Chapter 15 Wrecker
WRECKER
I locked the door behind us with a sharp click.
Gun on the nightstand. Safety off.
The second I turned around, I saw it.
Amanda was unraveling.
She stood frozen in the middle of my room like someone had erased the floorplan from her memory. Her arms crossed tight over her chest. Her fingers digging into her own skin like she was trying to anchor herself to reality.
Her gaze wasn’t on me. It wasn’t on anything.
Just… far away.
Her mouth parted like she wanted to speak but whatever she meant to say never made it out.
She blinked slow, once, then took two steps back until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She didn’t sit so much as collapse, folding in on herself like a house with a cracked foundation.
No fight left.
No mask.
No armor.
Just a girl who looked like the world had finally broken her.
Her knees didn’t buckle all at once.
It happened in pieces.
First her calves went tight, locking like the signal from her brain had been delayed.
Then her thighs started to burn, the ache deep and dull, like she’d been holding herself upright on borrowed strength.
Her shoulders crept inward without her meaning to, chin dipping, breath thinning out until each inhale felt like it stopped halfway.
Her body was done pretending.
She stared at the floor like it had suddenly lost its shape, like depth and distance didn’t work the way they were supposed to anymore.
The room felt too big. Too far away. Sounds blurred at the edges.
The hum of the generator, boots moving somewhere down the hall.
Until everything narrowed into the single, overwhelming fact that she couldn’t keep herself standing.
Her fingers curled against her arms, nails biting into her sleeves, searching for something solid. For a signal. For proof that she was still here.
It didn’t come.
Her weight shifted back, uncontrolled, and when the backs of her knees hit the bed, the rest of her followed. Not a fall. A collapse. She folded inward like gravity had finally won, arms wrapping around her middle as if she could hold herself together by force.
She wasn’t crying yet.
She wasn’t shaking yet.
She was empty.
The kind of stillness that comes after fear burns through everything it can touch and leaves nothing but ash behind.
I crossed the room slowly and dropped to one knee in front of her. “Sweetheart,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “Talk to me. Please.”
Her eyes didn’t focus.
Didn’t move.
The tremble in her hands spread to her shoulders. Then her jaw. Then her whole damn body.
“I thought…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I thought I was past freezing.”
I didn’t speak.
Just waited.
Let her get it out the way she needed to.
She blinked again. Slow, like it took effort, and another tear slid down her cheek.
“But when he walked in…” Her breath caught. “My whole body left me.”
She looked at her hands like they belonged to someone else. Like she didn’t trust them anymore. Then her shoulders buckled forward and she folded again. This time toward me.
I caught her.
Pulled her into my lap before she could fall.
Her whole body fit against me like she was made for it, but there wasn’t an ounce of strength left in her. She shook in my arms like a leaf in a thunderstorm, and all I could do was hold her tighter. Wrap my arms around her like a shield. Breathe steady when she couldn’t.
“You didn’t freeze,” I murmured against her hair. “You survived.”
Her head moved once, barely. A small shake. A no.
She didn’t believe it.
Didn’t believe me.
I leaned back just enough to see her face. Her cheeks were soaked. Her bottom lip trembled. Her hands fisted in the front of my shirt like she was clinging to the only solid thing in the room.
So I gave her something to hold.
Every instinct in me screamed to stand up.
To pace.
To check the door again.
To grab my vest, my gun, my radio. Anything that meant I was doing something instead of watching her fall apart right in front of me.
That’s how I survived. Motion. Control. Action.
Standing still had never been my strength.
I felt it crawling under my skin now, that restless pressure, the need to move before something worse happened.
My eyes kept cutting to the corners of the room, cataloging exits, listening for footsteps that didn’t belong.
My hand flexed once at my side like it wanted to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there.
But Amanda wasn’t asking for that version of me.
She didn’t need a soldier.
She didn’t need a shield.
She needed someone who wasn’t going to disappear the second things got hard.
So I stayed right where I was.
On one knee. Close enough to feel her warmth. Close enough that if she swayed, she’d hit me before the floor. I kept my voice steady, my hands calm, even while everything inside me was wound tight and dangerous.
This wasn’t about fixing her.
This was about proving, without words, that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Not to gear up.
Not to scan the perimeter.
Not to hunt the men who’d done this.
There would be time for all of that.
Right now, the only thing that mattered was that she wasn’t alone in the wreckage.
I tilted her chin with two fingers. “Listen to me,” I said, keeping my voice steady even when my heart was breaking. “You got scared. That’s human. Freezing is giving up. And red—” I touched my forehead to hers, voice dropping. “You’re still fighting.”
Her breath caught. Her lips wobbled. Then she broke.
Really broke.
She sobbed hard, messy, no-holding-back cries that cracked something deep in my chest. Her body curled tighter, hands still gripping my shirt, face hidden in my neck.
I held her like I’d never let go.
Because I wouldn’t.
Not ever.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that. With her sobbing against my chest, me trying to keep it together when all I wanted was to take the pain out of her body and break it over the heads of every bastard who’d ever made her feel unsafe.
But eventually, the sobs quieted.
Not because she was okay.
But because she was wrung out.
I could feel it in the way her weight shifted against me, her fists loosening their grip, her breathing turning shallow and hoarse.
And still, she didn’t speak.
Didn’t lift her head.
Didn’t ask for space.
So I stayed exactly where I was.
I shifted back against the headboard, adjusting her carefully in my lap. She didn’t fight it. Didn’t say a word. Just let me move her, like the weight of her body had finally caught up to her soul.
Her breathing started to even out. Still shaky. Still shallow. But real.
I kept one hand on her back, steady pressure, counting her breaths without letting it show. The other stayed loose at my side, every instinct screaming to move, to act, to hunt—but I didn’t.
She needed stillness.
After a long moment, her fingers lifted. Barely there. They brushed my jaw like she was checking that I was real.
“You came for me,” she whispered.
The words landed harder than any confession ever could.
I tipped my forehead to hers. Didn’t close my eyes. Didn’t soften the truth.
“Every time,” I said.
Her shoulders sagged against me, like something inside her finally let go. Not peace. Not relief. Just the first moment she wasn’t bracing for the next hit.
Then came the knock.
Firm. Controlled.
Doc.
I didn’t move. Just raised my voice enough to carry. “She’s safe.”
“I know,” Doc said gently. “But she needs fluids. Food. Rest.”
Amanda didn’t react. Not even a flinch.
Doc paused. Lowered his voice. “You both do.”
“We’ll handle it,” I said.
Footsteps retreated. The hallway went quiet again.
Amanda curled tighter into my chest like the world had finally gone dim enough to rest. Her breathing slowed. Her grip loosened.
She fell asleep right there. No warning. No fight left. Just exhaustion taking what it was owed.
I stayed exactly where I was.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t sleep.
My hand rested between her shoulder blades, counting every breath. My other stayed close to the nightstand, muscle memory sharp and ready.
Because this wasn’t just fear anymore.
This was intent.
Someone had walked too close.
And I was done letting them think they could.
No one was taking her.
Not past me.
Not alive.