by Jess Bryant
He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. The image of Jemma putting her hand on his chest earlier rose up to haunt him again. Such a small gesture, but it changed everything.
She’d touched him, willingly, and looked up at him with so many emotions swirling in her hazel eyes, that he’d had to touch her too. He’d covered her hand with his and she hadn’t pulled away from him. That simple touch had been more meaningful than any full-on naked, sexual exchange he’d had in five years.
“Fuck.” He muttered as he resituated himself inside his jeans.
This was going to be harder than he’d thought. Literally. He had to walk the line. If he did anything to scare her, anything that came on too strong, he had a feeling he would ruin any good will he’d earned. And he couldn’t risk losing her again.
He tugged his t-shirt back over his head and then, once he was certain he had himself under control, he opened the bathroom door. Jemma was sitting exactly where he’d left her. She was curled up on the couch again, her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She looked so small and delicate that the air in his lungs hardened and he forgot to breathe.
She had her hair pulled back from her face again and it fell from her ponytail in soft natural curls. His fingers itched to pull the clip away, watch it fall around her shoulders. He’d had the right to do that once.
The first time he’d taken the liberty they’d been huddled over their textbooks in the library after school. She’d leaned close to him and he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d smoothed a wild curl back out of her eyes, and he’d been entranced by the soft, silky strands so he’d pulled the clip away and earned her surprised giggle in return.
The memory was one of a hundred. Her hair, that gorgeous red mane with the golden undertones, had fascinated him long before he got his hands on her. He’d pulled her hair once, in elementary school, just because she’d had it in pigtails. She’d kicked him in the shin for it. He might have fallen for her right then and there.
“Jem?”
She glanced up and his heart thumped too hard in his chest. Something was wrong. The light that had been in her eyes earlier was gone now. She looked like she was on the verge of tears again. He started to cross the space towards her and then stopped himself from rushing over and sweeping her into his arms.
“What’s wrong?”
“My phone is charged.” She lifted it to show him.
“Okay?”
She sighed, released her knees and put her feet back on the ground, “I tried Skylar again but she didn’t answer.”
“Oh, well, we figured as much.” He tried for a smile to lighten the mood, “That’s why Colt went to get her.”
“I have a feeling Colt went to get her for a lot of reasons, the least of which was to help me.”
“That’s not true. He might have had his own reasons for going but helping you was definitely one of them. He cares about you too, Jemma.”
“I know.” She dropped her gaze.
“So what’s really got you upset?”
She didn’t look up, “I had a couple of messages from Hoyt.”
Fury flamed inside of him, hot and fast, and he was glad that he hadn’t moved closer to her. He thought that the clench of his fists might scare her. He grit his teeth and fought down the wave of anger that wanted to erupt in violence. He swallowed the curse that sat on his tongue and took an unsteady breath.
He was going to kill that bastard. He was going to hunt him down and when he found him he was going to unleash all of the rage that he kept caged inside of him. He let bits and pieces of it out when he dealt with Decker, but he tried to never let it all out at once for fear he wouldn’t be able to put it back in the cage afterwards. He wouldn’t bother holding back when he unleashed on the asshole that had hurt Jemma.
“He called you?” He could hear the venom in his voice but he couldn’t help that, not now, not with all of his anger issues riding so close to the surface.
Jemma nodded.
“What’d he say?”
“The usual.” She shrugged, bit into her bottom lip and then winced and soothed her tongue over the cut there, “He said he was sorry, that it was all a big misunderstanding and that he loves me.”
“Bullshit.” He snapped, “If he loved you he never would have…”
“I know.” Jemma cut him.
He forced a deep breath, trying to find solid ground again, “Jem, you can’t go back to him.”
A hurt expression crossed her face and he watched her shoulders curl in on themselves. She didn’t physically move but the expression on her face put a mile of distance back between them. She all but recoiled from him as anger quickly covered the hurt.
“You think I don’t know that?” Her chin tilted up, defiance making her words sharp, “You think so little of me that you think I would hear his apology and go running back to Houston?”
“No, I just…
“Think I need a reminder about what he did? About what he tried to do?” Her bottom lip quivered, taking away some of her righteous anger, “Because I’m the one wearing the bruises, Cash! I’m the one that can still feel the weight of him, holding me down and…”
“Jesus, Jem… no.” He started towards her again and when she stood up to try and get away from him he wrapped an arm around her and refused to budge when she shoved him, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Stop fighting me. I didn’t think before I spoke, I’m sorry.”
Jemma went limp against him. She didn’t wrap her arms around him but she didn’t knee him in the balls or try to hit him either. He shifted his hold to something gentler and stroked her back. He hated the slight tremor in her, knew it was his fault, that he had put it there this time, and he could think of nothing but wiping the awful moment, and feeling, away.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I spoke. You know me, I’m not so good with words. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want to go back to him.” She whispered against his chest.
