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Emily’s office was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of stillness that made the hum of fluorescent lights feel deafening. JJ stood near Emily’s desk, arms limp at her sides, trying to steady her breathing. Emily sat on the chair across from her, elbows on her knees. JJ’s eyes fixed on her — through her — like she was holding something in her mouth she didn’t know how to say.
But it wasn’t anger in JJ’s eyes. It wasn’t even grief, not exactly.
It was something softer. Hungrier. Like she wanted to kiss her. Like she might.
Emily looked away first. “Jayje, stop,” she said, barely above a whisper.
JJ tilted her head. “Why?”
Emily met her gaze again, forced steel into her voice. “You’re grieving.”
“I know that,” JJ said, the words quick, irritated — not at Emily, but at everything else. At the world.
“Then stop that,” Emily snapped. but then her voice softened, pleading. “Stop looking at me like that.”
JJ’s expression didn’t shift. “What does the way I look at you have to do with anything?”
“Jennifer, it’s not fair,” Emily said, voice cracking. “You’re not—you’re not in the right state to make any decision.”
JJ stood slowly, arms crossing over her chest. “Yeah? And you’re the one who gets to decides that?” She took another step forward. “You gonna pull rank? Play the boss card now?”
Emily’s mouth opened, but there was no venom in her voice when she said, “Jayje, it’s not fair. You just lost Will.”
“Yes,” JJ breathed. She looked down at her hands like she didn’t recognize them. “And I—I don’t even know how to handle it.”
“I know,” Emily said, quiet, useless.
JJ’s voice thinned. “I don’t even know if I can move on… but Emily—I lost the father of my children.” Her throat worked, her mouth trembled. “I didn’t lose the lo—”
“Don’t,” Emily said sharply. Too fast. Too desperate.
JJ blinked. “Don’t?”
“Yeah,” Emily said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to say that, Jennifer.”
JJ’s eyes didn’t move from hers. “Will and I… I loved him. I do love him.” She paused. “And I’m devastated. But I didn’t lose the love of my life, Em.”
Something inside Emily caved.
“JJ.” she said, stepping back, barely able to get the words out. “Stop. I mean it.”
JJ followed her. No hesitation. She was trembling now, and her voice dropped, bitter and trembling at once. “Or what, Emily?” she said. “You gonna run away?” She let out a small, broken laugh. “You’re good at that.”
Emily didn’t respond.
She couldn’t.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was thick with everything unsaid, with the weight of years, of almosts, of what-ifs too dangerous to name.
The silence between them stretched until it hurt. JJ’s shoulders were trembling now, her breath shallow, like saying it — you’re good at that — had taken something out of her.
Emily didn’t move. Her hands stayed clenched at her sides like if she let go, she might reach for something she couldn’t have.
“I’m not going to,” she said finally, her voice low, shaky. “I’m here for you, JJ. I’m always here.”
JJ’s eyes searched hers, like she wanted to believe that — like part of her already did.
“But I can’t—I can’t take it,” Emily continued, her voice cracking open at the edges. “It’s not how it’s supposed to happen.”
JJ didn’t speak. She just stood there, close enough to touch, barely breathing.
“God,” Emily whispered, looking down for a second before forcing herself to meet JJ’s eyes again. “You and I aren’t even supposed to happen.”
A silence. Then:
“But if we were,” Emily said, barely holding it together, “it wouldn’t be like this.”
And god knows she thought about that.
And there it was — everything, all at once. The grief, the timing, the ache of something too big for the room they were in.
JJ didn’t answer. Not right away. She just looked at her like she had earlier — like she might kiss her anyway.
JJ was trembling now, barely holding herself upright. Her voice broke the silence, soft but sharp enough to cut.
“You told me you’d do anything.”
Emily looked away like the words physically struck her. She nodded once. “I did.”
“Then why not this?”
Emily’s breath hitched, and she stepped back, her voice cracking as she spoke. “Because not this. I can’t. I can’t when I know the only reason you’re doing this is because you’re hurt.”
JJ swallowed hard. “You think the only reason I want to—” she hesitated, couldn’t even say the rest—“you think this is about distraction?“
“Yes,” Emily said quietly. And it destroyed her to say it.
JJ shook her head, blue eyes pleading desperately. “Emily, I need you.”
