Chapter 22 Violet #2
He moves toward the door as I grab the hem of my blood-stained T-shirt. I start to pull the fabric over my head when my side screams in protest, and I let out a whimper. “Shit.”
“Vi?” Jagger’s concern taints my name from the doorway.
I give up and lower the fabric again. Well, this is problematic.
I’m not sure if it’s because of the angle or what, but there’s no way I can take off my shirt by myself.
The realization is disheartening at best. Talk about a really, really shitty day.
Jagger’s back is to me, but I don’t miss the glimpse of his profile as he fights the urge to look back at me.
To check on me. To make sure I’m okay. The strain in his square jaw.
The tightness in his shoulders. He’s worried. About me.
“You can turn around,” I say.
Facing me again, he frowns. “Do you need help?”
“I’m being a baby.”
“You just had the shit kicked out of you.”
“I know, but…I still feel like a baby.”
His mouth twitches. “Not a baby. Here.” He reaches for the hem of my shirt. “I won’t look.”
“It’s not like there’s much to see,” I quip as my face flames. Did I seriously just mention my lack of boobs to a guy who’s about to see me half-naked? Come on, Violet. “But, even if there was, I’m wearing a bra, so…”
“I won’t look,” he repeats. “Raise your arms the best you can. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Prepping for the familiar anaconda of agony through my ribcage, I take a deep breath and lift my arms as far as I can, panting as he slips my T-shirt over my head. “Okay, yeah,” I exhale. “Yeah, that hurt.”
“You good?” he asks.
I force myself to nod, no matter how much it feels like a lie. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
“Shit, Vi.” He leans to one side, bending closer to examine my bruised ribcage, so I do the same. Sure enough, my side is a rainbow of red, purple, and blue. Okay, I take back the acting like a baby thing. I have every reason to be whining. That shit looks awful.
“Damn,” he mumbles.
“You should see the other guy.” Jagger’s attention snaps to my face. “Just kidding,” I add. “He looks fine.”
The same tightness in his jaw reappears. “Do I need to worry about him searching for you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“He got what he wanted.”
“Vi,” he warns.
“He took the money.” A lump forms from those four simple words, but I swallow past it. “That’s all he wanted, and I was…I was stupid. I fought him for it. And lost.” I motion to my battered face. “Obviously.”
It’s shameful. Admitting my missteps out loud. But I’m not one to run from shit, so it is what it is. I screwed up. Now, the only thing to do is to move forward. Even if it sucks. Even if it means showing up on my enemy’s doorstep in hopes of cashing in on his pity and receiving his help.
If only I couldn’t feel Jagger’s stare on the side of my face. I twist my fingers in my lap, unsure what else to say. I’ve already admitted the truth. That, in a way, this is partially my fault.
His hands find my thighs and squeeze gently before he gives in, changing the subject.
“Let me check to see if any of your ribs are broken.” His fingertips trail along my side and stop just beneath my right boob.
Goosebumps break out along my skin from the innocent touch.
It reminds me of exactly how close we are.
Hell, he’s literally standing between my parted thighs.
His hands on my bare skin. While I sit here in my bra. Half-naked.
And maybe it’s because I’m already drained from everything that’s happened tonight, but this is a dangerous position to be in. I feel vulnerable, and alone, and I could really use being held right now. That much, I know.
“Fuck,” he repeats, oblivious to my inner thoughts. “How many times?”
I blink, forcing myself to the present. “What?”
“How many times did he kick you?”
The harsh words only exhaust me more. “Jagger…”
“Answer me,” he orders.
“I don’t…I don’t know. It was a blur.”
His nod is slow, but he doesn’t say anything else. He simply goes back to taking note of the damage. “Gonna be a rough few days.”
“Figured as much.”
His thumb brushes against my side again before he lets me go. “Ready?”
I nod, and he snags the massive T-shirt from the countertop. Bunching the fabric, he slides it over my head, careful not to hurt me as he cautiously helps pull my arms through the holes until I’m drowning in his T-shirt.
It smells like him. I fight the urge to lift my shoulder and take another whiff, but it’s a hard battle. Seriously, how can someone smell so good?
Opening a small bottle, Jagger takes my hand and shakes a few pills into my palm. “For the pain.”
“Thanks.” I smile, wincing. “Again.”
“No problem, Little Thief.” Picking up the frozen peas, he offers it to me. “Last thing.”
The bag is cold but pliable as I press it to the bridge of my nose and sigh in relief. “Okay, that actually feels kind of good.”
“Not my first rodeo,” he says. “You hungry?”
I shake my head.
“You sure?”
“I ate some peanut butter before I went to the carnival, so—”
“Peanut butter?”
“Mm-hmm.”
His gaze manages to darken all over again. “And here I thought we were getting somewhere.”
Confused, I murmur, “What?”
“That’s not a meal, Violet.”
I pull back, surprised by his response. Talk about a one-eighty. “What do you mean, it’s not a meal?”
He scoffs. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean, it’s not a fucking meal, Violet.”
