18. Jamison

She buried her head under a pillow, hiding like a coward. Her behavior downstairs at breakfast had been horrible, but she didn't care. The little skip of happiness in her heart whenever Liam said he was sticking to her around the clock had sent her spiraling. It wasn't right. No matter how much she loved him, it was over.

Some things just weren't meant to be.

Since neither Samuel nor Evie had come up to give her a lecture, she assumed they must have gone home with the girls. Liam had said he wanted them to stay on a strict lockdown since Holden and Izzy were now delayed as they were functioning as his eyes and ears with the Zanmi arrests. Klausen was gone too, bouncing between each district along with them.

The doorknob jiggled like someone was trying to get in, but it was locked, with Simone having the only key. And when she next heard said key being used, she groaned, knowing only one person on earth brave enough to steal it.

"Why are you being such an asshole?"

"Uh, hello." Jamison lifted the pillow off her face with a whoosh to glare at Selah through her messy hair. She'd been wallowing in a troll-like state for a few hours and didn't want to see anyone. "Attempted kidnappee here. Why can't people show a little sympathy?"

She dropped the pillow again. But Selah never let people hide, especially his family. Like a giant tree cut at its base, he collapsed on top of her with a thud.

"Get off me!" she shouted, unable to breathe. Selah was enormous, all muscle and towering height. "Are you trying to kill me?"

He shimmied to lie next to her, knocking the pillow away. "No, I'm trying to talk to you, but I can't do that if you won't listen."

"I don't want to listen."

"That's nothing new."

She punched his shoulder and lay on her back next to him. "Go on and lecture me."

"He's trying to help."

"He's trying to drive me insane."

Selah stretched his arms in the air, opening and closing his fists. "You know what? Let's not talk about him. Let's talk about you."

"And here we go."

"Spill it. Beginning to end. Go."

Selah might be the easiest going Fairweather, but he was as headstrong as the rest of them. If she didn't do as he asked, it would only prolong the nagging.

"It started with my wine pity party…"

She went through the whole thing. Beginning to end, like he asked.

"It felt good to have him here when you woke up, didn't it?" Selah asked when she finished.

Keeping her expression blank, she admitted the truth. "It did."

"Are you sorry you still love him?"

"It's impossible for me not to love him, and not because we were together for so long. We're connected, you know? He's the other part of me."

Selah rolled his head to look at her, and she knew it was coming. The question all of them wanted answered. "Then why?" He shifted the rest of his gigantic body in her direction. "No one understands why you broke things off, and don't say kids because that love you have for him is so fierce that the rest of it means nothing. I know because I recognize it. Sammy and Evie recognize it. Dad does, too. We're all lucky enough to know the feeling, but we also know that, children or not, we would never have given the other half of us up. Ever."

She remained on her back, gazing at the chandelier. "Some things just aren't meant to be," she whispered, repeating the words now scarred on her soul. "And that's us."

Selah chuckled, deep and hearty. "Congratulations. You are now the biggest Fairweather idiot, Jamison."

"You're really losing your touch with these big brother moments, you know?"

"No, I'm serious. Sammy held the title for a long time since he spent years torturing himself over Evie, but now that prestigious award goes to you. We should get you a trophy." He dodged the fist aimed at his shoulder. "I mean, since we had to return all those wedding gifts, you should at least have something."

Flopping to her side, she wrinkled her nose at him. "You're so mean."

"The truth hurts."

More than he would ever understand.

"Shouldn't you be downstairs with your mom? Isn't that why you're here?" she asked. "Stop bothering me and go check on her."

"I'm here to check on you too, butthead. And remind you to take it easy on Liam. He's terrified that something could happen to you."

"Something did happen to me."

He went quiet. As the good son, the Fairweather dark nature she shared with Samuel and her father held no place in Selah. Perhaps it was because he was the oldest, or maybe because he was so much like Simone.

But a flicker of it shone in his brown eyes. A spark of menacing disquiet that would only find peace once it sunk its teeth into an enemy.