“And you have me,” Emily said, moving forward without noticing. Voice broken. “You always have me. But i can’t.”
She paused—breathed like it physically hurt to go on.
“Because if you let me have a taste of it—” her voice broke, raw and trembling—“fuck, JJ, I can’t take it.”
JJ exhaled shakily and sat back down on the chair across Emily’s. Her shoulders dropped, like the weight of pretending she was fine finally became too much to hold.
“I didn’t come here to make you uncomfortable,” JJ said softly. “I didn’t even know what I was coming here for.”
Emily stayed standing. She didn’t trust herself to move. Her back was straight, but her hands were trembling where JJ couldn’t see.
JJ looked down at her own hands. “Everything’s so loud right now. The house is too quiet, the boys ask questions I can’t answer, and all I can think about is how Will used to leave the lights on in the kitchen and it used to drive me crazy. And now I walk in, and it’s dark, and I hate it.”
Emily let their fingers rest together, not interlocked — just touching, just enough. Her voice was soft when she spoke.
“It’s okay to feel it,” she said. “It’s okay to miss him, JJ.”
JJ nodded slowly, eyes burning but dry. “I know. And I do.”
She paused. Her voice came quieter, more careful now.
“But it’s not- its not in the way i was supposed to. fuck Em. im a widow.”
Emily turned to look at her, brows furrowing just slightly. “What do you mean?”
JJ looked down at her hands. “I keep thinking I should be more wrecked. That if I’m not, it means I didn’t love him enough.”
“And did you?”
“I did,” JJ said. “In the way I was capable of.”
Emily’s heart ached at that — because she understood exactly what that meant.
JJ finally looked at her, and the room suddenly felt too small.
“But it’s not grief that’s choking me, Em,” she said. “It’s guilt.”
Emily held her gaze. “For what?”
“For knowing, even when he was alive, that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.”
Emily didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. She just waited.
And JJ, so quietly it was almost a breath, added “That I wanted to be somewhere else. With someone else.”
Emily’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak right away. Her hands curled slightly in her lap — not from anger, but from the effort of holding herself together.
She finally said, “You don’t get to say things like that like they dont matter.”
JJ frowned. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Emily said gently. “You’re saying it now, when it’s safe. When there’s no one left to be hurt by it except me.”
JJ took a step forward, her voice low. “That’s not why I said it.”
Emily pauses. She’s angry. She doesn’t know if she’s angry at JJ. At herself. Maybe at some god she stopped believing in years ago. But even with all of the things she is feeling, she lets it go.
She looks at JJ, standing there with her grief wrapped so tightly around her it looks like armor. And Emily knows she’ll never really understand it. She can’t. She didn’t lose a partner. The father of her children.
So she doesn’t hold it, Because she knows this isn’t about right or wrong — it’s about loss. About trying to make sense of what’s left behind. It’s about two people who tried to survive the only way they knew how, and ended up breaking themselves in different ways.
Emily lets her finish.
JJ let out a breath that sounded more like a confession. “I don’t miss the marriage. I don’t miss the routines. I don’t miss the version of myself that lived in that house.”
She looked down, then up again. Straight into Emily’s eyes.
“I miss his kindness. I miss how he loved the boys. I miss how safe he made everything feel. But I don’t miss… pretending to be happy. Not really.”
Emily didn’t say anything, but her face softened. Something in her breath caught — like a thread pulled too tight, finally loosening.
JJ kept going, voice low.
“I keep waiting to feel something bigger. Like a breakdown, or a scream, or a… collapse. But it’s like it already happened. A long time ago. And no one noticed.”
Emily’s voice was barely there. “I might’ve.”
JJ smiled. “Yeah. You always do.”
She hesitated — then finally said it:
“I don’t know who I am now. Without him, without the story I kept telling myself.”
“You’re allowed to figure that out,” Emily said gently. “You don’t owe anyone the version of yourself they expect.”
JJ looked at her for a long time.
Then, quietly, she asked, “Even you?”
Emily looked at her, tired and honest. “Especially me.”
JJ exhales, slow. Her arms drop to her sides, like she’s too tired to pretend anymore.
“And this isn’t… news,” she says. “These feelings. They’re not new.”
Emily looks at her, careful. Waiting.
