Chapter 8 #2
Nor had I taken out my rage on Nash or Aya.
I’d been scared for Jasmine, worried for her, but I never considered pummeling my family to a pulp because of it.
Well, I fantasized about plowing my fist into Frank’s face, but I wouldn’t do it because I was sure Cam would make sure Frank got the maximum sentence for his crime, and that was…
well, it wasn’t all I wanted, but I could live with that outcome.
I hadn’t given into the rage I worried festered inside me, and I could suppress the need for violence.
Holy hell. I could do that. I’d never, in all my years, been put to a test like I had tonight. I’d feared I was like my father so much so that I’d shied away from any possibility of ending up in a situation that could prove that hypothesis correct. But I could—did—control myself with ease.
What I couldn’t live with was Jasmine being scared and alone. Jasmine hurt. And I simply couldn’t continue to deny my feelings for Jasmine, which meant I had to do something about them.
But…what?
And would she want me now, after all this time of dithering and hiding away, avoiding her?
Unable to handle my racing thoughts that slithered through my mind like scorpions—ready to strike with their poison at any moment—I grabbed my keys and hopped into my car. Heading to the hospital, I was told what I’d already known: visiting hours were over.
“Can I just peek in? I won’t stay. I just…I just need to see her.” I gulped before offering the security guard who sat at the kiosk a wide-eyed stare.
“Who is she to you?” he asked, shifting his burly hip off his chair and peering at me with an intensity that made me squirm.
This was what I’d been avoiding: admitting my feeling for Jasmine. That would make them manifest into something I must act upon. To act, I would need to face my ugly, bitter past—the one thing I’d avoided for decades.
I stared at the guard, the fluorescent light flickering on and off his drooping features.
His eyes were the palest brown and surprisingly kind for his bearing—he was former military.
Probably Army like me. No doubt he’d noted my forearm tattoo and my own straight, proud posture.
Yeah, he knew me and empathized. So I told him.
“She’s my everything. Happiness, laughter, joy. Love.”
The guard offered a single nod. “I can’t promise the nurses won’t throw you out, but, yeah, I get the need to see her with your own eyes. Now, no funny business.” His tone was stern, making me wonder if he wasn’t a drill sergeant in his day.
“No, sir. I just want to check in on her.”
He gave me the room number. “There’s a waiting room at the end of that hall. You might could settle in there until the shift change. That usually happens around six. The floor gets real quiet.”
I nodded my understanding. “Thank you.”
He shooed me along so I headed toward the waiting area. On the way, I opened Jasmine’s door just enough to catch a glimpse of her profile in the soft bluish light. She was awake, staring up at the ceiling. Chills wracked her body—no doubt a response to the drop of adrenaline or the onset of shock.
Either way, I wasn’t leaving her alone, not like this. I slipped into her room and crossed to her bed.
“Steve,” she murmured, saying my name like a prayer.
“Jasmine. Oh, Jasmine. I…”
“Are you here or is it the drugs?”
I squatted next to her bed and carefully cradled her hand between my larger ones. I’d noted the soft cast and the bruising up her arm. I’d also noted the fear that flared bright in her eyes before she recognized me.
That would take longer to overcome, and I ached for her.
“I’m really here. I was worried.”
Some of the tension eased from her expression as the shivers slowed. “I was scared.”
“Me, too.”
“For what that…that…what he’d do to the girls.”
I squeezed her fingers as I realized once again how strong this woman was. She’d fought off a man with a lamp to protect her grown children. The fierceness of her love for them humbled me. “You always surprise me, Jasmine.”
“I can’t sleep,” she said. “Every time I close my eyes, I see…” She sighed. Meeting my eyes, she asked, “Does it get easier?”
I wasn’t sure if she was asking because of the abuse I’d told her about before or because of my army career, where I’d been in more than one full-scale assault. Didn’t matter. The answer was the same.
“Yes but not for a long time.” I licked my lips. “It’s like…like your brain can’t possibly process what’s been done, and it needs to replay the event again and again, scouring it for clues to keep you safe. But you won’t be in a situation where you can be hurt again.”
“You can’t know that,” she whispered. She pressed her lips tightly together and seemed to shrink into herself. “I was home, on the ranch. Protected. And…” She shuddered.
