insult.

I leaned forward and replaced my thumb with my lips. “Let’s make a bet, Red.” My mouth brushed over hers—not in a kiss, but in a promise. “I bet after our date, you won’t even be able to think about another man.”

The last part came out as a low growl.

Jules audibly swallowed. “You’re setting very high expectations, Chen.”

My smile returned. “Don’t worry. I never set expectations I can’t meet.”