Chapter 28
JADE
The soft click of my camera's memory card sliding into the reader is oddly satisfying. Small, tangible, certain. Unlike everything else in my life right now.
Morning light streams through the high windows of my studio, casting golden rectangles across the polished concrete floor.
I sip my coffee, watching as the photos from Skid Row begin to populate my editing software.
Maria's weathered face. Walter with his dog.
Beth's dignified stare directly into the lens.
But my mind isn't on the images. It's on last night.
Ethan.
I close my eyes, letting the memories wash over me.
His hands on my skin. His mouth finding places I didn't know could feel such pleasure.
The way he'd looked at me afterward, like I was something precious, something worth protecting not because it was his job but because he couldn't bear the thought of a world without me in it.
I'd woken this morning still wrapped in his arms, his chest warm against my back, his breath stirring my hair. When he felt me stir, his arms tightened, and he pressed his lips to my shoulder.
"Morning," he'd murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
I'd turned in his embrace, finding his mouth with mine. What followed was slower than the night before. Gentler. No less intense, but with a tenderness that had brought tears to my eyes.
Afterward, as we lay tangled together, his phone buzzed. The detective handling my case, wanting to meet to tie up loose ends. Ethan had been reluctant to leave, but duty called. Always duty.
"I'll be back soon, we'll talk then," he'd promised, pressing one last kiss to my forehead before dressing and slipping out.
Now, hours later, I'm still floating in the aftermath, both physically and emotionally. But questions circle like vultures at the edges of my contentment.
What happens next? Where do we go from here?
And what about Declan and Mateo?
The thought of them brings a fresh wave of confusion. What I feel for Ethan is real, powerful. But it doesn't diminish what I feel for the others. Different, yes. Each connection is as unique as the men themselves, but no less real. No less powerful.
A knock at the studio door pulls me from my thoughts. Three sharp raps. Decisive. Unmistakable.
"Come in," I call, spinning my chair away from the computer.
Declan fills the doorway, his massive frame seeming almost too large for the space. He's dressed casually today. Worn jeans and a simple gray t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. His expression is its usual stoic mask, but there's something in his eyes. Something I can't quite read.
"Morning," he says, the single word carrying the weight of his deep voice.
"Morning." I smile, hoping the heat I feel in my cheeks isn't visible. Does he know about Ethan and me? Has Ethan told him? The thought sends panic fluttering through my chest.
He shifts his weight, and I realize he's nervous. The knowledge is startling. I've seen Declan face down would-be attackers without flinching. What could possibly make him nervous around me?
"I wanted to talk to you about something," he says, his eyes meeting mine briefly before sliding away. "Now that the threat has been neutralized, there's still one thing you need to do to feel safe again."
I tilt my head, curious. "What's that?"
"Face the pool."
The words hit me like a physical blow. My palms instantly dampen, heart rate accelerating. "I don't..."
"You need to," he cuts me off, gentle but firm. "Not for anyone else. For you."
I shake my head, pushing back from the desk. "Declan, I appreciate the thought, but I can't..."
"You can." His certainty is unwavering. "This is just one more demon to conquer."
"It's different," I protest weakly.
"Is it?" He takes a step closer, and suddenly the studio feels too small, too warm. "Or is it just the one you've convinced yourself you can't beat?"
I stare at him, caught between irritation and a strange, reluctant hope. Could I? Could I finally face this fear that's haunted me for so long?
"I can't promise it'll be easy," he continues, "but I can promise you won't be alone. I've got you, Jade."
Those four words hit harder than they should. Simple, steady. A promise I didn't realize I needed until now.
How many times have I faced my fears alone? How many battles have I fought with no one in my corner?
Maybe I don't have to fight this one by myself.
"Okay," I hear myself say before I can think better of it. "But just... just to the shallow end."
A hint of a smile touches the corner of his mouth. "Whatever you're comfortable with. Meet me at the pool in fifteen minutes?"
I nod, already wondering if I've lost my mind.
After he leaves, I sit frozen for several moments, my heart still racing. Then, mechanically, I save my work and head to my bedroom to change.
