by Jess Bryant
Unfortunately, she was right and that low blow hit exactly where she’d aimed it. He’d taught her that. He couldn’t hold it against her.
He could ask Colt not to say anything and his brother would swear the words wouldn’t cross his lips. His twin would never do anything to hurt him, or by extension to hurt Jemma, not on purpose. Not unless he didn’t think he was hurting them. Not if he thought he was helping. And he just might considering Cash’s breakdown the last time the girl was even mentioned.
“I’ll call him, tell him to find somewhere else to crash tonight. He doesn’t need to know you’re here.”
“You’d do that? Kick your own brother out? For me?”
“He might not come home anyway.” He hedged on explaining why.
He didn’t think it would earn his twin any points with Jemma if he explained that Colt used his fists to earn extra money. Well, the extra money was nice but mostly it was to work through his anger issues. Whatever the case, fighting was a skill they’d learned and used but one that Jemma didn’t need to be reminded of after what she’d been through.
Colt usually liked to find some willing female to soothe him after a fight. If he’d continued with the fight like Cash suspected, he wouldn’t be home for hours. It was likely he wouldn’t be home until morning light. He’d be worried about that under normal circumstances but with Jemma standing in his living room, everything else became secondary.
Colt could take care of himself for one night.
“I can stay in my car if you’ll take me back to the garage.” She hiked the bag higher on her arm and he groaned.
“No. You don’t want me to tell him you’re here? Fine. You want me to give him a reason to stay away? Fine.” He swiped a hand over his face “I’ll text him that I brought a chick home with me. I’ll tell him I need the place to myself for the night.”
“Oh…” Her eyes drifted to the floor and her shoulders hunched. “I see.”
Sadly, he knew she didn’t, and he hated that he had no right to explain himself. He wasn’t a saint. He’d never come close. But he wasn’t a man-whore either and the number of women he’d seen in the years since Jemma left town was small and unimportant. He had only rarely brought women home with him and they were always gone by morning. He hadn’t cared for a single one of them, how could he when he’d never gotten over the girl he let get away? But now wasn’t the time to get into that so he let her think the worst of him, knew he’d brought that on himself and let it go.
“I’ll text Colt and he won’t come home tonight. You can stay here. Nobody has to know.”
“Our little secret huh?” She winced as if the idea hurt her as much as the insult did him and then she sighed, “I think I’ll go take a shower now if that’s okay with you.”
“Through that door.”
She disappeared into the bathroom and he only realized he was still standing there staring at the closed door when the water came on. He scowled and swiped a hand through his hair. On the other side of a flimsy door with a broken lock was the girl of all his dreams. Naked and wet and… bruised.
He shook away his inappropriate thoughts. She was hurt. She was on the edge of being broken. He knew the look. He’d seen it enough in his life. And he’d already hurt her enough to last a lifetime, wouldn’t risk doing it again.
He pulled his phone out and text his brother. He kept it short and succinct. He didn’t think for a second that he would be able to keep Colt in the dark long. His brother was going to know something was up. Last they’d talked he’d told him he was going to pick somebody up off the side of the road and the news that he had a girl in the apartment would be a shock either way. He wasn’t going to lie if Colt asked him outright who it was.
When a response didn’t immediately come back, he didn’t know whether to be worried or grateful. He tossed the phone down on the coffee table and spent far too long staring at the bathroom door, imagining Jemma on the other side. He shook his head, trying to dissuade his very vivid imagination from lingering on that path. Jemma was here, in his apartment, with him, but if he’d ever imagined her walking back into his life, this wasn’t the way he’d wanted it to happen.
He went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. After taking a long drink, he leaned against the counter and found himself staring at the closed bathroom door again. He popped a second beer, figuring she could use one whenever she decided to come back out and face him.
By the time he was halfway through his beer, he was starting to get worried. He knew the limits of the hot water heater and there was no way the water running was even lukewarm at this point. Another eternity passed before it squeaked off but even still, Jemma never emerged from the other side and his concern only doubled.
Was she huddled in a ball in there all alone? Was she crying again? Was she hiding on the other side so that he wouldn’t see? It had killed him to see her cry earlier but he hated the idea of her hiding from him almost as much.
He crept towards the bathroom door. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side. No sobbing, which was a good sign, but nothing else either. He was just raising his hand to knock when the door swung inward and Jemma screamed when she ran smack into him.
“Shit.” He stumbled backwards, nearly tripping before he could right himself.
“Oh my God! Cash!” Jemma squealed, “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“I’m sorry. I was worried that you’d been in there so long and…”
He trailed off the second his eyes finally worked their way past her shocked face. Steam billowed out all around her but the fact that he’d started sweating had nothing to do with the heat of the shower. Her red hair was wet and it hung loose around her shoulders. Her pale skin was flushed pink and she’d changed out of the cut-offs into a pair of equally pink plaid pajama pants that he shouldn’t have wanted to tug from her body because they were cute, not sexy. She looked sweet and innocent and young. He had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out to touch her, wanting to find out if she was still as soft as he remembered.
“Cash!”