“I didn’t just start feeling this way after Will died,” JJ continues. “That’s what scares me the most. That maybe I’m not just broken from grief — maybe I was already halfway broken before.”
She laughs under her breath, but there’s nothing funny in it.
“Do you remember… after I was taken? When i was kidnapped. I was tied to the ceiling, shaking so hard I couldn’t even feel my hands.”
She doesn’t wait for a response.
“I was freezing. Every breath felt like it scraped my lungs. And the things they said—what they did—”
She shakes her head, like it doesn’t matter now.
“I thought that was it. I thought I was going to die in that room.”
A pause.
“I felt like my mind wasn’t even connected to my body anymore. Fuck Em, i was so exhausted. And after a while, it all started slipping. Time, pain, everything. I started seeing things. Hearing things. And i just-“
Her voice lowers, breaks.
“My brain went to you. Like it always does when I’m scared.”
She confesses and she glances up at Emily, then down again.
“And when you actually showed up… when it was you who found me—I think something inside me just… gave up trying to pretend. Not to you. To myself.”
Her voice catches a little. “That was the moment I knew. And I’ve been trying to un-know it ever since.”
JJ tries to smile but it doesn’t really work.
Emily swallows. She doesn’t look away, but there’s something cautious in her eyes, something careful.
“I hate that you had to go through that,” she says, voice low. “That your brain had to survive by going somewhere else. To me.”
She shifts slightly, like the memory’s pressing on her too.
“I’m glad I was that place for you, I just…” she pauses, searching. but she does find what she was trying to say so she keeps going.
Emily’s voice gets even softer. “You don’t owe me anything for that. Not now. Not ever.”
Then, She finally exhales, quietly. “And yeah. My mind goes to you, too.”
After a moment, JJ keeps talking.
“I used to feel so guilty — that it was you my mind kept drifting to, and not him. Like, should have been him.”
Brown eyes looking at her like they could see through her.
“I did love him. I did. I was in love with him, or i think i was. at first. Not even close to the way I felt about- huh but you know. But uhm, I did love him. In my own way.
But somewhere along the way… we stopped knowing each other. We stopped asking. We became polite. Kind. Careful.”
JJ doesn’t miss the way Emily is looking at her.
“He’d still kiss me goodbye like he meant it. And I’d smile like I meant it. And maybe we both did — in the only way we still could.
I kept thinking — maybe if I loved him harder, stayed quieter, been less tired — maybe then we’d find our way back. But the harder I tried, the more I felt like I was losing myself.
But after sometime i guess we let go.”
Emily’s voice trembled, heavy with a mix of pain and frustration.
“this isnt fair. You are not being fair. To me.”
“Do you know how that feels? To be the one waiting in the shadows, hoping you’re more than just an afterthought?”
Emily’s gaze hardened.
“I know. I know how it feels. I’m so used to it, JJ.”
JJ looked up, disbelief flickering across her face.
“You think you’re an afterthought? Is that what you really think? Aren’t you supposed to be the best profiler weve got? You are—youre the thought.”
Emily looks at her in disbelief.
“What’s that even supposed to mean?”
JJ let out a breath, voice raw and urgent.
“I don’t even know. You just… are.”
Her eyes locked on Emily’s, unguarded.
“Fuck, Emily. You’re all I think about.”
JJ’s voice is small when she speaks again.
“There’s something I’ve never said. Not to anyone.”
Emily’s gaze sharpens, but she waits.
“When I lost the baby…” JJ swallows hard. “When I had the miscarriage, I couldn’t tell Will. I couldn’t even look at him. It was like… like saying it out loud would make it too real. Like it would ruin what little we had left.”
She shakes her head, shame flickering across her face.
“But I told you. You were the only one I could say it to.”
A long pause.
“I hated myself for that. For leaning on you like that instead of my husband. For trusting you more with that kind of pain.”
Her voice cracks a little.
“I think part of me already knew the truth. About how I felt. About who I chose, even when I didn’t mean to.”
She lets the silence settle. “And you didn’t even flinch. You just held it.”
Emily doesn’t speak right away. She just looks at JJ like she’s seeing something she’s known for a long time but never had permission to name.
Then, softly—
“I remember.”