“Then don’t. Stay. Stay here.” His voice broke and he knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t stop the words, “Stay with me.”
He hadn’t asked her that last time. He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d known that it wasn’t fair to ask then and it wasn’t fair for him to ask now either. Not when she was in turmoil, with nothing of her own and nothing to hold onto. But he wanted her to hold onto him and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
Jemma rubbed her cheek against his chest, “I’m not going back to him, Cash.”
“Good.”
She pulled back slightly and he let her, “But I spent years being told what I could and couldn’t do, being told what to feel, so don’t tell me I can’t do something again, okay?”
He nodded as understanding sank in. It wasn’t that he’d brought up the asshole. It wasn’t that he’d thought she might be considering forgiving the bastard. It was that he’d told her what to do. His statement had sounded like an order to her, even if that wasn’t how he’d meant it. What she had heard was colored by her experience so he made a note to be more careful, not about what he said but about how he said it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
She nodded slightly.
“I just meant, you shouldn’t go back to him.” He brushed her bangs out of her eyes, “He doesn’t deserve you.”
“I think that’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me.” Jemma dropped her forehead to his chest and sighed, “For years, he’s been telling me I don’t deserve him. His family never liked me. His friends thought he could do better. It’s been a long time since I had someone on my side.”
His heart broke for her all over again, “You didn’t deserve him, Jemma. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way. You didn’t deserve to be hurt or abused. You deserve the fucking world and I’m sorry that you ever had to deal with a man like that.”
She finally wrapped her arms around him. She didn’t say anything but she didn’t have to.
The words he hadn’t said were there, hanging in the air. She never would have had to deal with a man like that if she’d been with him, if he’d asked her to stay instead of pushing her away last time.
He started to open his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue. He needed to tell her the truth. He needed her to know that he’d lied. Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference to her. He couldn’t take it back. But he needed her to know that he had lied about not loving her.
The truth was, he’d loved her more than he’d ever loved anything.
The fact that he still did was what stopped him. Because he wanted her to know, now, because he needed it. Not because she did. What she needed was to feel safe and know that he would be there for her. She didn’t need him clearing his conscience and adding to her problems right now.
“Come on…” He forced himself to pull away from her, “We still need to take those pictures.”
She frowned but let him move away from her, “You really think it’s necessary? He seemed pretty intent on apologizing and getting me back. I don’t think he’s going to try and press charges.”
“Right now, he’s trying to make nice. When he realizes you’re not coming back, that might change.” He picked up her phone, “Better safe than sorry.”
“You’re right.”
“Careful. I might get used to hearing that.” He smirked and earned a small smile for his joke.
“Where do you want me?”
In his arms. In his bed. In his life, every damn day from here to eternity.
“Bathroom?” She asked when he remained quiet.
He cleared his throat, “Nah, the light in there is terrible.”
“Kitchen?”
“Yeah. Hop up on the counter and I’ll open the blinds to let more light in.”
He felt her move as he leaned over the couch to flip the blinds open. The crappy old plastic knob squeaked as he turned it. Summer sun poured in and when he turned he got a good look at Jemma leaning over the sink to do the same with the small window there. His eyes lingered on her ass, her cute, curvy little ass, barely concealed under those tiny denim cut-offs, and he narrowly escaped being caught staring when she spun back to face him.
“Better?”
He nodded and watched from a few feet away as she put her hands on the counter and then hopped up. If he’d been closer, he could have put his hands on her hips. He could have lifted her and stepped between her legs. He’d purposefully kept those few feet between them so that he wasn’t tempted to do just that. He was still tempted but the distance kept him from acting on it.
“Hand me the phone and I’ll unlock it.” Jemma reached a hand out and he dutifully stepped forward to hand it over.
“You keep it locked?”
She flickered a sad smile up at him before turning her attention to the phone in her hand, “Yeah, I didn’t want Hoyt getting into it, not that there was anything for him to find. The only person I ever had the balls to talk bad about him to was Skylar and he already hated her. I guess I just thought if he kept his locked, I should too.”
“He kept his locked too?”
“Yeah. Trust. It’s the foundation of a relationship right?” She snorted and handed the phone back to him, “Just none of mine.”
He felt that like a low blow. He’d broken her trust too. He hated himself for it, but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Jem…”
She shook her head, “Just take the pictures, Cash.”
He flipped the phone around and sighed, “Lift your chin up and look at the door. Yeah, like that.”
He pushed the button and took a series of pictures of her face. His anger grew the longer he lingered over the marks. Black eye. Bruised cheekbone. Busted lip. He took the photos and bit his tongue until it bled before he gave up and finally asked.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
Jemma stiffened, “Not really.”
He sighed, “Okay, I get that… just… the bruises are healing.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, they didn’t happen yesterday.”