“Sorry, what?” He jerked his eyes back to hers.
“You’re blocking me in.” She licked her lips and shifted from foot to foot, “And staring.”
“Sorry.” He moved out of her way and motioned towards the couch, “I popped you a beer, thought maybe you could use one as much as I could.”
“Thanks.”
She sat on the edge of the couch, almost as if she was contemplating making a break for it. He didn’t put himself between her and the door again. Instead he circled around the chair to the other end of the couch and sat down, careful to keep space between them.
He picked up his beer, took a long drink, and watched her do the same. He tried not to notice the way her breasts pressed against the tank-top she was wearing but it was impossible. She’d taken off her bra and he could see her nipples against the thin fabric, a fact he knew she wasn’t aware of or she would have been trying to cover herself. She lifted the bottle of beer to her lips, took a sip and then winced.
“Still hate the taste of beer I see.” He grinned when she nodded.
“Still tastes like piss.” She offered a hint of a smile, “You have anything stronger?”
“I’m sure Colt has a bottle of something hidden in the kitchen.” He nodded, “I’ll take the beer.”
She handed it over and their fingers brushed. He paused because she sucked in a gulp of air. Her eyes widened as their gazes collided and something he was sure she didn’t want him to see flickered across her face. Her body still reacted to him and he had to fight his to let her go when she retreated with a flush and an awkward cough.
He went back to the kitchen, dragged a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet and then scrounged up a shot glass as well. The entire time he moved, he could feel her watching him. His body reacted to her gaze, to her nearness, to the fact that her body reacted to his even if she probably hated herself for it. He’d managed
to cool down the heat in his blood by the time he dropped everything he’d gathered on the dinged up coffee table in front of her.
“Thanks.”
He settled back on the couch, a foot closer to her but no more, “You don’t have to keep thanking me Jemma.”
“Yeah, I do.” She turned to face him with a sigh, “I’ve been kind of bitchy to you all night and you haven’t said a word.”
“It’s not a chore for me to be nice to you.”
“It’s more than that though.” Her eyes searched his face before she looked away, “Isn’t it?”
She’d always looked at him and seen more than he wanted her to. He shouldn’t have been surprised she still did. He wasn’t just being nice because he was a nice guy. He was helping her because she was Jemma, his Jemma. But that opened up a whole can of worms he didn’t think either of them was ready to deal with so he kept his answer simple.
“Yeah.”
Jemma sighed, as if that one word weighed heavily on her, and poured herself a shot of whiskey, downing it before she spoke again, “I think there’s something you should know.”
He leaned forward, started to reach for her and then pulled his hand back, “You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready.”
“I know, but you’re letting me stay here and... and you make me feel safe. I don’t know why or how to explain it but it’s easier to think about facing things tomorrow knowing I’m not completely alone.” She looked on the verge of tears again when she met his gaze, “The guy that hit me and tried to… rape me… he’s my fiancé.”
He tried to focus on what it was she was telling him but his chest ached when she said that she felt safe with him. He hadn’t thought that was possible. Not after what he’d done. But he realized now that to her, maybe his sins were so far removed from her current terror and pain that there wasn’t room for her to hate him right now.
“I figured.” He finally admitted when she continued to stare at him.
“You did?”
“You mentioned that you fell for the wrong guy, again.”
And he couldn’t stop staring at that damn ring on her finger, wanting to rip the offending piece of jewelry off and crush it to pieces. Why the hell was she still wearing it if the bastard had hurt her? He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything about it since she was only just beginning to open up to him.
“Oh…” She poured another drink and tipped it to her lips, “I didn’t realize I’d said that.”
She looked exhausted. She was stressed out and emotional. He tried to remember where it was she’d been living. Houston, or at least that had been it the last time he heard. For her Jeep to have died outside of Old Settlers when it did, she’d been driving all day. She needed sleep but he wasn’t ready to let her out of his sight yet, not now that she was finally talking.
“You going to tell me his name?”
“You’d find out eventually I guess.” She shrugged, “Hoyt. Hoyt Bates.”
He made a mental note to look the guy up after she went to sleep, “What kind of name is Hoyt?”
“Says the guy named after Johnny Cash?” Her eyes softened slightly as she teased him and for that much, he was thankful he’d thought to make a joke.
“Johnny Cash was cool. This guy sounds like his family owns the Bates Motel.”
“Bates Engineering and Technology, actually. His family owns a company that contracts with NASA. They help build rockets.”
He scoffed, “So he’s a rich, abusive bastard.”
“Yeah.”
“This the first time he’s ever hit you?”
She was silent for a long minute as she poured another drink and his gut clenched. He wanted to curse when she refused to look him in the eye. He took a deep breath, tried to hold onto his anger and not let his murderous intentions show on his face when she finally shook her head.
“No.”
“What the hell Jemma?” He snapped and immediately regretted it.
She launched off the couch like she might burst through the door and just keep running. Instead of running away, she paced to the other side of the room and then spun on her heel and came back. She grabbed the whiskey, downed a long gulp straight from the bottle, and then pointed it at him.
