The Price Of Love

Chapter 16

Jay's POV

I stare up at my ceiling, trying to pretend I'm calm and relaxed when in reality I'm beyond frustrated.

I was exhausted.

I hadn't slept in thirty-five fucking hours- so tell me why do I wake up at four am unable to fall back asleep?

It makes no fucking sense. When I work I'm exhausted yet when I sleep I can barely get five hours. Maybe it's my body's way of worrying about Sage. Sympathy insomnia.

I snort. Right. Because that's a thing.

I've been doing non-stop research on the military school they were sent to.

'St.James Military Correctional School for Troubled Youth'

What a fucking name.

Ran by some old fucker, Jordan Presley. I read up about this school and was relieved to see no complaints about any physical abuse. Of course, there were multiple people complaints about the verbal treatment, hygiene and food quality, as well as neglectful staff.

Of course, Issac chooses to send them there.

But the triplets will manage. I know they will, regardless of what they may face. It just calms me to know they might not be getting hurt there.

It's been a week since I sent my letters, and it's killing me that I won't get a response, because there may be a high likelihood that Issac just takes the letters and burns them.

It angers me to think about. I know he'd be laughing. Grinning, all smug as he no doubt reads through the letters before tossing them, probably chuffed he's making his eldest son look like a fool.

I sigh as I stare up at my ceiling.

I can't just lie here. Because the more time I have to think, the more worries I come up with.

Tossing the covers off me, I stand up and grab my laptop. I'll read the report that Atlas sent me about the information he got after I left. Then I'll start thinking of our next lead to follow to get to Abigail Robinson, or maybe figure out how I'm going to find out who the snitch is.

I step out of my room and walk into the kitchen, placing my laptop on the kitchen island as I go to make myself some coffee.

I could do this in my office, but that room reminds me of stress and how irritating Issac is. I want calm right now. I so desperately need calmness.

Hence why I'm using my laptop and my living room couch as a workplace.

Just as I go to press the button on the coffee machine, I hear the sound of breathing.

Immediately I'm on high alert and curse myself for leaving my gun on my bedside table.

I just got up and came out here. It didn't cross my mind to grab it, and I don't sleep with a gun in my hand, despite what some may believe.

I spot a bread knife lying on the counter next to the sink, and I grab it as I slowly glance around the room, trying to spot anyone lurking in the shadows.

I listen closely to the sound, slowly stepping over to the kitchen island. I half expect someone to jump out from behind it, but no one does. I then glance at the couch. The one Amara was sitting on earlier.

I roll my eyes and put down the knife on the kitchen island.

From behind the kitchen island, the back of the couch hides her, but I know she's there.

And I confirm it when I walk over and see her curled up, facing the back of the couch, turned away from the tv that no doubt turned off automatically.

She's still wearing her dark blue sweatpants and white shirt from earlier, with fucking Mickie Mouse fluffy socks on.