28. Archer
Chapter 28
Archer
I t’s been three days since Lottie’s last therapy session, and every hour since then, I’ve watched the color drain from her eyes like someone cracked her open and let everything good spill out. I watched her sit in front of me, tears burning down her cheeks, and I’ve been spiraling ever since.
The thing about war is that you learn to watch people. You learn their movements, the slightest twitch that can give them away.
You learn what their silence means.
I know Lottie’s silences like I know the scars on my palms.
This isn’t the silence of her healing—it’s the silence of her bleeding out. She’s been moving like a ghost. Barely eating, barely speaking, like she’s not even here.
I know that look.
I saw it every day overseas—in the mirror, in the faces of the men I call brothers. I saw it in Luke’s eyes the night I dropped him home… the night I saved Lottie from the waves and lost him to a rope around his neck.
The vacant, glassy-eyed distance.
I could have saved him .
I should have stayed, but then I would have never saved her.
I saved her, but she had that same look in her eyes, and it scares the shit out of me.
It’s why I left the Marines. Not because I couldn’t handle it—hell, that was easy compared to this. The thought of being halfway across the world while she slipped beneath the surface again, silent and unreachable, clawed at me until I couldn’t breathe.
And now? I’m suffocating all over again because she hasn’t come home. Hasn’t answered the phone.
Mom said she had pole fitness, but she should have been done by now. I’m pacing in front of the door like a madman, but I can’t help it.
She won’t talk to me, not about the session or about what triggered her so badly. I’m trying to be patient, but I can only be patient for so long when it comes to her.
What if they cornered her again?
I can feel the shadows creeping back in. I see the way she’s locking herself in the bathroom, the shower running too long, and her eyes a little too red when she emerges. In the way her hands shake when she thinks I’m not looking.
It’s driving me mad that I can’t fix it.
By 11 p.m., I’ve called everyone I can think of. Emma texts me back to let me know that Lottie has canceled her next session.
I’d almost convinced myself to back off, that I was just overreacting, but I can’t.
I text Oscar.
I don’t know why I do, instinct maybe?
Me
You working tonight?
Oscar
Yeah, why?
You good?
Me
Have you seen Lottie?
…
I wait, then wait some more as the three dots appear, then disappear again.
I move. Keys, jacket, boots. I pocket my phone, and I’m out the door and in the truck before Oscar can reply.
* * *
The Velvet Room.
My heart flatlines, then slams back into my ribs like a sledgehammer.
The sign out front is subtle. Black. Classy. It doesn’t scream ‘strip club’ until you pull into the lot and hear the bass reverberating through the pavement.
I get out and stalk toward the door, only half aware of Oscar jogging toward me. He holds his hands up to get me to stop. “Archer, just breathe a second,” he signs wildly. I need you to not overreact.”
Nope.
I shove past him.
The place is dimly lit. Smells like perfume and dollar bills. Music pounds low and sensual through the air like a siren’s call.
Women weave their way through the crowd, walking laps in heels, confidence and exhaustion warping together on their painted faces.
I’ve never stepped foot in a place like this—never wanted to.
“Siren!” The word cuts through the haze, drawing my eyes to the center stage.
Lottie. Wearing next to nothing. Moving in ways that make my throat dry and my fists clench.
The girl I promised safety to.
The girl I’d tear down the world for.
My girl.
And here she is undressing for strangers.
My vision goes black for half a second. I forget how to breathe, and I’m moving before I even realize it, shoving through the crowd, ignoring the bouncer who’s suddenly at my side, stepping in front of me.
“You need to leave,” he says, one hand on my chest. I stare at it, forcing my eyes from Lottie. I could break it… easily.
“Move. Now,” I grit out through my teeth.
Oscar comes to my side. “It’s okay Reed,” Oscar signs while sighing heavily like he’s sick of my shit already. “I’ve got this.”
I don’t say anything else, just move past them both.
Then I’m there. Standing at the end of the stage.
Lottie spins around the pole. Her eyes flick toward me, and everything in her body freezes. She stumbles but manages to correct herself.
“Off!” I bark, loud enough that I know she can hear me over the music that’s thumping through the building.
A few men whistle and laugh, think it’s part of the show, but then I climb up.
“Sir!” the DJ yells.
I ignore him. I ignore all of them, my sights locked onto her. Striding across the stage, I wrap an arm around her waist and lift her like she weighs nothing. I toss her over my shoulder like a sack of trouble, her protests drowned out by the music.
“Put me down!” Lottie hisses, kicking. “You can’t?—”
I jerk my shoulder, cutting her off with an oomph. Her fists beat at my back.
“The hell I can’t,” I growl.
She wriggles, but I hold her tighter. Trying to ignore how good she feels half naked in my arms, but then we’re out the back door, the chilled air slapping me in the face.
I stop just long enough to drop her to her feet, not letting her go until she’s stable.