Her chin dropped and he knew his gut instinct was right. He’d spent most of last night staring at his ceiling, trying to work through what he knew and fill in the giant, gaping holes where he didn’t. He knew a lot about bruises. He’d suffered through more than his fair share and he’d watched just as many, more probably, heal on Colt’s body. He knew everyone bruised differently. He knew with Jemma’s pale skin that hers would hold color longer. But these were already healing, which meant they weren’t brand new.
“No. They didn’t.”
He fought not to spill the venom in his mouth. He didn’t understand. He wanted to, but he didn’t. Just like he had never been able to understand his mother. The comparison, the line that connected Jemma and that broken, damaged woman, nearly gutted him and the anger disappeared. Worry took its place.
“Jemma?”
She sighed and he thought for a second she was going to keep quiet. He thought she was going to change the subject or tell him it was none of his business. He was surprised but grateful when she started talking, even though she refused to look at him.
“When I got home Friday night, he was drunk. He only ever gets violent when he’s drinking. The rest of the time it’s verbal reminders that I’m just oilfield trash and if I didn’t have him I’d have nothing.” She swallowed hard, “I don’t remember what started the fight. I’m sure he’d tell you it was something I said or did. It always is, my fault. So he slapped me and when I fought back, he knocked me around.”
He struggled to ask, knowing he wouldn’t get the answer he wanted, “So you left, right?”
“No.” She whispered softly, “I got away. I locked myself in the bedroom. He beat on the door for a while but then he must have passed out. That’s how it usually goes.”
He hated this. Hated that she had to use the word usually when it came to something like this. He hated that she had gone through any of this but he couldn’t undo it. He could only help her get past it.
“I thought, come morning, that he’d be full of apologies like he usually was so I checked on him, made sure he was breathing, and went back to bed.” Jemma winced at the memory, “I didn’t lock the door back.”
“So he woke up and came after you?”
“Something like that. He came to bed and tried to cuddle and when I was still angry, when I didn’t accept his apology, that’s when he held me down and… and…”
Cash growled and stepped into her, pulling her into his arms, “You don’t have to tell me what he tried to do, baby. I know. I know and I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
Jemma shuddered and wrapped her arms around him. He held her until he had himself back under control. He didn’t think she was the one on the verge of falling apart right now. He was far closer to the edge than he’d let himself get in five years, because Jemma was his emotional trigger, she always had been.
“It shouldn’t have taken him crossing that line for me to leave.”
He sighed, “I know a thing or two about abuse, Jem. I know it isn’t that easy.”
“Your mom.”
Not a question, because she knew him just as well as he knew her. He pressed his lips to her temple. It was more affection than he’d ever thought she would let him show again so he took the moment and backed off before his body risked trying for more. Now wasn’t the time.
He pulled back and nodded, “I hate the idea of you ending up like her. Hurt. Broken. All because of a man that wasn’t worth your love to start with. That was always my worst fear for you.”
Those expressive hazel eyes darted over his face and he fought the urge to slip back behind his mask of uncaring indifference. He’d never used it with Jemma. He’d never had to. Not until he’d lied to her, not until he’d decided telling her the truth would hurt her worse than letting her go. Before that, he’d let her see everything, every broken piece of him, and some part of him hoped that she still could. T
hat she could see what he wasn’t saying. That he’d done what he did because he hadn’t thought he was worth her love either.
“Oh Cash…” She reached up and cupped his jaw.
He leaned into her touch when she trailed off. He thought she wanted to say something else but when he met her gaze, his breath caught again. There was more than just softness and understanding there this time.
He knew her so he knew what she was going to do before she did it. He could see it all over her face. Every thought, every emotion, was written there in a language he’d been able to speak since they were kids. He knew and he did nothing to stop her when she leaned up and brushed her lips against his.
Every nerve ending in his body hissed to life when Jemma kissed him. Her mouth on his, it had always been that way. Like two pieces of a puzzle sliding into place, magnets drawn together, destined to smack into one another again and again with enough force to break them apart if they weren’t careful.
It was her. Jemma. His Jemma. So despite all of the reasons he knew it was a bad idea, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her back.
He slid his mouth over hers, keeping it as light and fleeting as the kiss she’d initiated until she made that tiny little noise in the back of her throat, the one that he had never been able to forget, the little moan that was her need tore at the chains he used to tie everything up inside him and he unraveled.
When he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue over her bottom lip, she opened for him willingly. His hands were on her before he’d ever thought to grab her. He angled her head and she arched up, moving closer instead of away. It was that, the blatant trust she had in him when she should have known better, that stopped him.
It took every strand of his moral fiber to wrench his mouth from hers. He couldn’t bear to break the connection so he held tight to her. He kept her close, tilting his head down until their foreheads met and their lips were a breath apart. They were both breathing hard and when he opened his eyes he groaned aloud at the heat and expectations that shone behind her eyes.
