Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
JADE
Thank goodness Niall gave me his Kindle to use.
With a Kindle, he can’t tell I haven’t read a full page in the last ten minutes. He doesn’t know I’ve been staring at the same paragraph long enough for it to blur into unintelligible words.
If I were reading one of his many paperbacks, he’d have seen through my ruse already.
Although Niall’s supposed to be working on an equipment order, he keeps sneaking quick glances at me from his end of the couch, each time with the same narrowed gaze and worried expression. Every fifteen minutes or so, he looks over and asks if I need anything—if I’m hungry, thirsty, cold, hot, is there something else he should add to the Amazon order—and I tell him the same thing every time.
I’m fine. I don’t need anything. Thanks for asking. I’m just really into this book.
He’s already worried enough. The last thing I want to say is, I’m a total mess. I can’t concentrate on reading because my mind is going in twenty directions. Everything is all mixed up.
The only time I felt okay was when you held me.
Nope. Not saying any of that. So I’m pretending to read and working really hard at my poker face while everything inside is a turbulent mess.
Also, I don’t want to interfere with Niall’s job any more than I already have. Their launch is less than two weeks away, which means the entire team is working hard to make sure everything is ready. But Niall hasn’t left his apartment for the last two days other than for quick meetings with his teammates in the hallway.
I know why, and I feel guilty about it.
He would say that’s silly. That if the positions were reversed, I’d do the same thing. And he’d be right.
But guilt is a tricky, clinging thing.
And the guilt I’ve carried for the last three years is so much heavier here. It’s stickier, dragging everything into it. I worry that I’m upsetting Niall by being here. That I’m interrupting his job. That I’m taking away the opportunity from another pro-bono client by accepting Blade and Arrow’s help.
Of all the things I could worry about, my mind keeps coming back to something that happened years ago instead of the danger that surrounds me now.
Not that I could forget about all the other crap. That’s an impossibility.
I can’t avoid thinking about the nightmares that have haunted me for the last three nights—dreams of being trapped in that facility, touched, sold to a faceless monster. They were so bad that first night, Niall announced he was sleeping on the bedroom floor so he could get to me quickly.
Did I feel guilty about that, too? Yes. But knowing he was right there, that even if someone got into B and A, Niall would stop them… I couldn’t bring myself to refuse.
Another thing I can’t ignore is my rising anxiety. Usually well under control, but after everything that happened, I’m completely off balance.
My chest is constantly tight, like a yoga band’s been wrapped around it. I can’t stop tapping and jittering and pacing. And the cleaning…
So embarrassing.
Niall seeing me melting down over some spilled drops of coffee. And then me, sitting shame-faced as he inspected the counter and gently assured me it was perfect. Feeling near tears when he found lotion for my hand after I rubbed it raw with cleaning solution.
In the past, when I’ve had flareups, I could hide it. Alone in my apartment, no one knew if I cleaned a little too much or reorganized my bookshelves for the tenth time.
Rationally, I understand it. I’ve been through a traumatic experience and this is just my body reacting. But this is in front of Niall, and I don’t want him to see me as weak or broken.
“Jade. Are you doing okay?” I glance up from the Kindle to meet Niall’s gaze, and a tiny frisson of something moves through me, though I immediately try to quell it. His brows arch up. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry?”
I force a small smile. “I’m okay. Really. Just really interested in this book.”
He flashes me a skeptical look, but thankfully, doesn’t push it. Instead, he says, “We should eat something soon. You didn’t eat much for lunch. Or breakfast. I’m just going to finish this order, and I’ll get something started.”
Keeping up that little fixed smile, I nod. “Okay.”
I couldn’t stomach much at lunch because I was still mulling over the latest news about my case.
My case. It sounds so surreal. I’m supposed to be the one helping people. Not the one needing to be helped.
But if I’m going to have people helping me, I’m glad it’s Niall and his team. Not that I’d ever doubt Niall; I know how intense and driven he is—Ranger, trained sniper, Green Beret, weapons sergeant—but I’m learning the rest of his team is as well.
Dante and Xavier already visited my apartment in Austin under the guise of maintenance workers, coming back with news of hidden cameras and a tracker on my car. “We’re leaving them alone for now,” Dante explained. “We don’t want to tip anyone off that you have professional help involved. If they think you’re on your own, or with a friend, they’ll be more likely to make a mistake.”