Her voice is almost a whisper. “That day. The way you said it. Like the words barely made it out of you.”
She smiles, but it’s sad. “I didn’t know what to do with that kind of trust. I still don’t.”
Her hands are in her lap, twisting slightly. “It meant something to me. Not just the secret, but… that you let me carry it with you. That you gave that pain to me and not him. And that is not a nice thing to feel jay.”
A beat. She exhales through her nose, like she’s bracing for her own confession.
“That was part of why I left. Not because I was angry. Not even because I was hurt. Just because…”
She finally looks up at JJ, her eyes tired and full of love she can’t quite say.
“I didn’t know how to be near you and not want more.”
Emily shifts her weight like something’s pressing down on her chest. She’s quiet for a moment — not avoiding JJ’s eyes, but not quite able to hold them either.
“I just felt- guilty. ” she says, finally.
JJ looks at her, but doesn’t speak.
“Not for what happened to you. I mean… yes, for that too. God, JJ, I should’ve found you sooner. I should’ve—” She cuts herself off, jaw tightening.
“But I mean before that. After. Always.”
She exhales, hands clenched loosely at her sides. “I used to think about what it would mean if I ever told you. What it would ruin. What I’d be asking from you. So I didn’t.”
Her voice lowers.
“And then you almost died, and I hated myself for wasting so much time. For keeping it in. For pretending I didn’t want more from you. Even when you were with Will. Even when I told myself I was happy just being part of your life.”
Emily’s voice falters, but she keeps going.
Emily lets out a shaky breath. Her eyes drift, unfocused, like she’s somewhere else entirely — some apartment in London, some hotel room, some quiet night where she let herself imagine.
“You know what the worst part is?” she says. “It wasn’t just the guilt. It wasn’t even the leaving.”
She looks back at JJ.
“It was all the time I spent wishing.”
A beat.
“Wishing that things had been different. That I’d said something sooner. That we hadn’t always found each other in the worst possible moments. That I didn’t have to watch you build a life that didn’t include me — and be happy for you anyway.”
Her voice cracks, just barely, but she keeps going.
“I used to lie awake in Paris- god fuck Paris.-she said with a frustrated sigh- ”just… rewriting things. In my head. You’d let me play games with you, and you were just.. there. And that made me feel so special jayje. that it was you who knew. it could only have been you.”
She gives a short, almost bitter laugh.
“It was pathetic. But it was mine. My little pocket of ‘what if.’ I held onto it because it was the only version where I got to have you.”
She looks down. Emily’s jaw tightens. The softness in her eyes flickers — not gone, but eclipsed for a moment by something sharper. Ache. Anger. Maybe both.
“But don’t,” she says, quietly. “Don’t come here rewriting it like that.”
JJ blinks.
“You keep talking like it just happened to you. Like the marriage, the kids, the years—you make it sound like someone forced you into it.”
Emily shakes her head, voice low and steady now.
“But that was the life you chose. You said yes. Again and again. And I stood there—behind you—every single time.”
Her voice wavers.
“You can’t come here now, with all your grief and regret and maybes, and pretend like none of it was real. That it didn’t cost anything.”
A pause. She breathes through her nose, trying to steady the emotions rising too fast.
“I spent years wanting you. I buried it so deep I forgot what it felt like to want anything else.”
Emily looks at her, eyes glassy but sharp.
“And now you show up like you finally figured it out. But you already lived your life, JJ. And I waited for something that was never mine.”
“I stayed there.”
Emily’s voice is quiet, but firm — like she’s holding back something that could shatter them both if she lets it out too fast.
“I’m not going to pretend I wasted my life. Or that I didn’t make those choices. I did. It was my decision too.”
She swallows. Her hands curl into fists, then loosen again.
“I gave everything I had to this job. I chose not to have a family. Not because I was forced. Not because anyone told me not to. Because—because I couldn’t imagine doing both and surviving it. But it was my choice. And I take responsibility for that.”
Her eyes finally meet JJ’s, and there’s a tremble in them now. A fracture.
“But I stayed. Through everything. Through everyone. And when I met you, JJ—” Her voice breaks. “It was already over for me. I’d already decided I was never going to have this… this life. But then you. You came into it, and everything I told myself unraveled.”
A pause. She exhales like she’s run out of air.
