Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
Jameson
Lane’s face is buried in my chest, fingers knotted in the cotton of my t-shirt like they’re clutching a lifeline.
Her body trembles against me; each ragged breath she takes feels fragile, like porcelain.
Luke is curled in the fetal position a few feet away, cradling his bloody nose, pained groans leaving his throat with every exhale.
I smooth a hand down Lane’s hair, the soft strands slipping through my fingers, and press her closer. “It’s okay, Wildflower,” I murmur against her hair, low enough that only she can hear it. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
I hadn’t planned on coming, she told me not to, but I had a surprise for her. When I pulled into the lot and saw Luke’s truck, a hot, animalistic rage ripped through me so intensely that it left me shaking.
That anger doubled when I walked in and saw him; his hands on her, her back against the wall, his mouth against hers as she pushed at his chest, trying to escape him.
I wanted to kill him.
I would have if Lane hadn’t run into my arms, needing me.
I guide Lane onto a nearby stool, one of the few that isn’t laying on its side, and gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my palm lingering on her cheek. “I need to deal with him. Stay right here.” A small nod is the only indication that she heard me.
I stalk toward Luke, my boots thundering against the floor as I close the distance. Reaching down, I grab him by the throat and haul him up. His hands hang limply at his sides, blood dripping down his chin.
“You fucked up.” I draw my fist back, ramming it into his already assaulted nose with a satisfying crunch. He stumbles back, hands flying to his nose. More blood pours out, his hands not doing much to stop it.
I clamp a hand around the back of his neck and haul him toward the door, tossing him out. He slams onto the hard ground, groaning as he rolls across the unforgiving pavement.
I close the distance, a murderous glint in my eye. My heavy boot comes down on his gut, hard, pulling a pathetic groan from his throat. “If you ever come near my girl again, I’ll make your death slow and painful.”
I kick him again. “Get the fuck out of here.”
He pulls himself up, one arm gripping his stomach, though he’s anything but steady on his feet. His eyes flick between me and the door, before booking it to his truck, slipping a few times on the way.
I watch his taillights disappear down the street, fading into the night.
Inside I find Lane right where I left her. Her body trembles, eyes staring straight ahead. I cup the side of her face, drawing her eyes to mine. “Let me clean up, then I’ll use your phone to call Rodney to come in and cover. Then I’ll take you home, Wildflower.”
Again, a small nod is the only indication that she hears me.
The drive to her house is silent, the gentle hum of the engine the only sound. My eyes flick to her every few seconds, my hands tightening on the wheel as I fight against the urge to pull over and drag her onto my lap.
I roll my Bronco to a stop in front of her house, killing the engine. Crickets chirp in the background, their night song adding to the tension that hangs heavy in the air.
I turn, taking her in, the dim street lights casting shadows across her face. She’s staring out the window, unmoving.
My chest tightens. I call her name softly, coaxing her back to me. “Wildflower.”
She flinches at my voice, despite the gentleness of my tone. Her eyes dart around, wild and unfocused, before landing on me. Her shoulders start to shake as she breaks, sobs wracking her body, raw and unstoppable.
I reach across the cab and pull her to me. She doesn’t fight it, allowing me to settle her across my lap. She buries her head in my chest, tears soaking my shirt, her sobs filling the space.
My arms encircle her, holding her to me. Afraid she’s going to fall apart if I let go. “Do you want me to call Kam?” I whisper against her hair, my chest squeezing tighter with each sob that leaves her.
Walking away and letting Kam comfort her would kill me, but I will if I'm not who she needs.
She says nothing.
“Baby, either I call her or I stay. I’m not leaving you alone right now.”
“I want you to stay.” It comes out in a whisper, so soft I barely hear it.
I carry her inside, bridal style, and lay her down on her bed, like she’s the most delicate thing in the world. I stretch out beside her on my side, fingers ghosting through her hair as I gaze down at her.
The moonlight and streetlamps bleed in through the curtains, painting her face in soft, forgiving light that doesn’t match the pain written across her face.
Her gaze is fixed on the ceiling, unblinking, as silent tears stream down her face.
My thumb gently swipes a tear away that trails down her temple. “Tell me what you need, baby.”
She turns, curling into me, her voice raw. “Just hold me.”
