Jersey Six(82)

She gave Ian one last glance.

“Be brave and run fast,” he said as if they were his final words. Even in the face of death, he protected her. He risked everything for her. That’s what he did because he was her Guardian.

Kessler swung his jagged board, but it fell to the ground less than a foot from Ian’s head. He fell to the ground with Jersey’s favorite knife lodged into his left eye.

She put her friend down like a rabid animal. It didn’t feel like revenge; in spite of everything, it didn’t feel good or right. He wasn’t in his right mind. The demons won.

“Jersey,” Ian whispered her name with a weak voice.

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him. How could she not know? How could she not see it? Digging her phone out of her pocket, she dialed 9-1-1.

“Hi. There’s been an accident.” Jersey dropped her phone before pressing End. She dislodged the knife from Chris’s eye.

He jerked, bellowing in agony.

More tears burned her eyes. She thought of all the books he read her, his soothing voice, his comforting touch, but soon they faded, suffocated by the cry of agony. Jersey covered her eyes with her arm, the bloodied knife molded in her hand.

Ian grunted as Kessler covered his bloodied eye and lunged for the knife in Ian’s leg. Jersey grabbed Kessler’s hair, jerked his head back, and cut his throat from shoulder to shoulder.

“We are terrible people,” she whispered, releasing him to the ground, sending him to a different life where he might find a wife and children. A good job. A beautifully boring and completely normal life.

With the bloodied knife, she ripped Kessler’s shirt and used part of it to tie a tourniquet around Ian’s leg.

“Jersey?” Ian reached for her arm.

She gently pulled away, still unable to look at him.

Too much shame and guilt crushed her conscience. She did this … all of it. She brought down a rock star.





CHAPTER THIRTY





Jersey sat on the front steps. The police arrived. The paramedics arrived. Even a fire truck arrived.

They asked her a million questions. She answered none.

They carried Ian out on a stretcher as they put her in the back of a squad car. For a brief second, she made eye contact with the rock star.

He took a life to save hers.

She returned the favor—but not before she broke him.

He knew it was Kessler all along. Why didn’t he say something? It didn’t make any sense. He knew her.

Nothing. Nothing made sense.

The next morning, Max arrived at the jail with an attorney, Isabel Higgins. She asked Isabel to give her and Jersey a few minutes alone.

“You stabbed my guy and removed part of his ear.” Max let out a deep sigh. “He said Chris … or I guess Kessler did it, but I’m not stupid.”

Jersey stared at the table between them.

“He’s having surgery on his ear today.”

Jersey continued to stare at the table.

“He said you saved his life.”

Still no response.

“But it’s a sticky situation since it would appear you first tried to take his life. I know this. The police don’t know what to think yet, but I know. Ian’s not admitting that, just that you’re innocent. And he said you were aiming for Chris, who he now refers to as Kessler, and that’s how his ear got cut. He said Kessler’s fingerprints should be on the knife that they pulled from his leg. Is that true?”

Jersey slowly glanced up at Max, but she didn’t have any words to say—or the right ones. Max returned a disappointed frown. “They haven’t charged you with anything … yet. Isabel is here in case they do, but Ian gave them his account. If your account of the events matches his, then they’ll let you go. It’s that easy.”

“I killed Chris …” She closed her eyes and shook her head a few times. “Kessler.”

Max nodded. “I know, but who tried to kill Ian?”

“Me,” she whispered, feeling that heavy numbness settling over her body again, slowing her thoughts, echoing voices.

Max rested her elbows on the table, dropping her head and threading her fingers through her silky, black hair. “Why is he protecting you?”

“Because he is my guardian,” she murmured.

Lifting her head, Max squinted. “What do you mean?”

“My protector. My defender.”

“I know what guardian means. I just don’t know why he’s willing to lie for you. Why he’s willing to risk everything to protect you. He won’t tell me. It’s this line that no one is allowed to cross … except you. You crossed it. I just want to know what’s on the other side of it. I just want to know what I’m not seeing because your past is not filled with fancy birthday parties and trips to the carnival.”

Jersey returned a somber expression.

Max studied her for a few minutes before biting her upper lip and nodding in tiny increments. “You’re it.” She grunted a laugh, averting her eyes to the ceiling for a few seconds. “I told you he just appeared out of nowhere, landing on the world’s biggest stage with no past, seemingly no life before stardom. But you’re it.”

Returning her gaze to Jersey, Max nodded one more time, pressing a hand to her mouth. “You’re his past.” She swallowed hard, letting her hand slide from her mouth to her neck. “I once asked him if he gave you a kidney because I just couldn’t figure it out—the unwavering attachment and fierce instinct to have you by his side no matter what. I think he gave you more than a kidney.”