"Samuel is about to lose his damn mind, and part of me is scared of what he'll do if backed into a corner," Selah said at last. "He can keep calm in front of Evie and the girls, but on the inside, he's in full freak out mode."

"That's no surprise."

"He's been good about letting the feds handle things, but that was when Liam was feeding him information. With him out, these last couple of months have been hard, and Sammy is rea—"

Damn all the Fairweather men in existence.

Past, present, and future.

"You knew!" She yanked the pillow out from under his head to whack him with it. "You knew Liam quit!"

Selah held his arms up. "Why do you have to be so violent?"

Jamison fell back and smushed the pillow over her face to scream into it. "You all suck!"

Knowing she would forgive him in a minute, Selah curled in close, ready to gossip. "Speaking of sucking. What's up with Annabeth and Rowan? Please tell me you were shocked because I was shocked. I knew they were friends, but I had no idea they were friends. He's not her type at all."

"Rowan is everyone's type." She tossed the pillow aside. "You should see the way the women at work fight over him."

"I'd believe it. When I came in, Liam and Rowan were setting up in the media room, and Annabeth was hovering in the doorway like she was in a trance. When I asked her what she was looking at, she got all defensive, and Rowan got all smiley."

Ugh, she really wanted to help them get everything sorted, but her pride was keeping her upstairs. That and she was still embarrassed over what went down at breakfast.

"Can you believe I have to have him with me anytime I leave the house?" She would not smile. "Like all the time?"

"Yeah, so that look of like total happiness on your face right now? It doesn't exactly give the impression that you're upset about having to hang out with him constantly." Selah squealed when she went on the attack again. "Stop hurting me! I'm just saying work on your facial expressions if you're going to lie to him and yourself!"

She took a nap and woke up surprised. Naps were not her thing. They were for people who didn't have stuff to do, and she always had stuff to do.

Getting out of bed, she made it up nicely, creating a goal not to get back in it until late tonight. She felt stale, with an overall yucky feeling hanging on, and hopped into the shower for a quick sprinkle off. After finishing, she slathered on a face mask, and went to sit naked at her vanity to examine the fading marks on her upper chest.

Running fingers over each blue and yellow blemish, she was thankful they looked worse than they felt. The bite mark on her bottom lip was still present but already healing nicely, and she grazed her fingertips over the cut.

I'll be seeing you.

"No, you won't."

It was time to learn more about Michael Sinclair.

A late afternoon breeze fluttered through the open balcony door, dancing with the sheer curtain panels. Simone must have snuck in while she was asleep and opened them to allow for some fresh air, but it made the room cold. Tossing on some leggings and a sweatshirt, she went to her desk, and powered up her laptop. Above everything else, research was her thing, and she was about to research the hell out of Michael Sinclair.

Unfortunately, every article she came across said the same thing with varying degrees of support or opposition. Some called him a visionary who fell off the path of greatness when he began engaging in domestic terrorism. Others claimed him to be nothing more than a mentally unstable veteran who developed a jaded outlook after coming home from his last tour of duty in 2019.

"Michael Anthony Sinclair, born April 4, 1988," she read aloud from an article that seemed to have the most accurate and unbiased take on the man. "Of course, you're an Aries."

Her phone rang, and she answered it while continuing to read. "Hello?"

"I'm also a Sagittarius rising, but I like to think my moon being in Cancer helps balance all that fire."

Jamison stopped breathing, struck into a paralyzed state.

"How's the research going?" Michael Sinclair asked. "Learn anything interesting?"

The teasing in his tone broke through the mind-numbing shock. "Nothing that I didn't already know. You're a monster."

"If you believe the stuff some people write about me, then yes, I'm a monster."

She glanced around the room in a panic, as if there was someone nearby who could help.

"You look lovely, by the way," he added. "I know you've spent most of the day in bed, and I'm sorry to be the cause of that, but you're stunning nevertheless."