“It won’t happen again, Jasmine,” I said. “I won’t let it.”
She smiled at me, but it was sad and tired. “I want to believe you’ll mean that in the morning.”
I squeezed her hand again. “I’m going to mean that every single day of the rest of my life.”
She didn’t seem to know how to answer that. We stared at each other. Her trembling lessened and sleep slowly stole over her.
“Don’t leave,” she mumbled. She blinked rapidly and her nose tip turned pink—a sure sign of her agitation. “I hate when you leave, Steve.”
“I won’t, I promise.” I met her gaze, let her look deep—waited until she sighed her pent-up breath, knowing then that she believed me. “I won’t ever leave you again, Jasmine.”
I held her hand, refusing to give in to my aching muscles or shift to the chair on her other side. Jasmine trusted me enough to sleep, to heal, in my presence. And I was going to be there for her while she did so.
Jasmine rolled over and blinked at me, smiling sleepily. “Miss you when you’re not there.”
She tucked her good hand under her cheek. I leaned forward and kissed her temple, inhaling her lush scent. Why had I fought against this? Fought to distance myself from her?
She was happiness. No, that wasn’t fair to her. Jasmine was contentment; she was the person I could face adversity with and know I’d come out on top. She was serenity to my raging mind. She was, in a word, everything.
And I’d almost lost her.
“I’m going to be worthy of you, Jasmine Grace,” I whispered as I slid back, once again sitting sentinel over my woman as she healed and slept.
As dawn broke, the nursing shift change occurred, and I was politely told I needed to leave. Much as I hated the request that was really a command, I agreed, but not until I’d written Jasmine a note and tucked it onto her tray.
My legs had gone numb during my vigil, so walking on them was a form of agony that eased with astonishing slowness.
I stared at the pink skyline, noting the rising sun as I strode across the parking lot toward my car. A new day.
A new chance.
I needed answers. More, I needed to lay my demons to rest. I’d wrestled with them for too long. Now, I simply had to accept my past.
Which meant I had to go back to my hometown.
Once I was settled in my car, I shot Nash and Aya a text, letting them know I wasn’t going to be at their place that day.
Not that me showing up mattered; Aya was going to be traveling for work and taking Nash and Levi with her.
My son didn’t like to be apart from his wife, especially when she made overseas trips for her nonprofit.
They’d be back in a week, and so would I. Hopefully, by then, I’d have more clarity. Jasmine needed to understand I’d meant what I said, but it would take time to regain her trust. A lot of effort.
I stared at the sunrise before I started the ignition.
She was worth the effort—more than worth it. Now, I just had to prove I was worthy of her.
I slammed the door to my truck shut, entranced by the small, unassuming house that sat on the small, grassy knoll. I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels, my gaze never leaving the peeling, sagging front door.
My childhood home was in bad shape. Real bad, based on the missing siding next to the front door and cracked glass in the kitchen’s single window. A thick tree branch scraped across the roof, but based on the lack of friction or sound, the wood had rubbed most of the shingles away.
The dirt track leading here was pitted and rough, pretty much as I remembered it. Yet, the house itself was smaller than in my memories. With a deep, chest-expanding breath, I pushed forward and up the one sagging, rotted step to the door.
The hinges creaked, then screamed, as I shouldered my way into the space. A hiss from the kitchen caused my heart to slam hard against my ribs as I spun to face…not my father but a snarling mother possum.
She and I stared at each other for a long moment before she went back to tending her newborns, their pink skin still a little wrinkled and totally unappealing.
I gave them a wide berth as I made my way to the middle of the small living area.
Right, in the center of the room, on the dingy carpet, I could make out the bloodstains from the last beating my father ever gave me or my mother.
If I hadn’t known about the last evidence of the horrors my mother withstood in this place, I might have overlooked the dark discolorations that sprayed across the carpet.
But I was sure that’s what they were—I could still see my mother’s blood, my father’s fist. I could still taste the bitter tang of fear that this time… this time one of us wouldn’t survive.
I dropped to my knees there and stared at the thin, matted pile as tears formed in my eyes and trekked down my cheeks. With the sadness for what I’d lost—my mother, my innocence, I also felt a conflicting anger.
“You should have left him,” I said through gritted teeth. “Why didn’t you leave the piece of shit?”