Lottie wraps her arms around herself, trying to ward off the chill. I rip my hoodie off with a growl, pulling it over her head.
Her chest is heaving. Eyes glassy with unshed tears. “You don’t get to manhandle me.”
“Like I hell I don’t!” I hiss, my voice low and vibrating with something I haven’t felt in years. “I should put you over my knee right now.”
The bass still thuds faintly behind us, muffled by the door.
“You had no right to drag me out of there!” she shouts.
“No right?” My voice rises, disbelief clawing at my throat. “Lottie, you were stripping… on a stage for strangers.”
“And?” she snaps, chin raised like a dare. “I’m not yours to control.”
“That’s not what this is!” I throw my hands up, hating the way she flinches. “You disappeared. Your phone was off. I was scared out of my god damn mind, and then I find you doing this? You’re hurting. Running from your problems and pretending like this is power.”
“It is power,” She fires back. “Up there, I’m Siren. I’m not the girl who broke. I’m not a victim or voiceless. I’m not a sob story in my therapist’s notebook. I’m the one in control.”
“You’re testing my control. That’s not control.” I snarl. “Putting yourself on that stage, letting them look at you like…”
“Like I’m a whore?” she cocks her head. “Up there, I’m untouchable. That’s the point of all of this, Archer. They can’t have me. No one can but they see me, and for once, I get to choose how people see me. I’m powerful on that stage. I’m Siren. The one who loses herself in the music that lures the men to the stage.”
My hands are shaking. I want to reach for her—God, I want to—but she’s burning with fury right now. Eyes lit with a fury I’ve never seen before, and I don’t hate it. Hell, I think I’ve never wanted her more.
Lottie’s always been soft. Agreeable. She’s bent herself to what she thought we all wanted, when all we’ve ever wanted was for her to fight for herself, for what she wanted.
And now… Now she’s standing in front of me, fists clenched, spine straight, rage in her voice like she’s finally stopped apologizing for putting herself first.
And she’s breathtaking.
This is the Lottie I’ve always seen hiding beneath the trauma, the silence, the years of shrinking herself down so no one could hurt her. And now she’s rising, raw and furious, daring me to push her, and all I can do is stare at her like a man starved.
I’m not scared of her anger. I want it like nothing I’ve ever wanted before because it means she’s still in there… still fighting.
And I’ve never loved her more than I do in this moment.
I take a deep breath. “I can’t sit back and watch you throw yourself into something dangerous just to feel in control,” I practically plead with her.
“That’s rich coming from the guy who buried every emotion he has.”
I flinch. She knows exactly where to hit.
“I came back for you,” I say, finally admitting the truth to her. “I left the damn Corps because the thought of losing you was worse than anything I saw over there.”
For a second, her expression falters, but just as quickly, she shuts down again, eyes narrowing. “Well, maybe you should’ve stayed.”
Pain lances my chest. That one hurts.
I know she doesn’t mean it, but I can’t help the lump that forms in my throat as I stare at her.
She looks broken. Drowning in my hoodie that hits her knees, her brown chestnut hair ruffled from being thrown over my shoulder, and brown haunted lifeless eyes that never quite found their spark again stare into mine with unshed tears.
We’re both standing there, barely breathing, when the door to the club swings open. Oscar steps out, expression thunderous. “Enough.” He gestures, eyes bouncing between us.
Lottie dips her head—shame or maybe exhaustion clouding her features.
Oscar sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Look, I gave you both time to try to sort this out, but this is turning into a scene.”
“She shouldn’t be here!” I snap, signing the words.
“She’s a grown woman, Archer,” Oscar signs. “And right now, she doesn’t need a soldier barking orders at her.”
Lottie looks at him, surprised.
Oscar focuses on her then. “If you want to stay at mine tonight, you can. Maybe some space will do you both some good.”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes, please,” she signs back.
My chest tightens like she’s been ripped away, even when I know she’ll be safe with Oscar.
“Lottie—”
She cuts me off with a look. Not cold. Just tired—bone-deep tired.
“I can’t…” she chokes on her words, slipping back into her safety—her silence. “I just can’t tonight.”
“You’re running away. We need to talk about this.”
“No. I’m choosing space.”
Oscar gives me a warning glance, like he’s daring me to make this worse. I force myself to step back.
“I’ve kept her safe for over a year. I’ll look after her, but you need to breathe. She’s not yours, Archer.”
“She’s not yours either.”
“No, she’s not. She’s her own person. I just keep her safe while she figures out who that is.”
Lottie walks to Oscar’s side, not even looking at me.
Just like that, she’s gone as Oscar leads her back into the club, his arm slung over her shoulder.
I try to tell myself this is what she needs, but the feeling of my heart tearing in two has my legs jerking to follow her.
I’ll give her tonight. I can acknowledge that I was an asshole, and she has Oscar to comfort her.
Tomorrow though… Tomorrow we’ll talk about everything.
It’s time Lottie knows exactly how I feel about her.