She snapped the laptop shut, realizing he'd hacked into her computer.

"I can still see you." His whisper slithered its way up her spine. "You can't hide from me."

Thinking of how she'd been sitting naked in front of the vanity minutes earlier, a sick dread hit. What was she supposed to do? Run downstairs and alert someone? Try to send a message for help?

Remembering how Rowan had once said he could gather data from a phone days after a call took place, she summoned the courage to engage. "You don't seem the type to buy into Zanmi's bullshit."

"When it comes down to it, Toby and I have a lot in common."

"Yeah, you both kill people for no reason."

"On the contrary, when I kill, it's with purpose."

One of the first things she learned from Liam was how to channel the outrage you felt when detailing the life of victims. It was his thing. To take the time and make them human and more than a headline. The method helped him stay focused, pulling the spotlight off the evil and shining it where it belonged.

In the articles she'd just read, Sinclair always talked at length about the people he killed, making sure the world knew their crimes. But there were two she didn't see any mention of, except for a single statement he sent to the press.

"If you're anything like Toby, it means you kill because it feels good," she taunted. "So, tell me, did it feel good killing those kids in the daycare? One was four and the other two, right?"

Michael let out a sigh heavy enough to vibrate the phone against her cheek. "I'll regret their deaths every day of my life, and even have their names tattooed on my chest to remind myself never to be so careless again."

"Don't tell me you didn't know they were in there."

"I didn't."

"Bullshit."

"I didn't," he spat out, all friendliness gone. "I trusted someone to clear the building with a false fire alarm, but he thought it would make more of an impact if we had a couple of dead kids under our belt."

The sudden snap in his demeanor was startling, but she reminded herself she wasn't dealing with a rational person. The man had spent almost half his life in a hostile environment, killing people.

"And is this person still one of your good little soldiers?" She sneered at the empty space, not sure where to aim it. "Did you bring him with you to Zanmi?"

"No, I put a bullet in his brain and called it a day," Michael replied, regaining his composure. "Weak links should never be tolerated. I'm sure you understand how it is."

Weak links should never be tolerated.Where had she heard that before? Somewhere recent.

"But why are you working with Zanmi and trying to kidnap me and my cousins? And don't tell me it's because of your devotion to Toby."

"You shouldn't underestimate him. Tobias Miller is smart and has an impressive vision he wants fulfilled. It would be a shame for it to end so close to the finish line."

"I'm willing to bet you're smarter."

"Oh, I am."

In the background, a rhythmic metallic chugging played in repetition. A train. He was near a train.

"Can I ask you something, Jamison?" The background noise grew louder for a split second, but then cut off entirely. "What do you want out of life?"

Too busy listening for more clues to his whereabouts, she wasn't sure if she heard him correctly. "Excuse me?"

"What do you want out of life?"

"I'm not about to sit here and discuss my life goals with you."

"Afraid they might align too much with mine?"

A soft groan came through, and Jamison smiled. "You're hurt."

"The ex is an above average marksman," Michael grunted as he strained to move about more. "I'll have to keep that in mind the next time we meet."

She listened as he situated himself. The metal clanging had been a train. She was sure of it. That meant he was in a building near the tracks.

"You want to belong to someone."

Her brows snapped together. "What?"

"More than anything, you want to feel like you belong to someone. A family connection that's just yours."

"Um, I already have several family connections if you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, but none of them, not even your sister, are truly yours."

Rising from her desk, she paced the room, thinking this had gone on long enough. Surely the phone had collected enough information for Rowan to pull data from the call.

"Annabeth and Abe aren't your siblings," Michael went on. "And even though Samuel and Selah are yours by blood, they're so much older you've never really connected with them, no matter how often your father tried to force it with those family vacations."

"That's not true."

"And your precious Evie is a liar. How long did she keep her love for Samuel a secret?"

"My brother and sister are married."

"Yeah, and how fucked up is that?"

