Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Jasper
The moment the door closes behind us, the guesthouse settles into a thick quiet stillness, and for a moment I’m lost in the way the shadows cling to the edges of her face.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, something I’ve noticed she does when she can’t quite figure out what else to do.
She’s still shaken from earlier but trying so damn hard to pretend she isn’t.
I don’t want her to pretend with me.
She’s soft in ways I don’t understand yet and sharp in ways she doesn’t even realize. A woman who flinches at broken glass but straightens her spine to build a new life.
A contradiction.
A bruise wrapped in silk.
A survivor who still, somehow, apologizes for surviving.
Clearing my throat, I move into the small living room and lower myself onto the couch, elbows on my knees. Lucy scoots over and practically curls up on top of my feet. Abigail stays standing for a moment. Watching me. Studying me.
“Jasper,” she says gently. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine. Really.”
Her voice shakes a little, but she hides it better than most. She’s trying to convince herself more than me.
“I know you’re fine. But you shouldn’t have to sit alone with your head spinning. Not here.”
She hesitates, then comes to sit beside me. Close, but not touching. “I really am sorry about earlier,” she whispers.
“Don’t,” I say immediately. Too sharp. I force myself to remove the edge from my words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and I won’t have you apologize again. Okay?”
She looks down at her hands and plays with the cuffs of her shirt, something she does when she’s uncomfortable. “It was embarrassing.”
Embarrassing?
Jesus fucking christ.
I swallow hard, anger rising in me so fast it’s almost blinding.
Not at her, but at whoever made her believe panic should equal shame.
At whoever made fear something she thinks she should apologize for.
“Abigail…” I take a slow and steadying breath.
“Abbie. You reacted to something that reminded you of… of things you’ve been through.
That’s not embarrassing. That’s human. You’re allowed to be human. To feel.”
Her throat works like she’s fighting down words. Fighting memories. I know that feeling. I know it way too fucking well. So does Beau.
And before she can say anything else… before she spirals somewhere else she doesn’t need to be, I say, “I want to tell you something. My story. Part of it at least.”
The part I’ve spent so much of my life trying to bury.
“Jasper, you don’t owe me—”
“I know,” I cut in softly. “That’s—well, that’s kind of the point.
You don’t owe me yours either. Not tonight.
Not ever if you don’t want to. But I do want you to understand something.
” I lace my fingers together, forcing myself to sit still.
“I know what it’s like. I know what it’s like to have someone damage your life in ways you don’t come back from the same. ”
A silence settles. Heavy. Thick.
Abigail moves closer. Still not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of her thigh. I stare at the coffee table because looking at her makes it harder to talk. Harder to breathe.
“My dad wasn’t always a monster,” I begin. “That almost makes it worse. He was good. Solid. The kind of man people trusted. The kind of dad any kid would have wanted.” I clench my jaw. “Then one accident… one prescription… one moment… and it all was taken away.”
Images I wish I could forget flash through my head. My father’s glazed eyes, my mother’s trembling hands, Joe’s split lip she swore wasn’t from him. The sound of things breaking. The way the silence in that fucking apartment felt like nothing more than a threat.
“Dad actually used to work here, on the ranch, with Mr. Taylor. And then, one winter, he got hurt in a horse riding accident, and well… I was seven when the drugs took him. Nine, when he started drinking between the drugs. Eleven, when the violence got bad enough that I stopped spending most of my time at home. I’d hide here.
We have guest bedrooms in the new house, but in the old house, one of those was mine.
My safe space from my own father. Chris and Billie made sure I ate.
Made sure Joe and I had clothes. They even gave me chores.
Gave each of us our own horse. Gave us as much purpose as they could.
Even helped mom when her jobs couldn’t cover the bills. ”
Abigail listens without looking away once. Not pitying. Not interrupting. She’s just… there.
It does something to me I’m not prepared for.
“My mom…” My voice cracks, and I grit my teeth. “She tried. God, did she try. She protected us until she couldn’t. Joe took the worst of it, always trying to shield me. She’s only a few years older than me, but to her those few years felt like a lifetime of responsibility.”
