Chapter 23
I yank my wrist back, like his touch is burning me. “I said it’s nothing,” I blurt quickly, tugging my sleeve down to hide the deepening bruise. The angry purple fingermarks blooming beneath the fabric like a confession Jagger was never meant to see.
Jagger doesn’t look away. His eyes stay locked on my arm, his attention narrowing until it feels as if I’m the only thing in this world that matters. His teeth are clenched so tightly that the muscle in his jaw ticks in time with the beat of his rapidly rising pulse.
“It’s not nothing,” he insists. His voice is low and controlled, exercising restraint in a way that scares me more than if he’d shouted at me.
And that’s the problem. He cares. His body angles toward mine, subconsciously positioning himself between me and the world.
The warmth in his voice is a subtle way of letting me know that my pain—physical and emotional—matters.
He stares at me as if I matter. No one has looked at me like that in a long time. “Someone hurt you, Blake.”
He cares so much that, for a split second, sitting on these concrete steps, I want to tell him everything.
I want to tell him about Maryam and Aliyah.
About the terror I saw in Maryam’s eyes when she woke up after surgery, certain that her husband would murder them both because of the line I crossed.
Because of some stupid patriarchal tradition and his need to reassert his manhood.
If I do, he’d understand why I’ve hidden them a few floors above, in a forgotten corner of this hospital.
I want to tell him about the note on my door and the men who keep coming to threaten me in hopes that I’ll finally break.
I want to tell him because I trust him. And that’s exactly why I can’t.
If I spill my truth and tell him the secrets I have been hiding, he will go looking for answers.
He’ll start pulling on threads that will unravel everything.
He will burn the city down down to protect me.
And if that happens, Maryam and Aliyah won’t just be found; they’ll be dragged back to a man who believes that ownership and violence are his right as her husband.
Stowing my fear and my need for help, I choose the lie that keeps them alive, even though I know what it’s going to cost me. I push to my feet, my heart slamming hard enough into my rib cage to make me dizzy. My hands shake, and I hate that my body is betraying me. “I need to get back to work.”
“Blake,” Jagger says, pushing from the step and reaching for me. His hand closes around my forearm, light and gentle, almost like he’s afraid he’ll hurt me further. “Talk to me. Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” I bark, yanking my arm free and shoving him back a step. The words taste like ash the moment they leave my mouth. “You should go.”
His eyes widen, hurt flashing there before he can hide it. “Blake—”
“I said go,” I repeat, my voice cracking despite everything I do to hold it together. When he doesn’t, I shove past him and storm for the door, my pulse roaring in my ears and tears welling.
“Blake!” he calls after me.
I don’t stop. I can’t, because I know what will happen if I do.
I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, my shoulders tall and my chin lifted, even as tears prickle down my cheeks and my chest aches like I’ve just ripped my heart out and tossed it on the concrete floor in that stairwell.
I expect him to follow, that I’ll hear his footsteps stomping down the hallway behind me. Part of me wants him to. Wants him to chase me down, grab hold of me, and refuse to let me self-destruct. But he doesn’t. And somehow, that hurts more.
I make it back to the nurses’ station on autopilot, snapping my professional mask back into place with practiced ease.
Charting. Meds. Vitals. A consult that could have waited but didn’t.
I float through the last two hours of my shift, smiling when required, nodding when spoken to, my mind replaying the look on Jagger’s face when I rejected him.
Zahra watches me with narrowed, concerned eyes but uncharacteristically doesn’t push. Not here. Not now. And I’m beyond grateful for that small mercy.
When 3:00 a.m. finally crawls around, I clock out and leave without looking back. The night air is cool and damp, wrapping around me and chilling me to my core. I breathe it in deeply, trying to shake the feeling that I’m being watched and convincing myself I’m safe. That I’m alone.
My apartment is dark and quiet when I get there. Inside, I toe off my shoes, peel off my scrubs, and crawl into bed without bothering to turn on a light. The darkness wraps around me, heavy and suffocating, as I curl onto my side and finally let the tears fall.
Sleep comes in jagged spurts, shallow and not deep enough, until a knock at my door jolts me awake. My heart surges as my stomach drops. It’s late. Too late for neighbors or anything good. “Who’s there?” I call, my voice thin and shaky as I slide out of bed.
I move quietly, grabbing my phone from the nightstand and bringing up the contact number for the useless building security guard as I pad barefoot across my apartment.
My mind races through worst-case scenarios with brutal efficiency: the man from the exam room, the one from the market, Maryam’s husband.
Approaching the door cautiously, I hover my thumb above the call button.
I open the door as far as the security chain will allow.
Jagger…
Relief crashes into me so hard my knees nearly give out. He looks wrecked. His shoulders are slumped, and his jaw is shadowed with stubble. The anger and fear in his eyes have gone, leaving his blue pools dark and haunted. He’s hurt.
“Jagger,” I exhale, pushing the door shut. I undo the chain and open it wide, letting the hallway light spill into my apartment as a soft glow casts around his broad frame.
“Hey,” he says quietly. For a moment, neither of us moves; we merely stare at each other in silence.
When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is rough, like the words have been clawing at his throat for hours.
“I shouldn’t have pushed. I just… The thought of anyone hurting you…
Something happening to you…” He steps closer and cups my face gently.
His thumb brushes beneath my eyes, clearly noticing that I have been crying.
Bending down, he presses his forehead to mine, and his nose brushes against my cheek in a tender, affectionate gesture.
“It makes me see red,” he finishes softly.
My resolve crumbles, and I sag into his touch, my walls cracking just enough to let a small sob slip free. “I’m sorry,” I whisper back. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I just… There are things you can’t know. Things I can’t tell you.”
He pulls back far enough to look at me, really look at me. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he promises. “Not tonight. Not ever, if you can’t. I just need you to know I’m not the enemy here.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I know.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath since the stairwell. “Can I come in?”
I step aside without answering, letting him into the quiet darkness of my apartment. He looks around briefly before taking my hand and leading me to the bed. We sit on the edge, close but not quite touching, as the silence stretches long and heavy between us.
“I didn’t come to fight,” he shares after a moment. “I came because the idea of you being alone tonight didn’t sit right with me.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.” He tenderly wraps his hand over mine. “I want to.” I glance down at his hand, tattooed and strong, resting over mine on my thigh. Large hands that could destroy or protect with equal measure. Hands I trust—more than I should—to protect me.
“I’m scared,” the confession timidly tumbles over my lips.
“Of what?”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “If I say it out loud, it becomes real.”
He doesn’t argue or demand to know my secret. He shifts closer and wraps an arm around me, pulling me gently against his chest. I go willingly, pressing my face into the warmth of him, breathing him in like oxygen.
“We’ll take it one step at a time,” he whispers into my hair as he lays us back on the mattress. “Whatever it is.”
I close my eyes and snuggle into him as he holds me tight, letting myself pretend—just for tonight—that I’m not balancing on the edge of a cliff.
That the world isn’t closing in. That the man holding me doesn’t carry danger of his own.
Or that foolishly falling for him won’t complicate everything even more.
Reality hums beneath my skin, relentless and unforgiving, as I drift to sleep in his arms. Tomorrow is coming. And with it, consequences and feelings I’m no longer sure I can outrun.