Kingston reminds me of that volcano. If you don’t look beyond his surface beauty, if you ignore the warning signs, you’re putting yourself at risk. He’s dangerous—perhaps even deadly—and I’d be a fool to forget that.
“Are you guys gonna come get me on Sunday?”
My heart aches, seeing the hope in Belle's eyes. There's no way I'll be healed by then, and I don't want her to see me like this. Plus, until I'm sure Kingston isn't a suspect, I don't want him anywhere near my sister.
“Oh, honey, not this Sunday, but maybe the next one.” If I’m well enough to see her by then, I’ll have Frank drive me.
She frowns. “How come? Don’t you wanna see me?”
"Of course I want to see you," I assure her. "But...I've been in the hospital for a whole week, and I have lots and lots of homework to catch up on for school."
At least that part isn’t a lie. The first thing Ms. Williams said to me when I got home was that my father expects me to keep up with schoolwork while I convalesce.
“Homework is stupid.” She punctuates her statement by sticking out her lower lip.
I laugh until my stitches pull, causing sharp pain. I have to fake sneeze to cover up my yelp, but that motion makes it even worse. Damn it.
I take a moment to breathe through the pain. “It really is, but you know what’s pretty awesome?”
“What?” I can see the wheels turning in her head as a little crease forms between her eyebrows.
"You can see me anytime you want before then. You just have to hit that green camera button on your iPad, and we can video chat."
“That’s super-duper awesome!”
God, I love her smile.
I cover my mouth as a giant yawn sneaks up on me. Having the shit beat out of you really zaps your energy. I don’t recommend it one bit.
“I think I’m going to take a nap before I get started on all that homework. I have to go now, but call me when you get home from school tomorrow, okay?”
Belle nods. “’Kay! Love you, Jazz!”
“I love you too, sweet girl.”
Her face disappears as I hit the button to end the call. Carefully crawling under the covers, I rest my head on the pillow and close my eyes. I only remember taking a few deep breaths before I’m fast asleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
JAZZ
The persistent knocking on my door wakes me up. I carefully sit up in bed, swinging my legs to the side.
“Hold on a sec.”
I slowly make my way over there, turn the lock, and open the door. Ms. Williams is standing in the hallway with her resting bitch face firmly in place.
"Miss Jasmine, you have a visitor waiting in your theater room. Would you like to meet him there, or shall I send him in here?"
I sigh. “Neither. Please tell Kingston I’ll call him when I’m ready to talk. Just like I’ve told him every day in the week that I’ve been home.”
“It’s not Mr. Davenport.”
Huh?
"Who is it, then?"
“Bentley Fitzgerald.”
What is Bentley doing here? Did Kingston send him? I look down at the tank top and pajama shorts I’m wearing. It’s not covering any less skin than I would show on a warm day, but I still feel exposed.
"Give me a few minutes, and you can send him here. I need to change first.”
Ms. Williams nods. “Very well.”
I head into my walk-in closet and shut the door. Changing entirely is going to take too much effort, so I settle for grabbing an old hoodie. I quickly peek in the full-length mirror, and I'm pleased to see that my bruises are almost entirely faded. I cringe when my eyes move up to the giant bird's nest at the top of my head. I haven't washed my hair in almost a week, and it's greasy and tangled as fuck.
Something so simple shouldn't be so challenging, but with a fucked-up wrist, it is. I can take my splint off when I shower, but I'm still not supposed to move my wrist, and trying to wash my hair with only one hand is a bitch. I may actually have to suck it up and take advantage of Madeline's in-house salon. That doesn't help me right now, though. Oh, well. It's not like I need to worry about impressing Bentley, right?
“Jazzy Jazz, you in here?”
I finish pulling up the zipper and open the door, stepping out of my closet. Bentley is standing in my doorway, his eyes shooting in my direction when I clear my throat.
“Hey. What are you doing here?”
He rushes me before I have a chance to react, pulling me into a giant bear hug, lifting me off my toes. “Thank God you’re okay. I’m sorry for coming over unannounced, but I couldn’t wait any longer to see you. ”
I suck in a breath when he squeezes too tightly. Fuck, that hurts. “Bent...ease up.”
“Shit. Sorry.” He immediately releases me and looks me over. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay, all things considered.” I shrug. “What are you doing here? Did Kingston send you?”
“Naw, baby. I just needed to see you were alive with my own eyes. Davenport would probably be pissed if he knew I came.” Bentley clears his throat nervously. “Can we talk?”
My eyes are boring into his, searching. I decide there’s no harm in hearing him out since the odds of Bentley trying something shady with my bedroom door open are slim to none.
I nod. "Yeah, we can talk. I need to sit down, though."
He lifts a dark eyebrow. “You need help?”
“No, I got it.” I climb onto my bed, reclining against the padded headboard. “What do you want to talk about?”
Bentley grabs the chair from my desk and straddles it backward. “I wanted to apologize. If I had known your boy was held up, I would’ve never left. I swear to fucking God, Jazz, I would’ve never put you at risk like that.”
I think about that for a moment. How am I supposed to trust this guy when leaving me alone was the perfect setup? How do I know he didn’t walk away, knowing what was about to happen, so he had an alibi?
I sit up straighter when I think of a way to test his loyalty. “I have some questions.”
He tilts his head to the side. “You can ask me anything.”
“What really happened at that party? And no dodging the details this time. Did you guys drug me?”
"Fuck, no." He shakes his head vehemently. "I would never...we would never.”
“You need to give me more than that, Bent, because my memory is really fuzzy from that night, which makes no sense after only two drinks.”
He exhales harshly. “Baby girl, you should be asking Kingston these questions.”
“I’m asking you, Bentley. C'mon, after what happened, I think I deserve some damn answers. How am I supposed to ever trust you if you can't answer a few measly questions? I don't even know how I got to the pool house. I remember hanging out with that guy from UCLA, and next thing I know, I'm thinking about how good you smell."
It takes him a moment to reply. "We paid Lawson—AKA, the UCLA guy—to chat you up over drinks and bring you to the pool house once you were nice and sloppy, ready to pass out."
Wow...so this Lawson guy was in on it. Yet another person to put on my watch list. I stare at Bentley for a moment, trying to read him. Well, at least he seems contrite. Or maybe he’s pretending?