My chest cracks open as my arms come around her, pulling her closer until she is flush against me. My fingers brush through her hair softly, giving her what comfort I can. Eventually, her breathing evens out as she drifts off, but still, I don’t let go.
My mind drifts to a night years ago, when I held my mom while she cried, holding a rag full of ice to her swollen eye, after one of dad’s beatings. I’ll never forget the way her body shook against my small frame, the smell of stale bourbon and cheap aftershave thick in the air.
I’ll never know what it is to be a woman in that situation, but I do know what it is to have someone strip your power away. To make you feel small and weak.
My dad made me feel small and weak.
He held the house like a kingdom, ruling it with fists and fear. The rules were strict and the punishment immediate. I learned young what a man could be when he chooses to dominate.
Vic showed me the opposite. He taught me to be steady, patient, and protective. He taught me that men could build safety instead of taking it away.
Sometime through the night, I must have dozed off. I’m wrenched awake by the sound of Lane’s panicked whimpers. She’s thrashing in her sleep, hands clawing at the sheets like she’s fighting against some invisible enemy.
“No, no, no,” she mumbles, voice a desperate plea. “I got away. I have a new life now.”
I gently run my finger down her tattooed arm. “Wildflower,” I murmur, gently coaxing her from sleep. “It’s just a dream, baby, you are safe.”
She bolts upright, her breathing uneven and ragged. Her hands flying to her throat, eyes wild as they dart around the room, searching for shadows in the dark.
I sit up, arm brushing lightly against hers, keeping my voice soft, cautions. “Lane.”
Her eyes drift to mine, recognition flashing as the panic clears. She sags back against the headboard, her hands falling to her lap. A tear trails down her cheek, my name leaving her lips like a prayer. “Jameson.”
My hand comes up, cupping her face, my thumb brushing the tear away. “It’s me, baby.” I look into her eyes, gauging, assessing. “You were having a nightmare.”
She looks away, refusing to meet my eyes. A first. “I’m fine.” Then quickly adds. “I don’t remember it. I’m sure it was just about what happened last night.”
I gently grip her chin, drawing her eyes back to mine. “Are you sure that's all it was?”
Pushing her is risky, especially after what she went through last night, but we are running out of time.
She jerks away from my hold and throws the covers off, her feet hitting the floor with a muted thud.
“Of course it was, he attacked me, remember? Anyone would have a nightmare after that.” She stands, her expression blank, arms crossed over her chest like a shield.
“Thank you for last night, but you can go. I’m fine. ”
She turns on her heel and stalks toward the bathroom, each step carrying her further from me. Both physically and emotionally. She’s shutting down, pushing me away.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, already hating myself for what I’m about to do. I never wanted to force her story out of her, but I’m running out of options.
“You were yelling out in your sleep, Wildflower.”
She freezes, her spine going rigid.
I stand from the bed and close the distance, stopping a few feet away. “Who did you get away from, Wildflower?”
She turns, eyes hard, shooting daggers right through me, as her hands find her hips. “I was obviously talking about Luke,” she bites out, but I see the panic through her facade.
I cross my arms, biceps straining against the thin cotton, and shake my head.
“Try again. I know the dream wasn’t about Luke.
He scared you, but you handled it. You were ready to beat the shit out of him when I stopped you.
Something else caused you to break. So, who was it about Lane?
Who are you afraid of? Who puts that look in your eyes that I see sometimes? ”
All of the walls I’ve worked so hard to knock down slam back into place, right before my eyes. Her glare hardens, her words a sharp bite. “I don't know what look you think you see, but I told you I was fine. Now, please leave.”
I remain unmoving, feet planted firmly against the hardwood floors. “I told you my dad treated me and my mom like shit. But what I didn’t tell you was that he used to beat us.”
Her eyes widen.
“It didn’t start until I was about six or seven.
He was always domineering, treating my Mom and me as his possessions.
He made all the money, so he was the king of the castle.
He didn’t allow Mom to work. He said ‘a woman's place is at home, taking care of their man and raising children.’” I pause, scrubbing a hand across my beard.
I hate talking about this shit, hate talking about him.
“He had always been a drinker, always going out with his coworkers after work to the local bars. He started staying out later, drinking more. Sometimes, not coming home until after my Mom had put me to bed at night.”