The black one-piece swimsuit I select is modest by most standards, but underneath Declan's gaze, I know I'll feel naked. I pull a light robe over it and slip my feet into sandals, then stare at my reflection in the mirror.
"You can do this," I tell myself, but the woman looking back at me doesn't seem convinced.
The pool area is bathed in late morning sunlight when I arrive, the water a shimmering turquoise that would be beautiful if it didn't make my stomach clench with dread. Declan is already there, standing at the edge in black swim shorts that ride low on his hips.
I stop in my tracks, momentarily stunned. I've seen glimpses of his body before: an arm here, a slice of torso there when his shirt lifted while reaching for something. But nothing prepared me for the full vision.
His torso is a map of muscle and ink. Tattoos cover much of his chest and shoulders, intricate designs that wind down his arms and disappear beneath his shorts. But it's the scars interspersed among the tattoos that catch my eye. Pale lines and puckered circles that speak of violence, of survival.
He turns at the sound of my approach, and I quickly avert my gaze, embarrassed to be caught staring.
"You came," he says, and there's a note of approval in his voice that sends warmth through me.
"I said I would." I stop several feet from the pool's edge, unable to make myself step closer. "But I'm not making any promises about getting in."
He nods, accepting this. "One step at a time."
I watch as he moves to the shallow end, where wide steps lead gradually into the water. He descends until he's waist-deep, then turns to face me, extending his hand.
"Come on," he says softly. "Just to the first step."
I hesitate, frozen in place. Images flash through my mind: dark water closing over my head, the burning in my lungs as I fought for air.
"Jade." Declan's voice pulls me back to the present. "Look at me. Not the water. Me."
I raise my eyes to his face, focusing on the strong planes of his cheekbones, the scar that cuts across his left eyebrow and down his cheek, the intensity in his gaze.
"That's it," he encourages. "Now, take off your robe and come to the edge. You don't have to get in yet."
With trembling fingers, I untie my robe and let it slip from my shoulders.
I see his eyes darken as they sweep over me, a brief flash of heat quickly suppressed.
It gives me a strange courage, this reminder that beneath the fear and the tension, there's something else between us. Something electric.
I approach the pool's edge, each step an effort of will. When I reach it, I stare down at the clear water, at Declan standing in its depths, his hand still extended toward me.
"I... I don't think I can," I whisper.
He doesn't push. Just watches me, eyes calm, voice low. "That's what fear does. It sticks to you. Even when it shouldn't."
I glance up at him, searching. "You say that like you know."
His jaw ticks. He nods once. "I do."
That's all he says. But it's enough.
This glimpse of vulnerability from him steadies me somehow. I take a deep breath and sit at the pool's edge, letting my feet dangle in the water. The cool kiss of it against my skin sends a shiver through me, but I don't pull away.
"Good," Declan says softly. "Now, when you're ready, come down to the first step."
It takes me several minutes to gather the courage, but finally, I slip into the water until I'm standing on the top step. The water laps around my ankles, harmless but still threatening in my mind.
Declan moves closer, standing on the step below mine. "You're doing great," he says, and the pride in his voice warms me from the inside out.
Slowly, agonizingly, we progress. From the first step to the second. From ankles to calves to knees. Each advance is a battle, fear rising and receding like the tide. But Declan is there, patient and steady, his eyes never leaving mine, his voice a constant reassurance.
By the time we reach the third step, where the water swirls around my thighs, I'm trembling with adrenaline and effort. Declan stands directly in front of me now, his hands hovering near my waist, ready to steady me if needed.
"I need a minute," I gasp, overwhelmed by how far I've come and how far there still is to go.
"Take all the time you need," he says. "We're not in a rush."
I focus on my breathing, on the solid feel of the step beneath my feet, on Declan's presence before me. So close that I can see individual droplets of water clinging to his chest, to the dark ink that adorns his skin.
"Your tattoos," I say, partly to distract myself, partly out of genuine curiosity. "What do they mean?"
He glances down at his chest, as if surprised by the question. "Different things," he says after a moment. "Some are reminders. Some are protection. Some are just to cover the ugly."
My eyes trace a particularly intricate design that spans his left pectoral. "They're beautiful," I say honestly. "Like an armor made of art."
Something softens in his gaze. "Never thought of them that way."