“I love you, Jesse,” I whispered back to him.
“I know,” he said. “And that’s what’s going to get me through this.”
And despite Maroon 5’s reminder from that song, I fell asleep knowing that I’d have to leave him in the daylight.
CHAPTER 15
The next morning, we were both quiet. I caught him staring at me while I packed up my essentials. We both agreed that I wasn’t “moving out.” I was just “relocating” for awhile. And I stared at him as he made me scrambled eggs for breakfast.
“I’ll swing by Quinn’s later tonight to see you,” he said.
“John said we can’t have any contact.”
“Fuck that. You know that’s not going to happen.”
I appreciated his determination, but I just didn’t feel as certain as he seemed to. These were our careers, our livelihoods, and I had a terrible gut feeling that the lawyer was going to reiterate that we couldn’t have any contact with each other or it could cost us both our jobs.
Turns out I was right.
Apart from random chance encounters where we merely passed by each other at school or sat at the same meeting trying to avoid eye contact when all I wanted was to leap across the table and pull his body against mine, that morning in the kitchen as we said goodbye was the last time I held him in my arms for over two months.
They were the two longest months of my life, but for some unknown and completely ridiculous reason, that’s how long the investigation took.
Both of us had only been placed on leave for three days, and we were able to return to work with the warning from Human Resources that we could have no contact with each other. If I had a senior who I needed to discuss with a counselor, I was required to meet with someone other than Jesse. I was even taken off of the prom committee so we wouldn’t run into each other.
John advised us each separately, but the message was clear: We were being watched, and anything that looked suspicious would be reported. The picture that had been taken of us at the park and then leaked to the press proved that someone was watching us, and not only watching us, but out to get us. So that meant no phone calls, no texts messages, and no secret meetings.
I was completely miserable, and I was developing a terrible anxiety just from being separated from Jesse.
We spoke on the phone only once, and it was that first night we were apart. Jesse had called Quinn’s cell and asked to talk to me. He told me how much he missed me, and I could already hear the desperation in his voice. I held my tears at bay until we hung up, not wanting to make things harder on both of us. The moment we hung up, a text came through while I still held Quinn’s phone in my hand. It was from an anonymous number, and it said, “Quinn’s phone is bugged, too. That’ll be your last call to Drake.”
One would think that the fact that I was getting divorced from my husband was what was putting me into a constant state of despair, but that wasn’t true. Sure, it was difficult; it was painful and uncomfortable and complicated, but the pain from the divorce was nothing compared to the pain of separation from Jesse, and the fact that I knew that Richard was the one who set this whole thing in motion made me sick to my stomach. It made me hate him with an unbridled passion that I didn’t even know existed within me, and I couldn’t wait until our divorce was finalized. Separation with him was one thing, but to be completely rid of all ties from him was what I needed so I could move on with my life with Jesse.
I longed to hear Jesse’s voice.
I prayed for meetings where we’d both be there, but they were few and far between.
I just wanted a quick glance into his office to check on him, to see how he was doing.
The few times I’d caught a glance at him, I saw the haunted Jesse that I’d always been able to comfort without even knowing how. I saw fatigue and loneliness and misery. And I knew that my own expression reflected exactly the same emotions.
It was reflected in my work, too. I was assigning independent work and projects that would allow me to wallow in my misery. I managed to keep the tears at bay while I was at work, but the moment I arrived “home” to Quinn’s apartment, I curled up in bed and hugged my pillow, wishing it was Jesse as I sobbed at the loss.
The worst part of all of it was that I didn’t know how long it was going to last, and that was the thought that plagued me the most every single night as I tried to sleep.
Instead of sleep offering me a sweet reprieve, I stared restlessly at the ceiling in the darkness of Quinn’s guest room. Each night I got in bed a little after ten, and I stared at the ceiling until just after two. The alarm rang shrilly at its normal time. I was averaging three or four hours of sleep per night, and I knew I couldn’t go on like that for long, but the only fix for my problem was Jesse Drake.