The Wish Collector
Page 69
Savannah’s footsteps slowed as it suddenly occurred to her that this might not be the safest situation to walk into alone. But she gathered her courage. She’d always relied on her instincts and those, along with the hesitant quality of Jonah Chamberlain’s voice on the phone, told her that her safety was not at risk.
She walked to the passenger side door and pulled on the handle. It opened with a click that echoed in the empty alley and Savannah bent her head to peer inside.
The man she recognized as Jonah Chamberlain was sitting in the driver’s seat, only his profile on display. Yes, it was him. His good looks were almost shocking in their classic perfection. But as he turned his head toward her, Savannah blinked. Oh God. The left side of his face, the side that had taken the full extent of the blast was scarred and stretched over his bones as though it’d melted that way.
Her heart lurched with sympathy for him, for the agonizing pain he’d obviously experienced. She slid inside of the car, turning her body so she was facing him.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” His hand, which had been resting on the steering wheel appeared to relax as he turned his body toward her as well. There was something . . . God, she used words for a living but none of the ones she’d become familiar with worked for this man. No, there was something beautifully fierce about him. Something that brought to mind ancient battles and warriors who walked through fire. A god who had fallen to earth and been scorched by the edge of a star. Lord, where were these descriptions coming from? Maybe she should have been a romance writer instead of a reporter. But geez, all she could think was that she was happily married. But if she wasn’t . . .
Savannah cleared her throat, feeling awkward and sort of ridiculous. “This is a surprise.”
He chuckled and it was full of something Savannah couldn’t read. “Yeah.” He paused for a moment, his expression becoming serious. “I want to thank you for that letter you sent me when I was in the hospital. It meant a lot.”
She blinked at him. He had received it. He remembered. She nodded but before she could say anything, he picked up an envelope on his lap and handed it to her. There was a hard rectangular shape at the bottom.
“It’s a phone.”
“A phone? Whose phone?”
“How much of the Murray Ridgley trial do you remember?”
“Quite a bit.”
He nodded. “Good.” He paused, peering through the windshield for a weighted minute. “I want to reclaim my life.” Jonah Chamberlain flinched slightly, the shadow of what looked like old hurt flitting across his dual face, seeming to settle on his scarred side as though that was where he carried pain and always would.
And then he told her what he knew as she blinked at him, the enormity of the information hitting her full force.
When he was finished laying out what could be the news story of the decade, full of corruption at the highest levels, he looked at her, his light brown eyes moving over her face, trying to determine if she really could be trusted perhaps.
“I need someone who has contacts . . . who will know the best way to go about exposing what I’ve just told you.” He paused and the air in the car felt weighted. “Will you help me?”
Savannah chewed at her lip, her mind buzzing, already arranging and rearranging the best way to handle this information, the list of people she’d grown to trust over her lackluster career who might be able to help her.
She looked at the man sitting in front of her, the whirling thoughts in her mind slowing. This man had obviously lived with so much sitting upon his shoulders for so long. She wondered if, before now, he’d had anyone to help him bear the burdens he carried. Whether he had or not and for whatever his reasons, he’d chosen her and a feeling of deep honor caused her heart to constrict.
“Yes, Jonah. I’ll help you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
He’d done it. He’d set the wheels in motion. I want to reclaim my life. Now what happened remained to be seen. Now what happened was in Savannah Hammond’s hands. But peace settled inside of him, the same peace he’d felt as he’d driven out of that alley.
You have more friends than you realize, Augustus had said, and Jonah had chosen to trust him, bringing to mind not only those who had hurt and betrayed him, but those who had offered small tokens of kindness, of understanding.
He’d done what Clara had accused him of doing—he’d put too much credence in the judgments of those who didn’t matter, and not enough in the ones who did.
Clara.
God, he owed her so much. His life maybe. She already had his heart.
Spend that wish granting on your woman, Ruben had told him. Or hell, better yet, spend one on yourself. The only thing Jonah wanted was her. Clara. And all right, he wanted to find the bravery, the peace, Ruben had obviously found to walk out into the world and claim his scars for the things they stood for. Regrets, yes, and shame, definitely. But maybe, maybe, the fact that he’d overcome and that he strived to do better, to be better. But the only one who could make that wish come true was Jonah himself.
Clara had been right. He needed to find his worth, to believe that it still existed. Eddy was right too, because he had given up on his own life.
Jonah had spent the last two days going over the words Clara had said when she’d shown up to fight for him, turning them over, letting them in.
Dance your heart out, he’d told Clara once upon a time. For your father. It’s what he would want.