“I tried. I really tried to put it away. But I can’t. I can’t help it. And you don’t get to stand here, now, and look at me like I’ve done something to you.”
JJ’s voice is barely above a whisper.
“I can’t tell you how much I wish things were different, Emily.” She swallows hard. “But they’re not. And wishing won’t change any of it.”
She glances down, fingers curling slightly as if holding something invisible between them — maybe the version of their life she never got to live.
“This is where we are. After everything. After all the choices we made. We don’t get to rewrite it. We don’t get to start over.”
Her eyes lift to meet Emily’s, soft and honest and a little broken.
“So what are you going to do with that, Em? With what’s left?”
Emily’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, the weight of unsaid things pressing down on her chest. Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke, eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting JJ’s again.
“I just… I can’t stop thinking that this means more to me.”
The space between them felt heavy.
“You’re grieving. You’re hurting.”
Her voice softened, almost a whisper now, as if saying it out loud might break something fragile.
“And I’d never would take advantage of that. Of you.”
JJ’s eyes flashed with frustration. She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, voice rising just a bit.
“You think you’d be taking advantage of me?”
Her hands trembled, fingers curling into fists at her sides as if trying to hold herself together.
“Fuck Em.”
She shook her head, disbelief and hurt mingling on her face.
“I just—how can you NOT know?”
Her gaze bore into Emily’s, searching, demanding—needing her to understand the depth of what she felt but couldn’t fully say.
Emily didn’t say anything at first. The air between them was already tense, too full of things unsaid. JJ stood a few feet away, eyes locked on her like she was searching for something — or someone — inside her. Emily kept her arms crossed, trying to keep herself still. Grounded. But it didn’t help.
JJ’s eyebrows pulled together. A laugh — hollow, a little bitter — escaped her.
“Emily, how can you not see it?”
“See what?”
“That I love you.”
The words dropped like they’d been waiting years to be said.
Because the truth was, JJ’s words — they meant everything. They always had. In another life, they would’ve changed everything. But in this one? Emily didn’t know what they meant. She didn’t know what she was allowed to hope for.
Emily didn’t react — not visibly. Her body stayed perfectly still, face unreadable. Because if she let even a second of it in, if she let herself feel what those words could’ve meant to her once, it would destroy her. So she didn’t let it in.
“No,” she said, quietly. “You think you do. You’re in pain.”
But even she could hear how hollow she sounded. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even bitter. Just… resigned. Like someone who had made peace with never getting what they wanted.
JJ didn’t move. She didn’t look away.
“You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”
There was no venom in her voice now — only hurt.
“God, Emily. You’re such a coward.”
That stung. Because Emily believed it too. Emily still hadn’t moved.
Emily flinched. Just slightly. But JJ caught it.
Because JJ was right — she was a coward. And she had been pretending for too long that the feelings they’d both buried weren’t still clawing their way to the surface. That this wasn’t what she’d wanted. That JJ’s words didn’t still make her feel like she was being dragged underwater — breathless, terrified, alive.
But before Emily could say anything, JJ kept going. Her voice steadier now. Almost dangerous in how certain she sounded.
JJ’s voice softened. “You don’t get to decide this isn’t real just because it scares you. Or because it’s messy. Or because you’re afraid it won’t last.”
She swallowed hard, and for a second, she looked like she was about to break. But she didn’t.
Silence.
Her eyes were shining, but she didn’t blink them away. “This isn’t some passing thing. God knows I wished it was. I tried. I tried to put it away, to move on, to choose something safe.”
She laughed once, bitter.
“But this aren’t news, Emily. Haven’t been for years.”
Emily’s mouth opened slightly — but no words came.
JJ stepped closer.
“This isn’t because Will died. Or… maybe it is. A little. Maybe because I finally felt death close enough to see it. And when you feel that — the unfairness, the randomness — you realize how short this life really is.”
She swallowed.
“And I want to live it. Not watch it pass me by, not build a life that looks perfect and feels hollow.”
Emily’s chest tightened.
JJ tilted her head. There was something sharp in her tone now — teasing, reckless, dangerous.
“If you don’t believe me,” she said, tone filled with irony “We could ask Tara to run those psych tests. You know, the ones she did on Voit.”
A smirk.