For her to have those thoughts was one thing, but an outsider? Hell, no. "I get why they hid it. I didn't exactly handle the big reveal very well."

"You handled it better than most, but that doesn't change the fact that she lied to you. Evie was the only real thing that was solely yours, and Samuel took her from you."

"No, he didn't."

"What about Simone?" he pressed further. "She's not your mother and doesn't even pretend to be. When you left for Texas, was she upset? Did she shed tears to see her baby go off in the world without her?"

The drumming of her heart stuttered, not wanting to let what he was saying penetrate. "She was excited."

"Excited for you to leave." He laughed low in his throat. "All she's ever done was use you and your sister to get her sick revenge on your father for sending Toby and CeCe away."

"That's not true!"

"Did you know she saw a psychiatrist?" he asked. "I read the reports. I know what she said in those sessions. Hell, I'll send them to you right now."

Her phone buzzed, alerting her that an email had arrived. "It's all there. Look at it," he demanded. "From how she blamed Ben for what happened with Rebecca, to how she didn't even forgive him until almost a decade later."

Knowing he was watching for a reaction, Jamison kept her face blank. "That's not true."

But it was. There were no memories of her mother since she was so young when Laura Jean died, but the same could almost be said of her father. Ben Fairweather wasn't known as Dad when she was growing up, coming around only now and then during the holidays or her birthday. It wasn't until after she turned twelve that he really started paying attention to her, around the same time the icy barrier between him and Simone thawed.

"The suicide notes your father left say basically the same thing."

Everything in her stilled. Her heart no longer hammering, her lungs uninterested in oxygen. Static white noise coated from the inside out, drawing her into herself. The discovery of her father's brush with death came the year of Toby, and it had been painful to hear the details. No—more than painful. Devastating. It had devastated her to know he had been so lost in his grief that he accidentally overdosed on medications that were supposed to help.

"It was an accident. There were no notes."

"Oh, baby." Her phone buzzed again with a new email. "There's a note for each of you, but two with your name on it."

She stopped pacing, the room blurring around her.

"Sit down before you pass out, Jamison."

Making it to the bed, she sat on its edge. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you deserve so much more. For your entire life, all you've ever been given is half-assed versions of affection. With Simone, you're nothing but a pawn, and if your father had loved you, he would have fought harder to be in your life from the start."

"Evie." She could hold on to that. Her sister. "Evie loves me."

"Evie tolerates you because she feels obligated after your mother's death. Then we have Samuel. That prick never gave two shits about you until your father forced him to do so."

"Selah," she exhaled her brother's name. "Selah loves me."

"You're nothing special for having his love. Selah is a genuinely good person, but it's a love that sits on the surface. The people you're around like the idea of you, but not the real you," Michael replied, his voice strained as he moved. "Take Liam, for example. You're one of the most beautiful women in the world. How could he not fall in love at first sight?"

Love at first sight was their joke. Whenever anyone asked how they met, Liam would tell the story of how she barged into his meeting with her father and of how he tripped and embarrassed himself. "You could say I literally fell in love with Jamison on the spot."

And it was the truth. In an instant—in the very instant of shaking his hand, she had known Liam was her forever.

"It was love at first sight," she insisted.

"And how's that going for you?"

"Shut up!" She wiped at her tears. "This is basic manipulation, and it won't work."

"Did you want me to send you the notes from Liam's therapist?" Michael asked, enjoying himself. "I have some that go all the way back to when the Ripper tried to kill his mother. Terrible thing."

Her phone buzzed, but she didn't even blink.

"Or how about the ones from his most recent sessions where he discusses all the shit he's seen in the field?" A second buzz. "Or how about the ones that cover you? The notes taken post break-up make for an interesting read."

A third buzz struck, and she felt it in the very marrow of her bones.

"Oh, and I included the voice recordings during what I like to call the Jamison sessions. You know, to give it that added kick."

"Aren't you worried Rowan will be able to dig information off these emails you're so graciously sending me?"