But he’d been a hypocrite, because instead of trying to live a life that would make his brother proud, he’d hidden himself away behind a damn wall. His brother hadn’t trusted him because he’d seen Jonah as a replica of their father, and hell, wasn’t that exactly what he’d been trying to be? And okay, the truth was, Jonah hadn’t trusted his brother either. They’d both been so busy trying not to be their father, and trying to be their father, that neither one had figured out who they were as individuals. The sadness of that, the true regret, the wasted time, was a knife to Jonah’s heart. But maybe it wasn’t too late.
He wasn’t perfect. And I think all of these years you’ve pretended he was. You’ve put him on a pedestal and created some sort of saintly caricature in your mind. He wasn’t saintly. He was just a man. Just your brother. But I believe with all of my heart that he loved you and he’d want the best for you now.
Somehow, Clara’s assertions had brought his brother closer to him. He felt more real in Jonah’s heart, not that one-dimensional caricature he’d painted Justin as for so long because of his own guilt.
These last few days he’d been recalling the real Justin, his words, his spirit, his innate curiosity, and the sound of his laughter. And yes, his imperfections too. God, he missed him so much.
“All right, fucker, we both wasted a lot of time. Help me out now, would you?” Jonah murmured to himself, willing to believe in that magic Clara believed in so fervently that she’d been willing to fight for him even when he was unwilling to fight for himself.
Magic.
Wishes.
Spend that wish granting on your woman.
Clara wanted him to come out from behind his wall, but not just for her, for himself. And the truth of the matter was that Clara was a woman who rarely wished for things for herself. Clara was a woman who spent her wishes on others.
Help me help you, Angelina. The selfless wish that had brought Clara to him in the first place.
Jonah almost laughed. Leave it to Clara to wish for the one thing he could not grant.
You could try. The idea whispered through his mind, once and then again. You could try.
He stared out of the open window of the living room at the late afternoon sun, the heavy floral curtains fluttering in the breeze. November first was a cool, bright day and brought with it the scent of fall: rich earth, crisp leaves, and that slightly smoky tinge to the air, a much appreciated reprieve from the steamy New Orleans summer. Peace settled over Jonah. Inexplicable. Comforting. He let it, not casting it aside as he’d done in the past, believing he didn’t deserve the feeling. He allowed it in, let it settle inside. Accepted the gift with a thankful sigh.
Jonah closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, taking in a lungful of the fresh air.
She walked to the passenger side door and pulled on the handle. It opened with a click that echoed in the empty alley and Savannah bent her head to peer inside.
The man she recognized as Jonah Chamberlain was sitting in the driver’s seat, only his profile on display. Yes, it was him. His good looks were almost shocking in their classic perfection. But as he turned his head toward her, Savannah blinked. Oh God. The left side of his face, the side that had taken the full extent of the blast was scarred and stretched over his bones as though it’d melted that way.
Her heart lurched with sympathy for him, for the agonizing pain he’d obviously experienced. She slid inside of the car, turning her body so she was facing him.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” His hand, which had been resting on the steering wheel appeared to relax as he turned his body toward her as well. There was something . . . God, she used words for a living but none of the ones she’d become familiar with worked for this man. No, there was something beautifully fierce about him. Something that brought to mind ancient battles and warriors who walked through fire. A god who had fallen to earth and been scorched by the edge of a star. Lord, where were these descriptions coming from? Maybe she should have been a romance writer instead of a reporter. But geez, all she could think was that she was happily married. But if she wasn’t . . .
Savannah cleared her throat, feeling awkward and sort of ridiculous. “This is a surprise.”
He chuckled and it was full of something Savannah couldn’t read. “Yeah.” He paused for a moment, his expression becoming serious. “I want to thank you for that letter you sent me when I was in the hospital. It meant a lot.”
She blinked at him. He had received it. He remembered. She nodded but before she could say anything, he picked up an envelope on his lap and handed it to her. There was a hard rectangular shape at the bottom.
“It’s a phone.”
“A phone? Whose phone?”
“How much of the Murray Ridgley trial do you remember?”
“Quite a bit.”
He nodded. “Good.” He paused, peering through the windshield for a weighted minute. “I want to reclaim my life.” Jonah Chamberlain flinched slightly, the shadow of what looked like old hurt flitting across his dual face, seeming to settle on his scarred side as though that was where he carried pain and always would.
And then he told her what he knew as she blinked at him, the enormity of the information hitting her full force.
