Disillusioned (Swept Away, #2)(50)

“It didn’t say.” He sighed.

“So you just went because a note told you to go?”

“It told me to go if I wanted to find out the truth about my mother’s death.”

“How did your mother die?”

“She killed herself.” His expression changed and I felt my skin grow cold.

“I’m so sorry.” I looked away from him. Had my mother driven his mother to her death?

“It’s not your fault.” He grabbed my hands. “It was my father’s fault. I never should have put the blame on anyone else. He was responsible for her death. He’s the one that should have paid. Him and him alone.”

“I just can’t believe my mother would have cheated.” My voice cracked in dismay. “It breaks my heart. My dad must have been heartbroken.”

“That’s why it’s best to never let one person mean so much to you that you don’t know how to cope if they betray you.”

“That’s a sad way to live.” I gazed at him with sorrowful eyes. How could I have his heart if his heart wasn’t there to give?

“It’s the best way to live.” He shrugged. “You won’t ever carry around the burden of a broken heart.”

“Your mother was really devastated, wasn’t she?” I sighed. “Do you think she had anything to do with my mother’s death?”

“Are you asking me if I think our mother’s deaths are connected?” he said quietly, his eyes bleak.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m asking.” I shook my head and looked away in shame. How could I ask him that? And how could he answer?

“It’s a fair question.” He collapsed onto the couch. “All my life I’ve wondered—why did my mother let my father affect her for so many years? Yes, he abandoned her. Yes, he cheated on her. But she had me. Wasn’t I enough? Was her heartbreak so strong that she couldn’t survive for me? I’ve wanted to know for so many years what drove her to that point. And now here you are and you’ve got the same questions. ‘Why did my mother die?’ Maybe their deaths are connected.” He froze for a moment, his face rigid.

“I guess when you really love someone . . .” I squeezed his hand. “Are you okay, Jakob?”

“The more I think about it, the less sure I am of her heartbreak—or at least the reason for her heartbreak.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father was a jerk. My mother knew he was a jerk. She did everything in her power to make it so I wasn’t dependent on him or his money. She did everything to make me rise above him and to be successful on my own. She never tried to use me to get closer to him. She never pushed me to make contact with him for her own reasons.”

“Hmmm.” I leaned back. “Yeah, that doesn’t make sense, if she was as obsessed with him as you thought. If she loved him so much, you would think she’d try any excuse to win him back. And a baby is a huge excuse.”

“Exactly.” Jakob turned toward me and frowned. “Her hatred of my father was real. Her heartbreak was real. The pain she carried around with her was real. I always blamed that heartbreak and pain on the fact that your parents had ruined her relationship with my dad. If only your parents had backed out of their lives. I felt like they ruined everything. First your dad convinced my dad not to marry my mom and then your mom slept with my dad. In a way, I was glad she cheated on your dad because I felt like it was revenge for your dad convincing my dad my mom wasn’t good enough. But something has been bothering me. Something doesn’t really add up, you know. My mom hated your parents so much, and yet there was always guilt in her eyes when she talked about how she’d been wronged. I never thought about that before. Maybe because I was so focused on my memories of her talking about your mom and your dad ruining her life. And maybe they did have something to do with the pain she carried around. But maybe it was what she did after her relationship with my dad that caused her the real heartbreak. Maybe that was the deep shame and sorrow she carried around with her, until she just couldn’t anymore. Maybe that was why she sometimes dropped to her knees and sobbed and prayed for forgiveness.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” My face turned white as I realized the gravity of the situation we were in.

“I think my mother was responsible for your mother’s car crash, Bianca.” He nodded. “I think my mother killed your mom.”





twelve


Jakob’s words resonated in my brain as I lay in bed the next morning. The smell of coffee woke me from sleep, and I gradually stretched my arms out, tiredness still in my body. I opened my eyes slowly and turned to look at Jakob, but he was no longer in the bed with me.

“He’s making coffee, duh,” I reprimanded myself as I continued to stretch out in his bed. I stared around his room, taking in his style, and smiled at his taste. The paintings on the walls reminded me of Picasso, and stacks of books were on the dresser and bedside table. I loved that the apartment was lived in and not immaculate. It made Jakob so much more relatable. I jumped out of the bed and walked over to the painting that was hanging to the right of his dresser to study it a bit better.

“It’s a Picasso.” His deep voice sounded behind me as I studied the vibrant colors of the painting.