Chapter Thirty-Five

PRESENT TIME

"So," I said, crossing my arms. "What did you need to tell me?"

Jesse was rubbing the back of his neck, like he was thinking of how to word something diplomatically. Problem was, I already knew what he wanted to say…or at least I thought I did.

Finally, he sighed, and sat on top of one of the tables. "Well, the majority of what I needed to say you just found out. Paul and I are going to try and get you out of here."

My intuition flickered. "That wasn't what you were going to say to me before."

"It was, actually. I just didn't know how to tell you. I know how you feel about Paul."

God, I hope not. "Paul and I…we've always had a love and hate relationship. Things are just erring a little on the hating side at the moment. But you shouldn't be worried. I want to know these things."

"I know you do…" he sighed. Jesse looked tired, I realised.

"When was the last time you slept?" I asked, moving a few steps closer to him.

He shrugged, which only worried me. I waited for him to speak, but he didn't. I took a deep breath.

"I thought you wanted to talk to me about last night, to be honest," I said to him. He looked up, wary and expectant.

"Why?"

I bit my lip. "I just…I don't expect anything from you. I don't. I'm a patient, for crying out loud. But I found myself wanting it anyway. The problem is I don't know what you want."

I was looking at my feet; I couldn't look at him, which was how I saw his hand snake upwards and grab my own.

His smile was easy, like we were discussing a movie choice instead of an entire relationship. "I thought I told you last night."

His hand was warm on mine, but I didn't tighten my grip just yet. "Heat of the moment?"

Jesse tugged me closer. His eyes were warm as he looked up at me, and I found I couldn't swallow properly. "I meant what I said," he said. His voice was practically a whisper, but I heard it as clearly as if he was shouting. My heart was thumping loudly; I'm surprised he couldn't hear it. "We're going to get you out of here, and back to living the life you deserve. Unless of course," he pulled me closer still, until my legs were touching his knees, "you want to stay in here."

I choked out a laugh. "No thanks."

"That's what I thought."

He pulled my hand until my face was in line with his. He was so close; he smelt distinctly masculine and spicy underneath the ever-present scent of antiseptic. I allowed myself to do something I'd wanted to since I'd seen him; I traced his tanned face with my fingertips. They danced down his cheekbones, and then up towards his forehead. I traced the thick scar there that stretched from the centre of his forehead, slicing cleanly through his right eyebrow.

"How did you get this?" I asked softly.

"Surfboard."

Out of all the answers I'd been expecting, I definitely hadn't thought of that one. I looked at him in surprise. "Really?"

He gave a half-shrug, smiling sheepishly. "Unfortunately. I wish I had a better explanation. Maybe I should say I was cage fighting, I was seriously outnumbered…"

I laughed. "What happened?"

"Well, it was early morning, and I was catching some seriously sick waves, dude," his voice was mocking and slow. I put my hand over my mouth so I didn't snort out loud. "And one wave in particular…my best friend got knocked clean off his board, so I thought I'd be cocky and try it too. I didn't just wipe out; I also got resuscitated by a middle-aged lifeguard."

I'd put a finger in between my teeth, and I was looking at him and trying not to laugh in his face. "You should tell people the cage fighting story instead. I've just lost all respect for you."

Jesse grinned. "You have? I'll just have to earn it back, then." My breath caught in my throat as I felt his hands snake around to the backs of my knees, and slowly move upwards. He was studying my reaction; I could feel the warmth of his hands through the thin fabric of my pants.

"It'll take a long time," I murmured, my eyes locked with his. They were intense and dark. The space between us was heady with unfulfilled promise; a dangerous feeling. And just when I wasn't sure I would be able to stop myself from doing something ridiculously inappropriate, he shifted backwards the tiniest bit, letting me go and creating some space between us. It wasn't much, but it made all the difference. I exhaled heavily.

"I'll take you there when you get out of here," he said unexpectedly. "To the beach. If only so you can see me wipe out again."

A smile played on my lips. "You promise?"

Jesse looked down for a moment, intertwining his hands with mine. "I promise."

"I promise if you wipe out again there will be a middle-aged man present to give you mouth-to-mouth."

"Sounds hot."

"It does," I whispered.

It was a shared moment as we looked at each other, and then he tugged lightly on my hands, his lips rising to meet my own. I had wondered if I'd romanticised the entire thing the night before, if it really had been as good as I thought it had been.

This was better.