Matthew worked his magic and got me hooked up with a new laptop that allows me to securely check my email and social media. That was another blow. I found worried messages from my friends and coworkers, all sounding scarily the same—they were approached by alleged family members saying they desperately needed to get in touch with me.
My first instinct was to reply to everyone, to tell them I’m safe. But Niall stopped me, explaining, “It’s safer if you’re off the radar for now. It’s possible one of your friends could have their phone tapped, or their computer hacked, so we don’t want you in contact with any of them.”
Then I got a message from Felix, and that put Niall on high alert. Not that what Felix said was bad—just a worried message asking if I was okay and where I was—but when I mentioned that I’d been on one uncomfortable date with him, the red flags were raised.
Personally, I don’t think Felix has it in him. He’s a slightly off-putting chiropractor with a tendency to talk too loudly and mansplain, but to help coordinate my abduction and captivity? I don’t see it.
Another unpleasant discovery for the day is that apparently I quit my job. Someone emailed my work, from my laptop, no less, and submitted a letter of resignation. They claimed I was quitting so I could travel and find myself .
As if that sounds anything like me.
But it came from my email, so Dr. Regan believed it. And when my friend Olivia tried to report me missing after she couldn’t reach me for three days, the police claimed my resignation was a simple explanation.
“Your parents didn’t report you missing,” Niall told me with a frown. “Is that odd?”
It isn’t, and I’m not surprised in the least. My parents and I aren’t particularly close—they don’t approve of me, and I’ve given up trying to please them—so we’ve settled on an unspoken schedule of communication. One phone call each month, visits whenever my mother hosts one of her events, a stilted Christmas dinner, and a requisite appearance at my father’s big company gala each year.
Since my last phone call with them was only two weeks ago, they wouldn’t think to worry. And I’m okay with that. But when I explained it to Niall, he got this strange look on his face and said quietly, “I didn’t know, Jade. I’m sorry.”
If Niall wasn’t so darn nice, maybe I wouldn’t feel so conflicted.
Maybe I wouldn’t keep thinking about everything that happened between us.
But since I’ve gotten here, I can’t stop thinking about that terrible day. Each time I see Niall’s photos with his Green Beret team, I feel sad and guilty all over again. And when I see his pictures with Shea, his arm always wrapped protectively around her, I can’t help flashing back to the horrible words I flung at him.
And I can’t stop remembering what he said to me.
As we faced each other in the small waiting room outside the ICU, he snapped, “You’re a PA, Jade. A damn medical professional. How did you not notice? You live in the same city. You’re her best friend. How did you fucking miss this?”
I’d been asking myself the same thing. Torturing myself with it, really. But I’d been busy with my new job, and Shea kept making excuses not to see me. She had a date. She was working late. Her cramps were terrible. The new neighbor next door had invited her over and she wanted to be polite.
Everything sounded normal. And when I’d call or text Shea, she sounded okay. Not just okay. Happy.
Things were fine even though her boyfriend, Oliver, was working overseas. She loved her job. Niall was doing great.
I should have pushed. I should have insisted on seeing Shea sooner. I should have thought about that time in college, after she broke up with her first boyfriend, when she started starving herself.
If only I’d thought.
But instead, two months went by before I finally showed up at her apartment; after she hadn’t returned my calls in days.
The landlord finally let me in, and when I first saw Shea, I was sure she was dead. Emaciated, barely conscious, lanugo all over her body, hair falling out…
My best friend. Near death. And I failed her.
Once I got Shea to the hospital, I knew I had to reach Niall. It took hours to find someone at the base that could help me because he was overseas. I couldn’t even talk to him, all I could do was leave a message saying it was an emergency, and Shea needed him.
By the time Niall got there, two days later, rumpled and red-eyed and features drawn with worry, Shea was out of the woods. But when he came back into the waiting room after seeing his little sister so ill, he blew up at me.
Blamed me.
Upset, stressed, sick with worry and guilt, I threw the accusation back at him. I said if he hadn’t been so concerned with his job, he would have been there for Shea. That he had a responsibility to be around since their parents weren’t. That the blame fell on his shoulders as much as mine.
I still feel ill thinking about it.
Three months later, Niall left the Army. His contract was up, and he chose not to re-up so he could be there for Shea.
I was happy for Shea; having her brother around would help, but I was heartbroken for Niall. The thing he was most proud of—being a Green Beret—was over.
If only I’d paid closer attention.
It was too hard to see Niall after that, even after our sharp words had dulled. Even after we exchanged apologies, I felt too guilty.
But now I’m here, and I’m reminded of how much it hurt all over again.
