Chapter 25 Violet #2
“And Ford,” he offers. “But he already told you that. Is there a problem?”
Is there a problem? I mean, other than the fact that this is a massive breach of privacy, how the hell did he know I needed my things packed in the first place?
Let alone where they should be dropped off?
Add in the fact that I slept in his bed and woke up to him working out in his gym.
When did he even have the time? Oh, and let’s not forget about how he had to have snooped to find out where I live in order to pick up my things and potentially run into my—
I blanch. “What about my dad?” I blurt out.
A vein along Jagger’s temple pulses. “I left him breathing.”
Breathing? He left him breathing? Wait. What the hell does that mean? My eyes widen. “Jagger—”
He turns to me. Whatever amusement from our little bantering session from moments ago is absent. Reaching up, he drags his fingers along the side of my face, careful not to apply too much pressure. “He won’t touch you again.”
Part of me wants to ask for details. What he might’ve said to my dad.
What he might’ve done to my dad. I scan him up and down again.
If things were physical, it was clearly one-sided.
Jagger looks as put together as always. Or maybe it’s why he fought with his brothers this morning?
To cover any bruises that might arise? “Are you…are you okay?” I ask.
His mouth twitches. “I’m fine, Vi.” Reaching for something in his back pocket, he offers a worn envelope.
It’s the same one from the haunted house.
The same one my dad stole last night. My heart rate ratchets up at the sight while I fight the urge to snatch it from him and cradle it to my chest like it’s a newborn baby.
How did he get it? How did he convince my dad to give it back?
Question after question spark through me, leaving me speechless and grateful and confused and—
“Take it,” he murmurs.
My attention snaps to his dark eyes. “Jagger…”
“Take it,” he repeats.
He’s giving it to me. My money. Hell, it’s not only my money.
It’s so much more. It’s my laptop. My freedom.
My lifeline. My security. The list goes on and on.
And it might not mean much to a guy like Jagger.
A man who literally has everything he could ever want.
But to me? To me, it’s everything. My eyes burn with gratitude, but I swallow past the lump in my throat, refusing to cry over something so… silly. “Thank you,” I murmur.
Our fingers graze as I reach for the envelope. Relief. Exuberance. Disbelief. They all fight for the spotlight as a heavy weight is lifted from my shoulders. He got it back for me.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he says with a wry lift of his lips, “I’m gonna help carry your shit to your new apartment so Ford can’t take all the credit again.”
Jagger takes a step toward his truck, but I reach for his arm, stopping him. “One more question,” I interrupt.
His gaze slides to me, and he waits.
“How did you know where I lived?” I ask.
“Your old house or this one?”
“Both.”
“Old house was Roman’s doing. This one was mine. Any more questions?”
This one was mine?
Is he serious?
Shaking my head, I let him go and tuck my hair behind my ear. “What do you mean this one was your doing? Ms. Thomas called me like three weeks ago.”
He glances up at the student housing and folds his arms. The movement highlights the man’s bulging biceps and corded forearms in a way that is seriously unfair. “Guess we’ll never know.” Bending closer, he brushes his lips against the shell of my ear. “By the way, this makes it three.”
“Three?”
“You now owe me three times,” he clarifies with a gruffness that tugs at my lower belly. “But don’t worry.” A wicked gleam hits his eyes. “I’ll wait ‘til you’re healed before I come to collect.”
“Stop makin’ out and help us carry this shit!” Ford yells from behind us.
Pulling away, Jagger chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Come on.”
We walk back to his truck as Ford grabs the last box from the back. “Too late,” he adds.
Jagger laughs. “You interrupted our conversation just to prove you were the one to grab the last box? You serious?”
Ford grins over his shoulder but doesn’t stop his assent up the stairs. “As ED.”
Really? Again?
“What’s up with your brother and ED?” I ask Jagger.
Ford gasps. “Hey, it’s a very serious disease—”
“You’ve already told me this,” I remind him, planting my hand on my hip.
