Branded(72)

At the mention of DJ’s name, I press the palms of my hands against my chest, trying my hardest to keep my heart from jumping out and flopping like a dead fish onto the floor at my feet.

I don’t respond to his statement. I definitely don’t want to get into this right now. It’s too soon and I’m too raw. It feels like someone has filleted my skin and then dumped acid over it. Everything hurts and I just want to curl up in bed, pull the covers over my head and sleep until I stop aching.

“Seriously, I just want to know why I wasn’t good enough for you?” Jackson prods, the tone of his voice suddenly turning harder than it was moments ago.

Jesus, it was like twelve years ago. Get over it already.

“That wasn’t it at all, Jackson,” I tell him, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “It was me. I wasn’t good enough for you.”

He either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care, continuing to talk nonsense.

“I know it was because of the shit that went down between Jordan and Finnley. You just couldn’t handle being with a guy who had that kind of craziness in his family tree.”

What in the hell is he talking about? We broke up long before Jordan and Finnley even got married, let alone finding out Jordan had boarded the crazy train headed straight to his death.

I notice a few things all at once as I stare across the console at Jackson. He’s clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white, the armpits of his blue uniform shirt are stained with circles of sweat, and he keeps tipping his head from side to side to crack his neck like a nervous tick. My sixth sense kicks in and I subtly glance at the door handle and contemplate jumping out of the moving vehicle if things get any weirder.

“Jackson, we dated back in college. Finnley and Jordan weren’t even married yet,” I remind him, glancing at the door handle again.

He suddenly flips on the lights and siren and presses down on the gas, almost like he knew what I was contemplating. The car takes off so quickly that I’m thrown against the seat.

“Jordan wasn’t crazy, he was in love and Finnley fucked him over,” Jackson mutters, not even listening to me.

Cars, trees and buildings whiz by the window as Jackson continues to press down on the accelerator, going at least ninety miles an hour. I grab onto the center console and the handle above the door, hoping to God people move the fuck out of our way and we don’t hit anyone.

“He was my fucking best friend and that douchebag you’ve been sleeping with decided to just let him burn in his own fucking house!” Jackson shouts angrily.

My blood turns to ice in my veins and my hands start to sweat so badly that I can barely hold onto the door handle as we make a sharp turn, barely slowing down.

I don’t know what to think right now, my mind is going a mile a minute, almost as fast as this damn car. Did he suddenly snap and decide he’s jealous that I was with DJ? That makes absolutely no sense. Jackson and I only dated for a couple of months and we didn’t even sleep together. The guy couldn’t have held a torch for me this long, that’s just sad and pathetic. Him being angry about Jordan’s death makes much more sense, but still, to blame DJ for it? That’s reaching just a little bit.

“This all could have been avoided if you’d just kept your fucking legs closed and not been such a whore!”

His loud, booming voice screaming the word whore is what makes some of the pieces snap together in my mind.

“Oh, my God, it was you?” I whisper in shock. “You left those notes for me, didn’t you?”

How? Why? This can’t be right. It couldn’t have been Jackson all this time. My father called me. He admitted to leaving the notes and he told me I was going to burn the same night DJ and I were trapped inside of the ambulance. And yet, Jackson had been there every time something bad happened. He was at the fair when I was given that dose of insulin, he was parked outside my house when it was broken into and the living room was trashed, and he was watching the ambulance when the fire started out all around it. He was there, each and every time.

The only time he wasn’t around was this morning, when DJ and I were getting dressed for work. He sent me a text saying he was running to get coffee and asked if we wanted anything. He was only gone for five minutes tops since there’s a coffee shop a block away, but it would have been long enough to get to Collin and Finnley’s house the next street over and cut her brake line.

“Jackson, what have you done?” I ask in horror.

He lets out a cold, calculating laugh and shakes his head at me.

“Someone needs to pay for what happened to Jordan and since you’re the whore who has taken up with his killer, I’ve decided it should be you. Paybacks are a bitch.”