I’m reminded of my guilt.
Of the aching emptiness when Niall stopped being a part of my life.
Of the loss of my silly dreams, wishing one day he’d see me as something other than his sister’s best friend.
“Jade. Hun.” Niall sets his laptop on the coffee table and moves closer to me. Worry darkens his gaze. “What’s wrong?” His hand twitches toward my cheek before falling away.
“What?” My brain is stuck in the past, and it takes me a second to bring it back to the present. “Nothing’s?—”
“You’re crying .” This time, he brushes a finger across my face, and it comes away wet. “Talk to me. What can I do? Do you want to talk to Rhiannon? Or the counselor I mentioned? I could call her now.”
His expression is so earnest, so concerned, his voice so kind; it makes the tears I didn’t realize I was crying flow faster. “I’m okay.” A sniffle. “I’m just?—”
“Honey, please .” Now he’s looking at me desperately, and if I wasn’t so emotionally shaken, I’d laugh at his obvious panic over my tears. “I’ll do anything to help. Just tell me what I can do.”
But what can he do?
Without thinking, I blurt out the unvarnished truth. “Forgive me.”
“What?” Niall jerks back, his eyebrows jumping up. “Forgive you for what, Jade? There’s nothing?—”
Voice quivering, I say, “For screwing up. For failing Shea. For making you leave the job you loved. For being so cruel to you.” Full-on crying now, I duck my face away. “I’m so sorry, Niall. I feel so guilty. I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but?—”
Niall touches my chin, tilting my head up to look at him. His face is a mask of shock and horror. “Oh, Jade. No .”
No. Of course he can’t forgive me. I can’t forgive myself.
I try to turn away, but he gently holds my chin still. His voice is pained but tender. “Jade, honey. Why would you say that? I don’t blame you. Not even a little bit. I thought… I told you. We talked. I told you I was wrong.”
He did apologize; two years ago while I was visiting Shea. She had just moved into her own apartment and I thought it would be safe, but he stopped by with some boxes she’d left at his place. When Shea went into the other room, he told me he was sorry about what he said at the hospital, but it was quick and stilted and I barely had my own apology out before he raced away.
“I thought you were just trying to smooth things over. So it wouldn’t be weird for Shea.”
“No. I wasn’t...” He frowns, his face pinching as he goes silent for a second. “Ah, shit. I did a crap job apologizing, didn’t I? Just rushing off. I was… it doesn't matter. I should have made more of an effort. Fuck, Jade?—”
“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who screwed up. I should have figured it out. You were right.” Dashing away tears, my breath shudders before I ask, “How could you not blame me?”
Niall stares at me, his eyes dark with emotion, his jaw tight and working. “Ah. Shit. I’m so… I’m so sorry. I should never have said those things to you.” He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing at my tears. “I was feeling guilty. And worried. And I lashed out at you. But I should never… You saved Shea’s life, Jade.”
“But if I’d noticed sooner.”
“Shea was sick. And she was hiding it from everyone. That’s not your fault. Shea told me. You kept reaching out to her. You called. Texted. And when she didn’t return your calls, you went over there. You made that landlord let you in, you got Shea to the hospital, and you were there for her.”
I want to believe him. But it’s so hard.
Niall takes my hands in his, engulfing my chilled fingers in his warmth. “I’ve felt terrible about that day, Jade. I know I hurt you. And I am so damn sorry. But it was not your fault. I don’t blame you. For any of it. Not for a second.”
Hope kindles, stutters, fights to stay aflame. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes.” He stares at me with an intensity that makes my chest squeeze. “I absolutely mean it. And I will always regret hurting you. But I won’t hurt you again. I promise. And you have nothing to feel guilty about.”
My hands tighten around his. “It wasn't your fault, either. I’m sorry I said that. I never meant it.”
“Ah, hun.” He swallows hard. “I know you didn’t.”
We stare at each other for a frozen moment as some of the pain slips away. Then Niall looks at me very solemnly, and says, “Can I hug you? Would that be okay?”
It would be more than okay. It’s all I want.
But I don’t say that. I just nod, my throat too tight to speak.
Niall exhales.
Then he wraps his arms around me. Hugs me to his broad chest.
One big hand cups my nape, the other moves in slow strokes up and down my back.
He rests his cheek on my head, his breath feathering across my hair.
As I snuggle into his embrace, my heart fills.
His lips press to my head, and my breath catches.
Somehow, I know this hug is different.