“And it’s just as true now as it was then.”
I snort. “Keep on walking, buddy.”
As we follow him upstairs, I don’t miss the way Jagger slows his speed to keep up with my snail’s pace.
It’s not that I’m tired, it’s just…well, my ribs hurt, okay?
Pressing my hand to my side while keeping my opposite on the railing, I finish the never-ending trek to the second floor, and when we finally make it to my new apartment, Ford has already set the last box onto the kitchen table.
“Oooo, what is this?” he asks as he steps into the kitchen like he owns it.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
Jagger leaves my side, disappearing into my bedroom, though I’m too distracted by his younger brother to ask where he’s going.
Searching through the drawers, Ford grabs the knife June had been using and starts slicing himself a piece of sourdough. “You’re excused.”
“Sorry,” Roman apologizes for him. “Seems Harden Estate raises more animals than Old McDonald himself.”
My mouth lifts. “Good to know.”
“By the way, who’s in the shower?” Roman adds.
“My new roommate,” I explain before my eyes bulge. “Please tell me you didn’t walk in on her.”
“Nah, we left your bathroom stuff on your bed. That a problem?”
“No, that’s perfect.” I hesitate, twisting my fingers in front of me. “And thank you,” I add. “Seriously. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to handle it. I mean, I would’ve if I had no choice, but—”
“No problem, Violet.” Roman’s heavy footsteps reverberate through the kitchen as he moves closer while eyeing my face with the same level of concern as Jagger had.
The only thing missing is the heat. No, this is more…
sterile, maybe? I’m not sure, but I don’t miss the resignation simmering beneath.
Roman’s from The Drift. He knows being smacked around is more common than either of us wants to admit.
Yet, even with that knowledge, seeing it firsthand isn’t exactly a picnic. “Glad you’re okay,” he adds, quietly.
“Thanks, Roman. And, uh, me, too.”
“Holy shit, this is good,” Ford mumbles through a mouthful of bread.
Either he’s oblivious to our conversation or he simply doesn’t give a shit.
I’m not sure which option I’d prefer, though neither would surprise me.
The man’s clearly self-centered, but the more I get to know him, the less I can picture Ford any other way.
It’s almost endearing…almost. He steals another bite of bread. “Did you make this?”
The idea alone is laughable. I don’t bake.
I don’t cook. Hell, I don’t even buy perishables.
It’s not that I don’t like homemade food or things that aren’t canned, it’s just that I’ve learned if I only have so many hours in the day, it’s best spent working, studying, and maybe, if I’m lucky, hanging out with Lexie, too.
Add in the fact that I had the crap kicked out of me last night, and I’m not sure when I would’ve had the time to whip up a loaf of heaven like the one June created.
Eyeing the bread in question, my mouth waters at the reminder of my first bite before the guys arrived.
“No,” I answer Ford. “No, I did not make it. "
“Shame. I would’ve paid you five grand for the recipe right here, right now.” He cuts another slice, then steps over the exit, giving me a half-assed wave over his shoulder. “Bye, Vi.”
Bye, asshole.
“See ya later, Violet,” Roman says. He disappears out the front door, leaving me alone with a very sexy Jagger. Well, kind of. I peer down the hallway again. Where the heck is he?
“Jagger?” I call.
He reappears from my room. “I put a bottle of pain killers on your night stand. There should be a bag of frozen peas in your freezer, too.”
“Really?”
“Should be,” he returns. “I told Roman to stock it with a few. Keep your face iced as much as possible and take it easy.” He pauses. “But only ten to twenty minutes at a time. Any longer can cause more damage than help.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say. I’m not used to people taking care of me. Not last night. Not today. Not at all. For most, it probably feels normal. But for me? I don’t know. I can’t help but feel…confused? Grateful?
“Get some rest,” he repeats. Heading toward the door, he taps his knuckles against the jamb, adding, “See you around, Violet.”
As he disappears, leaving me alone in the quiet kitchen, I breathe out, “See you.”