Chapter 3
Chapter three
Walker
I sat in the dimness of the room listening to Lottie's breathing.
It hadn't settled into the deep rhythm of sleep.
Instead, I could hear the rustle of sheets as she shifted position, the occasional sigh, the way her fingers picked at the edge of the blanket.
Despite her exhaustion and the medication, sleep was eluding her.
I glanced at the text from Doc. He'd seen the bruises all over her as well, most of them days old, and wanted to do more tests.
He was particularly concerned with a rash of smaller ones on her abdomen she'd tried to cover up quickly.
"You still awake?" I asked softly.
A small noise of affirmation came from the bed. "I can't stop thinking," she whispered. "Every time I close my eyes, I feel their hands on me again."
My jaw tightened. I'd taken care of those men, but I couldn't erase what they'd done to her. The trauma was fresh, imprinted on her nervous system like a brand.
"Would you like me to turn on the light?" I asked. Some Littles were scared of the dark.
"No." Her voice was small. "But...could you maybe talk to me? About anything."
I moved my chair closer to the bed, close enough that she could see my outline in the faint light filtering through the curtains. "I could do better than that," I said. "If you trust me."
She hugged Mr. Snuggles closer. "What do you mean?"
"There are techniques," I explained, keeping my voice gentle. "Ways to help your mind and body reset after trauma. To help you get out of the loop of bad memories."
"Like therapy?"
"More immediate than that." I hesitated, not wanting to scare her. "It involves touch, but nothing inappropriate. Just sensory play to help ground you in the present moment."
She was quiet for so long I thought she might have fallen asleep after all. Then, so softly I almost missed it: "Okay."
"I need you to be sure, Lottie. You can say no."
"I trust you," she whispered. "Please help me."
I took a slow breath, centering myself. "I'm going to sit on the edge of the bed. Is that all right?"
When she nodded, I moved from the chair to perch beside her, careful to keep enough distance so she wouldn't feel trapped. "This is about safe touch," I explained. "About reminding your body that not all contact is threatening."
I reached for her hand slowly, telegraphing my movements. Her fingers were cold when they slipped into mine, trembling slightly.
"Close your eyes," I said. "I'm going to trace patterns on your palm. I want you to focus only on that sensation. If other thoughts come, just notice them and let them float away."
She closed her eyes, her lashes damp against her cheeks. I used my index finger to draw gentle circles on her palm, varying the pressure slightly, creating a rhythm she could follow.
"That's it," I murmured. "Just focus on my touch. Nothing else exists right now."
Her breathing began to slow, matching the rhythm of my movements. I watched her face relax as I continued drawing gentle circles on her palm, varying my touch from feather-light to slightly firmer pressure. Her breathing deepened, becoming more even.
"Good," I murmured. "Now I'm going to move to your wrist. Just keep focusing on the sensation."
I traced slow spirals around the delicate bones of her wrist, careful to keep my touch gentle but firm enough to ground her.
The bruises forming on her pale skin made something protective and fierce rise in my chest. Those men had put their hands on her, had tried to take what wasn't theirs to take.
The memory of finding her in that alley, terrified and cornered, made my jaw clench.
I forced myself to relax, knowing Lottie would sense any tension in my touch. This wasn't about my anger. This was about helping her find safety in her body again.
"How are you doing?" I asked softly.
"Better," she whispered, her voice drowsy. "It's...nice. Helps me stop thinking."
"That's the idea." I moved my attention to her forearm, using my fingertips to draw long, soothing lines from her wrist to her elbow and back again. "Your body needs to remember that touch can be safe. Gentle. Respectful."
She made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum. Her body was sinking deeper into the mattress, the rigidity in her muscles finally beginning to release.
"I'm going to try something else now," I said, keeping my voice low and steady. "I'll place my hand on your shoulder, over the blanket. If anything makes you uncomfortable, just say stop. Okay?"
"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, eyes still closed.
I moved my hand to her shoulder, applying gentle pressure through the layers of blanket and my borrowed t-shirt. She tensed momentarily, then relaxed as I began making small, rhythmic circles with my palm.
