CHAPTER 10
I wake with a gasp. Lie still in the dark as I catch my breath, straining to hear any sounds in the house. But there’s nothing. Not the creak of a door, the shuffle of a foot, not even the sound of Jake sleeping next to me.
My hand inches over the side of the mattress, to the grip of the pistol tucked beneath. I pull it out slowly, then sit up. Grab my phone from the nightstand and turn the screen on, using it to light the room. Just as I thought, I’m alone.
Slipping from the bed, I pull on my bathrobe, knotting the belt tight around my waist. Drop my cell in the pocket. Shove my feet into a pair of tennis shoes. Then, with gun in hand, I cross the room and ease the door open.
I creep down the hallway toward the room I’d spent hours cleaning and organizing earlier—the spare bedroom Butch used to refer to as the medical ward.
Though somewhere along the way it had found a new use as a storage space in the years since he'd stopped taking injury cases, it’s now back to serving its original purpose.
As I step inside, my eyes land on its newest patient. The kit lies curled in a corner of a cage that stretches almost the entire width of the room. As the only resident, there was no need to put the raccoon in one of the smaller enclosures.
And though I can’t help smiling as I take in the nest it made with Jake’s T-shirt, the one he’d surrendered straight off his back, the only way we could get the young raccoon to stop its sad mewing and settle in for the night, my overriding emotion right now is concern. I was sure I’d find Jake in here.
Backtracking, I pad silently toward the living room, then past it to the kitchen. Draw up short at what I find. Because there, lit only by the weak moonlight filtering in through the window, is the man I love. And everything is most definitely not okay.
A lump grows in my throat as I stand there, feeling like a voyeur as I stare at him where he sits in nothing but his boxer briefs, his head cradled in his hands as he hunches over the table. So many words form on my lips, but they all wither and fade before they have a chance to be spoken.
Jake wouldn’t want me to catch him like this. Whatever it is that’s happening, I don’t want to make it worse.
I feel my pulse fluttering beneath the thin skin of my neck as I back away, not stopping until I’m at the head of the hallway. I clear my throat softly. Then call out into the night.
“Jake?”
His voice sounds startled and anxious as he answers. “Yeah. In here.”
This time, when I reach the kitchen, he’s sitting up. He gives me a wan smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Is everything okay?”
His lips twitch. “Everything’s fine. I just couldn’t sleep.”
It’s a first. Since we started sharing a bed, Jake’s always fallen asleep right away while I lie awake for hours battling insomnia, dark thoughts, and even darker memories.
I enter the kitchen warily, approaching slowly like he’s a wild animal I might scare off.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
I remember reading an article once that suggested that if you needed to have an important conversation with a man, it was better to do it in a situation where he wouldn’t feel pressured to make eye contact, like while you’re sitting side by side in a car.
That won’t work now, but I have another idea.
Walking behind him, I curl my hands over his shoulders and start kneading his muscles, surprised by how many knots I find. Though he tenses at my initial touch, by degrees, he relaxes until his rigid posture and the strained tendons along the sides of his neck are gone.
He leans back against me. Slips his hands over mine. Though I hate to undo all my hard work, now that he’s unwound a bit, I have to know.
“Is this about your mom?”
In an instant, the knots are back. His voice is equally tight as he says, “No.”
“It’s okay to be upset. You know that, don’t you? It doesn’t matter what she’s done. She’s still you’re family.”
“I’m not upset about Janine. She’s right where she needs to be.”
The way he says it suggests otherwise. Rounding his chair, I prop myself against the table in front of him. “Then what are you upset about?”
“Nothing.”
“Jake—”
“Seriously, Cassie. I’m not going to say something just because it’s what you want to hear. Sometimes I wish you’d just back off.”
My head reels back. He’s never spoken to me so sharply before. And though I know I’m overreacting, I can’t help it.
Tears sting my eyes. I blink rapidly, trying not to let them fall, but as he stands so abruptly that his chair tips over, I lose the battle. One slips over my lower lid and trickles down my skin until it falls off the cliff of my jaw.
His face crumples.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
His touch is soft as he cups a hand to my cheek. The kiss that follows is even softer. But almost before it starts, it’s over.
I catch his arm as he pulls away. “Stay.”
“I’ve got to get some sleep.”
My chest aches as he steps around the table. I feel like I’ve been gutted with a plastic spoon. A second tear escapes, then a third. The sound of his steps is fading. He’s almost left the room. If I’m going to do something, it needs to be soon.
“I’m sorry,” I say, voice breaking over the words.
He stops.
“For what?”
“For whatever I’ve done to make you so mad at me.”
“Cassie, I’m not mad at you.”
I give him a look over my shoulder that lets him know I don’t believe him. Turn my head away as a fresh volley of tears begins to fall.
Then he’s standing in front of me again, though he’s so blurry I can’t see his expression. His thumbs gently dry under my eyes. “Please don’t cry.”
“Then don’t lie.”
“I’m not.” He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, holding me against his chest. His face nestles in my hair, muffling his voice as he says, “I’m not going to say that I don’t get annoyed by how reckless you can be, but it’s not you I’m angry with.
It’s the guy who hit you today. The one who shot at you last night.
And all the rest of the people lining up to try and hurt you. But mostly it’s with myself.”
“Why?” I ask, not understanding.
“Because I should be doing more to protect you. To keep you safe. And every time something like this happens, I feel like I’m failing.”
Shaking my head, I pull back until I can see him.
“It’s not your job to keep me safe.”
“And it’s not yours to get me to talk about my feelings.”
“What else is there to do?” I joke, wiping at my eyes and sniffing.
“I can think of a few things.”
The look in his eyes is hungry, but the kiss that follows is downright ravenous. I wrap my legs around his waist as he unties the belt on my bathrobe. Shiver as he guides the sleeves down my shoulders, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake.
I tell my mind to be quiet. Try to focus on how his touch feels rather than the worries that plague me. Do my best to enjoy the moment as he lifts me from the table and carries me to the bedroom.
Given everything we’ve been through lately, it’s understandable that we’re both on edge. Frustrated. Worried. That our tempers are short and our nerves are frayed.
It’s quite possible that my desire to make him open up to me stems from a desperate need to gain control over as much as possible in my life right now.
I should respect that while all the stress makes me yearn to be closer to Jake, it might have him wanting more space, instead.
Maybe the disconnect I’m experiencing stems more from my own insecurities rather than a problem between us that actually exists.
But I just can’t shake the feeling that he’s hiding something. And if I’m right, considering the lengths he’ll go to in order to hide it, I’m afraid to find out what.