Page 47 of One More Night

SEVENTEEN

Corinne

I’d like to say that a night spent at home lounging in my pajamas brings with it some clarity, or at the very least, an epiphany on how to move forward with this.

All I know for sure is that, one, my brother will never accept Jordan or what he’s done, and two, I’m not prepared to accept this is the end of our journey either.

I didn’t spend years longing to know more about the man, yearning to understand how he fit into the picture, only to baulk at the first sign of trouble.

The tendrils of steam that rise from my coffee carry the delicious scent of a new day as I cradle the mug before me. I had my night to think things over, to process what I was told, and I feel more resolute now than ever to let Jordan have his three months.

I threw the rejection at him yesterday afternoon out of fear, not because I don’t want that time with him. I do. I was merely hurt at the truths he spoke. But is that his fault? Not necessarily. No, he shouldn’t have brought my uncle up in such a way, but those are my scars to bear, not his. I shouldn’t put my inability to resolve things that happened in the past between us. Good relationships are built on the couple’s ability to overcome hurdles together, and like he says, that’s what we can do over the next twelve weeks: work through the demons of our past as a team.

The plan forms in my mind as I eat breakfast, solidifying on my run through the shower, and cementing itself as I put the final details into place. I smooth the dress over my hips, checking myself in the mirror to make sure that not a hair lies out of place in preparation for the most defining moment of my life.

I coasted through my teenage years and into college on the safe path, doing what was expected of me and what would draw the least attention. I found myself a job in an industry that wasn’t going away anytime fast, hoping for a safe and stable career while I saved toward that fabled white picket fence. I even found myself a man I could envision in camel-colored slacks, driving our minivan, when I dated Aden.

But as the years passed the emptiness inside of me wouldn’t shrink, no matter how many uniform and cookie-cutter life choices I threw at it. The void only grew.

Meeting up with Jordan last week? I found the piece that fits. I found the antidote for the poison I fed myself.

I found the chaos I secretly craved.

I found everything I knew deep down I had been missing.

Fifteen minutes later, my ride pulls up outside Jordan’s property as my heart lodges in my throat. If there was ever a final moment to back out of this, to fall into old habits and aim to please my family, this is it.

Instead, I pay the cabbie and take my first, albeit shaky, step toward the giant home. My palms tingle with anticipation, a coil of excitement tight in my gut as I press and roll my lips a couple of times to make sure my deep red pout is as perfect as can be.

The security cameras give away my approach, much as I expected, and the door is open for me by the time I reach the front stoop. Strangely, though, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Jordan?” My heels clack loudly as I step into the foyer.

The sound irritates me in the otherwise eerily quiet house, so I kick them off and push the pair aside with my toes. Fuck the outfit. The knot of worry in my stomach tells me how I look is the least of his worries.

I head further into the house, the lack of any indication on where he is disturbing me to the point of panic. What if the door wasn’t open for me? What if he’s been broken into?

Don’t be so silly, Corinne. A man with this much surveillance having the front door kicked in? Unlikely.

“Jordan? Where are you?”

A stack of paper spread messily over his coffee table pulls my focus to the middle of the room. I may have been here only twice, but one thing I can say without a shadow of doubt is that Jordan enjoys order. Papers left so haphazardly like this makes no sense.

I step closer and read the top of the first few sheets. Emails. I should look away and respect his privacy, yet something tells me they were left here for me. As I scan the pages, it grows increasingly clear what this is: an admission.

Laid out before me is every little thing he chose to withhold from me: conversations about credit card fraud, large monetary transactions, and evidence of where and how he got his empire.

The strangest part of it all? He did all of this for other people. What he spent on himself? It wasn’t much. His cars: gifted. His house: sold to him for an absolute steal.

He bartered his black market skills for what he has.

“Ask me anything.”

I suck a sharp breath as I spin to find him behind me, hesitant where he stands in the entryway to the hall.

“No more secrets, Corinne.”

I return my gaze to the paperwork on the table. “You laid this out so carefully, for me, right?”