"I'm not worried about Rowan. He's good, but my guy is better."

She straightened her spine. If Michael Sinclair wanted to play mind games, then let's go. It was time he realized who he was dealing with and how Jamison Fairweather gave zero fucks when it came to the bullshit of manipulative men.

"As in, your guy could fake therapy notes and alter voices on supposed authentic recordings of therapy sessions?" she asked sweetly. "So, what you're saying is the information you're sending is worthless and can't be trusted. Got it."

Her phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Jamison."

"Stop bogging down my email with your lies."

"We fuck like wild animals most days," he said as if reading a transcript. "What's between us is desperate and needy, and I feel like neither of us can ever get enough. It's terrifying to crave someone that much."

Suddenly, Liam's voice came through her phone, repeating the words.

"Let's tackle the post break up logs, shall we?"

When she didn't reply, he continued. "None of it was real. She tossed me aside like I had overstayed my welcome. All because I said I was scared to bring a kid into this world. Why is that so important to her?"

"Because it is," she whispered before she could stop herself.

"Yes, it is."

The crinkling of paper made it sound like he was wading up the transcript to throw away, and she thought about telling him to burn it.

"For the longest time, I couldn't figure out why he would risk losing you over what should be an honor. But the answer is simple. It's because he knows he's not good enough for the Jamison Fairweather."

Good enough for her? It was more like the other way around. Liam was the better person of the two of them. The good guy everyone loved. Even her family liked him better than her. To them, she was always too much. Too loud. Too rude. Too everything.

And it hurt. To see that fear in their eyes over what she might say or do next always cut right through her. No matter how much she tried, her efforts at suppressing herself were never enough, and it was exhausting. She was so very tired of trying to make them love her for simply being her and not some version of what they expected her to be.

Liam was the only person who never once made her feel inadequate.

Clearing her throat, she examined her nails as if bored. "Are we done here, Mr. Sinclair?"

"Not even close," he said with a chuckle. "Being the father of your child is something Liam didn't deserve, and maybe that's why things happened as they did. Maybe he's not what you need."

That hit a little too close to home.

"And what is it I need?"

"Someone who respects you for being you. Someone who can give you a baby and make it stick. A real family."

The bastard. If she ever met this man again, she would rip his heart out on the spot.

"Someone who will also kidnap and drug me?"

Michael laughed, the booming sound grating in her ear. "Under different circumstances, the drugging wouldn't have been necessary. Your reaction to me was genuine. When I ripped that mask off, you liked what you saw."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, you want me to spell it out for you so when Liam analyzes this conversation later, he has to listen to it again and again?" He was in motion, his breathing uneven. "Nice."

Incensed by what he was implying, she resisted the urge to disconnect the call.

"No, really." He grunted as he moved closer to the chugging, but this time, she heard the distinct sound of brakes squealing. "I think it's a great idea to let him hear how you were not only attracted to me, but that if we had met under different circumstances, I could have easily been not just the rebound guy, but THE guy. The endgame."

"This conversation is over."

"Over or not, you know I'm right, and it's time to tell Liam the truth," Michael shot back. "I'm sure it's hard since your track record of being honest with him is pretty shitty as of late, but he should know that if you and I had met at say, oh, I don't know, a random coffee shop on a rainy day, that you would've been interested."

A recording of her voice blasted through the phone, repeating the words she said to Liam in the parlor the day before. "I would have to be blind not to say he's attractive."

"Tell him how you would have let me into your bed. Tell him how good you think fucking me will feel."

An honest to God growl came out of her, and she stood to scream into the phone. "Listen up, you sadistic psychopath, you will never touch me. In fact, if you ever come near me or my family again, I will cut your dick off and beat you to death with it."

"Love the imagery." He laughed, amused as hell. "But if that were true, then why were you whispering my name in your sleep last night?"

The absolute violation she felt had her shrinking into herself and returning to sit on the bed. "You are a sick fuck."

"Ah, babe, you ain't seen nothing yet."