Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The terrified look on Vanessa’s face was gut-wrenching, but the true, genuine fear that had torn through him when he saw her on the floor with that asshole looming over her was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. The closest he’d come was the night he’d gone to prison for his brother.
Scrubbing his hand over his head, he knocked softly on Vanessa’s door and waited. Robertson was handled, and now all Jordan wanted was to see her. God, he needed to see her.
When there was no answer, he knocked again, louder this time, and called her name. When he turned the knob, the door opened.
“Vanessa,” he called again, but softer, his tone low.
He crossed the living room and saw it was empty, then headed down the hallway toward her bedroom, where he tapped the door lightly before opening it.
She wasn’t in there either. When he found the bathroom and second bedroom empty as well, his dread twisted to something sharper.
He backtracked to the living room and called her name again. This time loud enough to be heard throughout the whole apartment.
When he reached the long table beside the galley kitchen, he spotted her painted red toes peeking out from behind the kitchen doorway.
He rushed to where she huddled on the floor—back pressed to the cabinet, legs drawn up, face hidden against her knees—and crouched in front of her.
Tiny tremors wracked her body, her shoulders shaking, her back rising and falling in shallow pants. Her hair fell over her body, like a dark, silken shroud.
Gently, he moved the curtain of her hair to the side. The instant his fingers brushed her skin, she stiffened. The response stung like a physical blow.
This was his fault. He should’ve never left her.
“Vanessa.”
She lifted her head, eyes wide and glassy, nearly black. Her face was pale apart from the angry red marks where the skin had pressed against her knees. Her lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath, each inhale coming in short, frantic gasps.
He recognized the signs of a panic attack immediately and shifted his body so that his legs straddled her body, drawing her closer. His hands moved reverently over her face, pushing her hair aside, his thumbs grazing her cheekbones, over and over, in an attempt to ground her.
“I need you to look at me, princess. Right at my eyes.” He waited until her wild gaze finally locked onto his before he took one of her hands. “I want you to try to match my breathing, okay?” He inhaled deeply to demonstrate.
Vanessa continued her ragged breathing.
Jordan did it again, one slow, deliberate breath through his nose and out his mouth. When she didn’t follow, he placed her hand on his chest, drawing her closer, and did it again. One long and steady inhale.
And she copied him this time, with a single shuddering breath. But the storm in her stare didn’t subside.
“Keep looking at me.” He tried to keep his tone reassuring, tried to temper the chaos of his own emotions so she wouldn’t see them.
She nodded as she pressed her fingertips to his pec, inhaling with him again. After two more jagged, uneven breaths, he curled her hand so her index finger pointed to his heart. On the next inhale, he guided her finger down his torso and counted the breath.
“One…two…three…four.” He kept the movement slow and steady.
“Now hold your breath for four,” he told her, and dragged her finger across his lower stomach as he counted.
“Release.” He drew her finger back up his chest and counted again.
“And inhale,” he whispered, guiding her finger back to the starting point, until they’d completed the full square of his torso. “Again.”
They repeated the motion three more times, inhaling, holding, exhaling and repeating until finally she completed the sequence without his help, drawing the map on his chest as she brought her breath back. Her vision started to clear, and color seeped back into her cheeks.
After a few more moments, Vanessa flattened her hand to his chest, pressing it to his heart.
“Okay?” He knew she wasn’t, not by a long shot, but he needed to see where she placed the needle on the scale.
She gave a small nod before scooting forward until she straddled him this time.
Her legs locked around his hips, one hand still pressed firmly against his heart, her cheek resting against his shoulder.
He held her tightly, so tightly that he feared she might start suffocating again, but even so, he couldn’t bring himself to let go.
Tonight had been too close of a call.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he rasped as he smoothed her hair down her back, rubbing in gentle circles at the base.
Maybe she didn’t hear him, because all she said was, “You came.” She murmured the words against his shoulder, her face nuzzling closer to his body as if she sought comfort in his presence.
“Not soon enough.” And he’d never forgive himself for it. Tightening his arms around her, he repeated, “Not soon enough. I’m sorry, Vanessa, he should’ve never gotten this far.”