"Focus on my touch," I reminded her. "Nothing else exists right now. Just this moment. You're safe here."
Her breathing deepened further, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. I continued the gentle pressure, watching as the worry lines on her forehead smoothed out.
"That's it," I murmured. "You're doing so well, Lottie."
I moved my hand to her other shoulder, repeating the same soothing circles.
The bruise on her cheek looked stark against her pale skin, and I found myself fighting another surge of anger.
I'd been doing this job long enough to recognize vulnerability when I saw it, and Lottie was practically a beacon for predators.
Everything about her—her size, her sweetness, even the way she clutched that teddy bear—screamed that she needed protection.
Protection I'd failed to provide tonight.
"You're thinking too hard," she whispered, her eyes still closed. "I can feel it in your touch."
I smiled despite myself. "Sorry about that."
"What are you thinking about?" Her voice was drowsy, but curious.
I continued the gentle circles on her shoulder, considering how much to share. "I'm thinking that I should have been there sooner."
Her eyes fluttered open, surprisingly clear despite her fatigue. "You saved me, Walker. You were there when it mattered."
Something about her simple faith in me made my chest tighten. I moved my hand to her hair, carefully avoiding the bump on her head. "Let's focus on getting you to sleep," I said, my voice rougher than I intended.
I began to stroke her hair, using long, rhythmic movements from her crown to where her blonde curls spread across the pillow. It was an intimate gesture, perhaps too intimate for two people who barely knew each other, but she leaned into it with a small sigh that told me she needed this.
"This reminds me of something," she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy again.
"What's that?" I kept my voice soft, matching her quiet tone.
"When I was little, before my parents died, my mom used to stroke my hair like this until I fell asleep." Her words were becoming slurred with approaching sleep. "I'd forgotten how nice it feels."
The casual mention of her parents' death hit me harder than it should have.
I'd suspected she'd experienced loss, but hearing it confirmed made her vulnerability all the more stark.
How many other losses had shaped her life?
How many times had she been let down by the people who should have protected her?
"It's okay to sleep now," I whispered, continuing the gentle strokes. "I'll be right here. Nothing bad will happen while I'm watching over you."
Her breathing deepened, each exhale a little longer than the last. I watched as her features softened, tension melting away as sleep finally claimed her.
Even then, I didn't stop the rhythmic strokes of her hair, knowing that touch would follow her into her dreams, a shield against the nightmares that might come.
I found myself studying her face in the dim light.
She couldn't be more than twenty-two or twenty-three, though something about her made her seem both younger and older at the same time.
The innocence in her expression, even bruised and battered, spoke of a spirit that hadn't been completely crushed by whatever hardships she'd faced.
Her hand still clutched Mr. Snuggles, fingers curled protectively around one worn paw. The sight of it made something shift inside me, a protective instinct I hadn't felt in a long time.
She was too vulnerable for this world. Too trusting, too sweet, too eager to believe in the good in people. She needed someone to look out for her, to teach her how to protect herself without losing that beautiful light inside her.
I carefully removed my hand from her hair, making sure not to disturb her sleep. She mumbled something incoherent, then settled deeper into the pillow. I returned to the chair, prepared to keep my silent vigil through the night.
Every few hours, I gently woke her as the doc had instructed, asking simple questions to check her mental state. Each time, she responded with sleepy confusion before drifting back under, Mr. Snuggles clutched to her chest.
Around dawn, I found myself studying her sleeping form, trying to make sense of the instinct that had surged through me when I'd seen those men surrounding her. I'd neutralized threats before—it was part of the job—but this had felt different. More personal.
Maybe it was because she reminded me of the vulnerable people I'd sworn to protect after what happened to Gran. Or maybe it was the way she looked at me with those big blue eyes, like I was some kind of hero instead of a man with more shadows than light inside him.
Either way, I knew one thing for certain: Lottie couldn't go back to that apartment near Nebraska Avenue. Not alone. Not when she practically had a target painted on her back for every predator in a ten-mile radius.