Her breath hitches, barely, and I know she’s imagining it. She’s connecting her pain with mine. People who’ve been broken recognize the shape of it in others.
“One night, he came home out of his goddamn mind.” I swallow, and my hands tremble. I shake my head and will the tear not to slip from my eye. “He killed her.”
Abigail doesn’t gasp. She doesn’t speak. She just slowly, carefully, touches my shaking hand. It’s light. Gentle. Like she’s afraid I’ll pull away. Eventually, she whispers, “I’m so, so sorry, Jasper.”
I nod once, because if I speak right this second, I’ll lose it.
“Joe survived, obviously,” I manage after a minute. “Barely, though. Dad was arrested. Life sentence. Sent Joe and me letters all the time, though. I didn’t open a single one. Burned them, actually.”
Her eyes widen—understanding the anger that still simmers inside of me.
“But this year… some things happened with Joe and her guys…” I exhale roughly. “Anyway, he’s gone. Dead. Joe and her men made sure of it.”
Abigail’s brows knit, but she doesn’t look shocked. Hell, maybe nothing could shock her after what she’s lived through.
“I thought I’d feel relieved,” I admit. “Or happy. Or—I don’t know…
free?” I shake my head. “Mostly I just feel… tired. And angry. Angry at the world for turning him into that. Angry that my mom died trying to save herself and her kids from him. Angry that Joe had to protect me when she was just a child herself. Angry that I’m still thinking about him at all. ”
I finally look at her.
Really look.
Her eyes shine with something fierce and something soft at the same time. And God help me, it pulls me under.
“I want to get to a point where he’s not the first thing I remember when I think about my life. I want to think about my mom. About Joe. About the Taylors and Beau, and how if it weren’t for them and everything they gave me, I’d probably be just like him.”
Her thumb brushes the inside of my hand. A barely there touch but enough to light every nerve I have.
“Jasper…” Her voice is almost a breath. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I didn’t do it so you’d tell me your story,” I say before she can go there. “You don’t owe anybody that. That’s yours and yours alone for as long as you want it. Especially with what happened with the Bratva.”
She stills, surprise flickering through her expression.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I know a little more than you think.”
Her breath stutters, and she looks away. “It’s not something I can talk about. Not yet.”
“And you don’t have to,” I tell her. “Not until you want to. Not until it won’t break something inside of you to say it.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and heat licks down my spine.
Because that look?
That look is trust.
And desire.
And fear.
Abigail stands first, smoothing her hands along her thighs. “Thank you for… tonight. For everything.”
I stand too. A step closer than I should. Too close, actually. Because she has to tilt her chin up to keep looking at me. Her breath brushes against my chest.
Shit.
This is not what I should be thinking about. Not tonight. Not right after dredging up all of that darkness. But fuck if my body cares about the timing.
Her eyes drop to my mouth.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough to punch the air straight out of my lungs.
I release a ragged breath. “Get some sleep, Red,” I manage. My voice rougher than it should be.
She nods but doesn’t move.
I lift a hand before I can stop myself and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. Her lips part, and the room tilts. Her hand lifts like she’s about to touch my chest, so I lean in.
Slow.
And I swear the air literally sparks between us as my nose almost brushes hers.
Her breath trembles.
Her eyes flutter shut—
And I pull back.
Not far but just enough.
Her eyes open, confused and so fucking soft.
“I should go,” I say, voice rough. “Before I do something we’re both gonna think about all night long.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks. It’s beautiful.
Deadly.
Opening the door, I pause in the doorway. “Goodnight, Abbie Girl.”
“Goodnight, Jas.”
I step out of the guesthouse before I change my mind. Before I take her face in my hands and erase every inch of distance between us. The porch boards creak under my boots as I walk back toward the main house—heart pounding, hands shaking, chest heaving. Because all I can think is—
I’m in trouble.
Deep, life-altering trouble.
Because, despite being with so many women in my life, that one in there isn’t just getting under my skin. Nah. She’s slipping into the cracks of places I’ve spent years sealing shut.
And I want to let her.