She untucked her hand from between them and wrapped both palms around the nape of his neck, enveloping him in a hug that pressed their bodies even tighter together. “Thank you.”
They stayed like that, on the cold kitchen floor, for what seemed like an eternity. Only when the tension drained from her body did he gently scoop her into his arms, cradling her to his chest as he carried her to her bedroom.
“Do you want to be tucked in? Have a shower or eat? You tell me, and I’ll make it happen, baby.”
She slid to her feet as he put her down, and she took in her room as if she was only now coming back to reality.
“I’m cold. I think I want a shower.” She shivered. “And a tea.”
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer. He was finding it more and more impossible to take his sights off of her. “You go shower. I’ll make tea.”
Once she was in the bathroom, he stood outside the door until he heard the water running, then he went back to the kitchen.
Where did she keep the tea? He surveyed the neat countertops, noticing the high-end coffee machine.
That was more his speed. A coffee guy, plain and simple. A basic coffeepot and the same beans every time. He didn’t do decaf, blonde roast, or the vanilla shit. Just straight-up black coffee.
The only time he’d had a cup of tea was when Ivy’s nana visited. She insisted on brewing it in a fancy teapot and used real cream, and because she was the closest thing to a grandmother he’d ever had, he drank whatever she gave him with a smile on his face.
He opened cupboards until he found tea. Five boxes. Hell.
He lined them up on the counter and stared at them. Orange pekoe, green, chai, rose hibiscus, and peppermint. Which fucking one was he supposed to make? And what the actual fuck was hibiscus?
Might as well boil water while he figured it out. Taking the kettle from the stove, he filled it and set it over the highest temperature, then he pulled out his phone and looked up the different teas.
Definitely not orange pekoe. That was caffeinated, and his girl needed rest. Same went for the green and chai.
The rose hibiscus was some loose-leaf shit, plus he still wasn’t sure what hibiscus was so he wasn’t touching that, which left the peppermint.
Google told him peppermint was soothing for the stomach, so he took out a bag and put it in a big mug he found in the cupboard.
While he waited for the water to boil, he called Dex for an update. After Vanessa ran inside, he’d called the cops and Dex. They’d taken a subdued Robertson to the station, promising to get the officer who was assigned to Vanessa’s case involved ASAP.
The police were holding Robertson overnight, but he’d likely make bail by morning. Dex reassured Jordan that he’d make sure the producer left Portland as quickly as he came. This time with a clear message to leave Vanessa alone forever, or pay for it on Jordan’s less legal terms.
The bathroom door opened as he poured water over the bag.
He carried the steaming mug to her bedroom and found her sitting on the edge of her bed, in a fluffy robe and damp hair hanging around her shoulders. A faint smile ghosted her lips when she saw him in the doorway.
Vanessa always looked beautiful. From the day he’d laid eyes on her, he could admit she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
But sitting there, stripped of makeup, without carefully styled hair or pretty clothes, she looked exquisite, but also innocent and young.
He clenched his jaw. The thirteen-year age gap between them had never been more obvious.
“Peppermint,” he said, hoisting the tea like an offering.
“That’s perfect, thank you.” She gestured for him to set it on the nightstand beside the bed.
“Feel better?”
She still looked tired around the eyes, emotionally and physically drained, but she nodded. “I feel I should explain.” Her gaze flitted from his to the floor.
“No need. Anyone would’ve reacted after an asshole like that—”
“It wasn’t Kurt,” she said. “I mean, yes, it was Kurt. He’s a total asshole, but it wasn’t just him.” Head hanging low, she curled her toes nervously into the rug beside her bed.
“Vanessa, you don’t have to talk about any of this if you don’t want to.”
She shook her head. “When I was nineteen, I moved in with my first real boyfriend. His name was Noah.”
Somehow, Jordan already hated Noah, and she’d only uttered his name. He clenched his jaw as he listened.
“He was a model too. We had a lot of fun together, traveling to destination shoots. He was—” She faltered, then lifted her gaze to his. “He was my first.”
Jordan fought not to react. He had no right to. And yet, his hands twitched at his side.
“After ten months of living together, he went away on a shoot without me. We were apart for three weeks, the longest we’d ever been. I—” She made a soft choking sound.