Jesse had been languid the night before, careful, but now there was a sense of urgency to his touch. He was firm but gentle, his hands encircling my waist and bringing me closer. I felt my emotions rise and I deepened the kiss, my hands moving up to his neck, my fingertips tickling the skin just below his hair. My skin was prickling wherever he placed his hands, and I knew I was in danger of forgetting myself completely and letting my emotions take over…but I couldn't find it in myself to care.

We both heard the creak of the door at the same time, and broke apart. Marcia was standing on the other side of the door, watching us through the window and looking…disgusted. I stepped away from Jesse, but the damage had been done.

Without a word, she shook her head, turned on her heel, and strode away.

I put my hands over my face, looking at Jesse through the gaps between my fingers. He looked stunned, and more than a little worried.

"That is not good," he murmured, looking at the door as if he expected her to come back.

"No," I agreed. I would have asked him if he thought Marcia would tell…but I already knew the answer. Any elation I had been feeling was quickly being replaced with sickening dread. "What are we going to do?"

Jesse rubbed his eyes. "I suppose…convince her to keep quiet. At least until we've gotten you out of here."

I sighed heavily, pulling my hands away. "I'll deal with it."

He frowned, and shook his head. "No, you shouldn't. She's a wild card."

"I know how to handle her," I said. He gave me a questioning look. I gestured towards the door. "I…I knew her, a little, before I came in here. I've got a better chance at keeping her quiet than you do."

Jesse looked more surprised than I expected. "You did? How?"

"We share a person in common," I reminded him. "Anyway, I'll handle it." I watched him fight a yawn. "And you should sleep."

He shook his head. "I can't leave, not now."

I moved over to him, darting a look over my shoulder at the door. There was no one else there, thank god. "Yes, you can. Go. I'll fix this one."

He went to shake his head again, but I put my hands on his cheeks. "Go."

Tiredness battled indecision on his face, but eventually he nodded. He lifted up one of my hands and placed a kiss on my palm. "You'll be okay?"

I shrugged. "I always am."

I wanted to search for Marcia afterwards, but I was soon rounded up for dinner and lost my chance. Candace sat next to me while we ate and talked—about what, I had no idea—and I made the mandatory nods and sounds of interest. What I was focusing on was something else entirely: Sam. She was sitting across the room and watching me. I had the feeling she did this often, and it did nothing to settle my nerves, which were already in overdrive.

There were more wardens than usual patrolling the hall where we ate. I wondered if they knew something we didn't. Or perhaps they were being more cautious, since their breakdown in security.

I shouldn't have worried about finding Marcia because she found me instead. I was walking to my cell when I saw her striding down the hall, looking all business. She pointed to my door. I got the hint and slipped inside; I turned around and watched her enter, closing the door behind her quietly.

She waited a few moments before speaking. "What are you up to, Suze?"

What was I up to? She made it sound like I was an evil mastermind. "Obviously I'm up to something, otherwise you wouldn't be here," I settled on saying.

"It's disgusting."

"What is?"

"Whatever you and Dr DeSilva have going on. It's disgusting."

I looked at her steadily, crossing my arms. "I beg to differ."

"It's wrong. You're…" her eyes travelled over me, full of judgement and hatred, "you're a fucking mental patient."

"I sure am," I replied acidly. I shifted slightly, facing her. "What you saw…you need to keep it to yourself."

Marcia cocked an eyebrow, putting one arm on her hip. "Give me one reason why I should."

I had a reason. I'm surprised she hadn't thought of it. "Paul."

Her face hardened. "What about him?"

"Whatever you think is happening between Dr DeSilva and myself…you better believe Paul is in on it too."

"Bullshit."

"He was here today. Did you know that?" One look at her face confirmed what I had thought. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

"Why would he come here?"

"You already know the answer to that, Marcia."

She did. She just wouldn't admit it. She shook her head, and turned around as if to leave. I was quicker. I slammed my hand on the door as she pulled down the handle. Her expression went from haughty to surprise to fear in the space of a few seconds.

"I'll tell you why you shouldn't talk—because I'm sure being arrested twice because of his wife won't endear Paul to you. And that will happen, too, if you make the wrong decision."

Marcia took a step back from me. "Don't make the mistake in thinking I give a fuck about what is going on with you. I don't."

"But you care about Paul. So you're not going to say anything."

"You don't have a leg to stand on."

I shrugged casually. "That's all a matter of perception. I trust you'll do the right thing."

The look she gave me would have cut glass. Without a word, she pointed to the door. I waited a moment before moving to the side.

Marcia pulled down the handle and looked at me over her shoulder. "You're a fucking psycho," she seethed. And with a toss of her head, she left.