“Don’t you judge me, Cash. Don’t you dare!” She was yelling at him but her voice cracked and her eyes watered, “Yes, I was stupid to stay and it was childish to believe him when he said he loved me and he was sorry every time it happened but you know what, I didn’t have anyone else and you can sit there and think that I should have just left the very first time, but I didn’t and I’m the one that has to deal with that for the rest of my life so just… don’t.”
The tears in her eyes threatened to gut him as much as the words. That fucker had hit her, more than once, and she had stayed. He knew better than to reduce it to that. There was so much more to abuse than that. He knew. He’d seen it every day of his life growing up, but even still, the thoughts were hard to deny. He’d asked himself a million times why his mother didn’t leave, didn’t pack up her sons and get as far away from Decker as possible. It wasn’t easy or pretty or even understandable. Abuse never was.
“I’m not judging you, Jemma.” He kept his tone soft when he felt the urge to yell right back at her.
“Yes, you are.” She sniffled, taking another long hit off the whiskey and then letting out a sad whimper, “How could you not be? I’m judging me. I hate me for being so stupid and so weak. I always thought I was strong but I wasn’t… I’m not.”
“Hey…” He reached out and grabbed her wrist when she continued to pace and when she didn’t immediately jerk out of his grasp he tugged her towards the couch, “Sit down. Please. You look like you’re going to bolt and I don’t want to scare you but I’d chase you down if you did.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else to go, remember?”
She collapsed back on the couch next to him. She curled up over her knees and sipped at the whiskey. Her body heat warmed him instantly and he fought the urge to stroke his hands over her. Even if he only meant it in a soothing gesture, she wouldn’t welcome his touch and he couldn’t convince himself that it wouldn’t be just as much to soothe himself so he didn’t.
“You know…” She finally broke the silence with a snort, “If anyone had told me even this morning that I would be sitting in my ex-boyfriend’s living room crying like a baby because my fiancé beat me up, I would have laughed in their face.”
“He did a lot worse than just beat you up, Jemma.”
Her hands shook slightly as she took another sip of the whiskey, “No, he tried, but he didn’t.”
He stared at her as she gazed down into the quickly diminishing bottle. He didn’t know if he believed her or not. She vehemently denied he’d succeeded but her hands shook and her entire body shuddered at the mere mention. He’d damaged her whether or not he’d succeeded and for that, the bastard was going to pay.
As she drank, he took the opportunity to look her over more closely. She had more bruises he hadn’t noticed before because she’d been wearing long sleeves. The black eye had pissed him off. The busted lip had made his fists clench. But the bruises marring her arms, the ones that looked like fingerprints, made that murderous instinct rise up in him again.
Fingerprints. Handprints. Because that bastard had grabbed her, hard. Had he held her down when he tried to violate her? He saw a flash of red haze, anger rising up in him so swiftly he had to fight not to grab his keys and head towards Houston with every intention of committing murder.
“Cash?”
He swallowed the rage the instant she said his name, “Yeah babe?”
Her lips twitched, “You called me babe.”
Since she hadn’t hit him for the old endearment, he brushed her hair out of her eyes, “Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry, some habits are hard to break.”
“I should probably mind… but right now, I don’t. It’s something fam
iliar and familiar is… nice, right about now.”
An admission he’d never thought to hear and a boon he wouldn’t have asked for all rolled into one. His hand had a mind of its own and lingered against her cheek. He wanted to hold her and promise her that everything would be okay. She surprised him again when she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. The pain that had sparked in his chest the second he saw her again became an intense, overwhelming thing that made it hard to breathe.
“I was going to say something.” She opened her eyes after a long moment and her lips curled slightly, “I don’t remember what it was.”
He pulled his hand away when she scrunched her nose, “I think you’re drunk.”
“Hmm, I think you might be right.” She swayed slightly and then snorted, “I think admitting you’re right about anything proves it.”
How many drinks had she had? Too many. He shouldn’t have just handed her a bottle of whiskey and let her go at it knowing she was already upset. Alcohol solved nothing. He knew that better than most. And it also explained her sudden softness towards him when before he’d only earned her fire. She was drunk and vulnerable and he wouldn’t take advantage of that.
“I’ll help you to bed.”
“No!” She yelped and then shook her head, her eyes widening as she scrambled away from him, “If you touch me right now, I’m going to let you and I can’t… Cash… please… I can’t.”
He stared at her. He didn’t want to like the admission that she would welcome his touch. He didn’t want to hate that she only said it because she was drunk. He couldn’t stand her thinking he would take advantage of her though and that was the thought that won out.
“I’m not going to touch you, Jemma. Not like that. I swore not to hurt you.”
“I know. I know you’re nothing like him.” She curled up on the other end of the couch, her eyes drifting shut as she found a comfortable position, “He liked hurting me and you would hate yourself for it.”
“I already do.” He admitted as he watched her settle in, “You’re sleeping out here aren’t you?”
“Better this way.” She opened her eyes to peer up at him, “I can’t be in your bed, not tonight, and before you argue, it’s not that I don’t trust you. I just can’t okay?”