Leaning back a bit more, I cross my arms while still holding the peas in my hand. “Then I guess we have different definitions of a meal.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. First of all, peanut butter is super calorie dense. It also has protein and healthy fats—”
“And vitamins?” he pushes.
Offended, I point out, “You know, not all of us can afford fresh fruits and vegetables for every meal. Besides, I like peanut butter. Love it, actually, so maybe you shouldn’t knock it til you’ve tried it.”
“I’ve had peanut butter—”
“With saltines?” I insist. “Because it’s really good, and it can be a meal if you have enough of it.”
“No wonder you’re like a bird,” he mutters. “But I’ll tackle that tomorrow.”
“Tackle what?”
Ignoring me, he continues, “For now, it’s time for bed.”
I could argue with him. Part of me wants to.
But I’m also so exhausted that I don’t really care whether or not he approves of my dinner habits.
I don’t really care if he approves of anything I do.
He’s a Harden. And Hardens are stubborn, and egotistical, and holier than thou, which he’s proven time and time again.
Or has he?
His hand grazes my back as he helps me off the counter, making sure I take things slow so I don’t feel any more pain than I’ve already experienced tonight.
When I showed up on his front porch, all I was hoping for was a place to crash.
But this? Seeing this side of him and feeling taken care of?
It’s been…nice, almost. Off-putting, and confusing as hell, but nice, nonetheless.
Don’t get me wrong. I know he’s a fighter.
I’m sure he’s experienced what I’m feeling firsthand.
But part of me wants to ask if he’s done this before.
Taken care of someone. Bandaged their wounds.
Handed them a bag of frozen peas. Spoken gently.
Jealousy unfurls deep inside of me, though I refuse to acknowledge why.
What is wrong with me? This changes nothing. So, he’s proven he has a heart. Again. What’s the big deal? It doesn’t matter. Not to me.
As I step over the threshold and into his room, Jagger flicks off the bathroom light and begins leading me to the bed. His bed. My heels dig into the ground.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
What’s wrong? He’s Jagger Harden, asshole extraordinaire, and he’s offering me his bed. That’s what’s wrong.
I lick my bottom lip, careful of the split edge as I glance down at the plush pillows and dark sheets. They look so comfortable, I could cry. “I can…I can sleep on the couch or…”
“Not gonna let you sleep on the couch, Violet.”
I peek up at him. “Okay, well, do you have a guest bedroom, or…?”
“Not gonna let you sleep there, either.”
“Jagger, I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”
“Rather have you here than anywhere else.” He lifts the edge of his dark comforter, then waits.
Unsure what else to do, and way more exhausted than I care to admit, I gingerly slip beneath the sheets, only cringing when I move a bit too quickly for my own good. Once I’m settled, Jagger brushes his hand against my forehead, careful not to jostle the bag of frozen vegetables resting on me.
Confident I’m not going anywhere, he steps toward the door. “‘Night, Violet.”
He flicks off the light, and my stomach lurches as the room becomes blanketed in darkness. There’s nothing but a glimmer of light from the hallway, and I have a feeling it’s about to disappear, too, if I don’t say something.
“Hey, Jag?” I call out.
“Yeah?”
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.
“Will you…” Dammit, I’m doing it. “Will you stay with me?” I ask.
What little light gleams in from the hallway shines in his wide eyes, highlighting his surprise.
He isn’t the only one. I’m shocked as hell, too.
This is Jagger Harden. I’m in Jagger Harden’s bed.
And, not only am I in his bed, I just asked him to climb into it with me all because I’m afraid of the dark.
Because I’m too exhausted to battle my demons tonight and for some reason I can’t explain, whenever he’s nearby, I don’t have to.
“You want me to stay?” he questions.
Adding stupid to the long list of emotions wreaking havoc on me, I cave, confessing, “Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”
Silence. Hell, it’s so loud, I’m about to take it back and maybe even climb out of his bed altogether and hightail it to my car out of pure embarrassment, but then footsteps scuff against the floor.
It’s all I get as a concession as he moves straight for the massive, king-sized bed in the middle of his room.
Slowly, he lifts the comforter on the opposite side, slipping beneath the sheets.
It’s mechanical, almost. His movements. But the mattress dips nonetheless until he’s lying next to me.
Part of me wonders if I’m imagining it. The heat radiating off him despite the space still between us.
Part of me doesn’t care even if I am imagining it because it means I’m not alone. Not tonight. And it’s more than enough.
With a quiet, almost tense sigh, he rasps, “You good?”
I hesitate, taking a few seconds to pay attention to my body and whether or not I’m good. The meds. The peas. The clean shirt. The sore muscles. The tender nose. The bruised ribs. The soft mattress. The warm body beside me. Am I good? “Yeah,” I whisper, surprising myself with my own candor. “You?”
“I’m good, Little Thief.”
“Okay.” With the peas gently resting on my face, I let my eyelids flutter closed. “Goodnight.”
“‘Night, Violet.”