When he was finished laying out what could be the news story of the decade, full of corruption at the highest levels, he looked at her, his light brown eyes moving over her face, trying to determine if she really could be trusted perhaps.
“I need someone who has contacts . . . who will know the best way to go about exposing what I’ve just told you.” He paused and the air in the car felt weighted. “Will you help me?”
Savannah chewed at her lip, her mind buzzing, already arranging and rearranging the best way to handle this information, the list of people she’d grown to trust over her lackluster career who might be able to help her.
She looked at the man sitting in front of her, the whirling thoughts in her mind slowing. This man had obviously lived with so much sitting upon his shoulders for so long. She wondered if, before now, he’d had anyone to help him bear the burdens he carried. Whether he had or not and for whatever his reasons, he’d chosen her and a feeling of deep honor caused her heart to constrict.
“Yes, Jonah. I’ll help you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
He’d done it. He’d set the wheels in motion. I want to reclaim my life. Now what happened remained to be seen. Now what happened was in Savannah Hammond’s hands. But peace settled inside of him, the same peace he’d felt as he’d driven out of that alley.
You have more friends than you realize, Augustus had said, and Jonah had chosen to trust him, bringing to mind not only those who had hurt and betrayed him, but those who had offered small tokens of kindness, of understanding.
He’d done what Clara had accused him of doing—he’d put too much credence in the judgments of those who didn’t matter, and not enough in the ones who did.
Clara.
God, he owed her so much. His life maybe. She already had his heart.
Spend that wish granting on your woman, Ruben had told him. Or hell, better yet, spend one on yourself. The only thing Jonah wanted was her. Clara. And all right, he wanted to find the bravery, the peace, Ruben had obviously found to walk out into the world and claim his scars for the things they stood for. Regrets, yes, and shame, definitely. But maybe, maybe, the fact that he’d overcome and that he strived to do better, to be better. But the only one who could make that wish come true was Jonah himself.
Clara had been right. He needed to find his worth, to believe that it still existed. Eddy was right too, because he had given up on his own life.
Jonah had spent the last two days going over the words Clara had said when she’d shown up to fight for him, turning them over, letting them in.
Dance your heart out, he’d told Clara once upon a time. For your father. It’s what he would want.
But he’d been a hypocrite, because instead of trying to live a life that would make his brother proud, he’d hidden himself away behind a damn wall. His brother hadn’t trusted him because he’d seen Jonah as a replica of their father, and hell, wasn’t that exactly what he’d been trying to be? And okay, the truth was, Jonah hadn’t trusted his brother either. They’d both been so busy trying not to be their father, and trying to be their father, that neither one had figured out who they were as individuals. The sadness of that, the true regret, the wasted time, was a knife to Jonah’s heart. But maybe it wasn’t too late.
He wasn’t perfect. And I think all of these years you’ve pretended he was. You’ve put him on a pedestal and created some sort of saintly caricature in your mind. He wasn’t saintly. He was just a man. Just your brother. But I believe with all of my heart that he loved you and he’d want the best for you now.
Somehow, Clara’s assertions had brought his brother closer to him. He felt more real in Jonah’s heart, not that one-dimensional caricature he’d painted Justin as for so long because of his own guilt.
These last few days he’d been recalling the real Justin, his words, his spirit, his innate curiosity, and the sound of his laughter. And yes, his imperfections too. God, he missed him so much.
“All right, fucker, we both wasted a lot of time. Help me out now, would you?” Jonah murmured to himself, willing to believe in that magic Clara believed in so fervently that she’d been willing to fight for him even when he was unwilling to fight for himself.
Magic.
Wishes.
Spend that wish granting on your woman.
Clara wanted him to come out from behind his wall, but not just for her, for himself. And the truth of the matter was that Clara was a woman who rarely wished for things for herself. Clara was a woman who spent her wishes on others.
Help me help you, Angelina. The selfless wish that had brought Clara to him in the first place.
Jonah almost laughed. Leave it to Clara to wish for the one thing he could not grant.
You could try. The idea whispered through his mind, once and then again. You could try.
He stared out of the open window of the living room at the late afternoon sun, the heavy floral curtains fluttering in the breeze. November first was a cool, bright day and brought with it the scent of fall: rich earth, crisp leaves, and that slightly smoky tinge to the air, a much appreciated reprieve from the steamy New Orleans summer. Peace settled over Jonah. Inexplicable. Comforting. He let it, not casting it aside as he’d done in the past, believing he didn’t deserve the feeling. He allowed it in, let it settle inside. Accepted the gift with a thankful sigh.
Jonah closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, taking in a lungful of the fresh air.