“Hell, maybe she could get inside my dreams. I don’t mind. You already haunt my waking thoughts — might as well see what you’ve done to the rest of me.”
Emily felt her stomach twist.
“What would she think, Em?” JJ said softly. “If she saw me dreaming of you every night?”
Emily didn’t move.
“Maybe she’d say I’m just trying to screw authority. You are my boss, after all — at least, technically. Maybe I’ve got some power complex I’m working through.”
JJ moved forward — too close now. Her voice dropped low.
“Or maybe Tara would say that you represent power. You represent how this job controls me. Because thats what you do in those kind of dreams Em. And youre damn good at it.”
Emily’s eyes darkened — not angry, but lit with something low and dangerous. “That’s enough.”
Emily stayed seated behind her desk, but the air had shifted. The room wasn’t quiet anymore — not with the way JJ’s presence filled it. She was no longer simply sitting across from her. JJ had stood, slow and deliberate, and was now moving around the desk with that same terrifying grace she carried into an interrogation room.
Emily’s breath hitched. Her voice, when it came, was wrecked — low, rough, every syllable laced with control she was seconds away from losing. “You shouldn’t be saying this.”
“But I am.” JJ’s hands leaning on the desk. “And you’re not stopping me.”
Emily’s breath was shallow. Her pupils were wide, chest rising just a little too fast. She didn’t step closer. Not yet. But her voice, when it came, was low enough to taste. “Im not going to give in, JJ.”
But JJ only tilted her head, eyes burning into her. “Then why are your hands shaking?”
Emily’s hands, white-knuckled on the arms of her chair, didn’t move. But her chest did — the rise of it too sharp, too fast, betraying every word she’d said.
JJ leaned in closer, her voice a whisper that dripped like honey over a blade. “You said I shouldn’t be saying this. But you didn’t mean it.” Her fingers pressed flat to the desk. “You want me to keep going.”
Emily didn’t answer.
“You want me to keep talking about how I dream about you,” JJ went on, cruel and kind all at once. “How I wake up aching. How sometimes I don’t even care that it’s wrong — that I just want your hands, your mouth, your—”
“Jennifer,” Emily said, breath breaking.
JJ froze at the sound of her full name, but only for a second — just long enough to feel how it shook loose from Emily’s throat like something that hurt to say.
Emily stood — finally, finally — and it was violent in its restraint. Not a word. Not a sound. Just the legs of the chair scraping back, and then she was on her feet, too close, too everything.
“You want to know what Tara would say?” Emily’s voice was hoarse, biting. “She’d say this is reckless. That this is grief, trauma, projection—”
JJ stepped in. “And what do you say?”
Emily met her eyes. Something flickered — defiance, grief, need — then slowly dissolved. Her shoulders, once squared in control, slackened. The silence between them stretched, taut and electric, until it cracked.
And then—finally—she let go.
Her hands were in JJ’s hair before the sentence finished leaving her lips. Mouth on mouth like she’d been starved of it for years — because she had. And JJ— God, JJ kissed her like she’d never do anything else right again. Like this was her only chance to feel alive.
The kiss was messy, heated — teeth, lips, fingers tangled in hair and jacket. JJ gripped Emily’s arms like she might fall if she didn’t hold on, and Emily backed her into the desk, breath ragged, kiss deepening until neither of them could tell whose voice broke first.
When they pulled apart, it wasn’t far — just enough for JJ to rest her forehead against Emily’s, her breath a whisper.
Emily finally spoke — voice raw, like it cost her everything. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
JJ’s lips were at her ear. “I think I do.”
Emily’s breath caught, hard. She opened her eyes and met JJ’s — and whatever self-control she’d been clinging to crumbled right there.
She surged forward, catching JJ’s mouth again — rougher this time, hungrier. Her hands tangled in blonde hair, pulling just enough to make JJ gasp into her. JJ’s fingers gripped her back, nails scraping through fabric, trying to ground herself and failing.
When Emily pressed her back into the edge of the desk, JJ let her, tilting her chin up, opening to her without hesitation. The kiss deepened, slow and devastating — a promise, a punishment, a prayer.
“You’re going to ruin me.”
Emily breathed her name like a warning. “Jennifer.”
“I don’t care,” JJ whispered. “I want you to.”