Chapter 5
Don’t read into it.
Annie
“What?”
“Time to get you out of these.” He repeats, tugging on my damp jeans. “You need to take a warm shower, then get into dry clothes so we can go find your cat.”
“What? But I live like two hours away, and it’s almost morning, and I’m sure you have work, and I—”
He puts his finger over my mouth, and despite everything going on, I fight the urge to part my lips.
“You’re not crazy, you’re not overreacting, and you’re not going to sit here and cry because your cat is missing and think I’m not going to do something about it.
While we’re at your place, I’ll do some recon and install a couple of cameras, but we’re going to find Joan Wick. ”
“But…” My throat is already dry, but the more he talks, the worse it got. So much so that I have to take a drink of water to speak. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask, you never have to ask if I’ll have your back.
” He narrows his eyes. “I’m mildly pissed that you waited this long to come to me.
I mean, seriously, Annie? A year?” Then something happens and his entire demeanor changes.
“Why? You didn’t think I could protect you?
” he accuses, each syllable coated in bitterness.
“Think I’m too weak to keep you safe? Can’t do anything more than break up bar fights and haul kegs?
” His jaw clenches. He turns his head and grits, “Fuck.”
Whoa.
Clearly, I hit a nerve, but that thought never crossed my mind.
“That’s the exact opposite of what I think, Benny.
” I touch his face now, holding his chin in my palm and putting pressure until he looks at me.
I hope I can give him an ounce of the reassurance he gives me.
“I only said that because I don’t want to be with anyone else right now.
” His hazel eyes warm, and the tension leaves his jaw.
“But after the problems I caused, I know I’m asking a lot from you, way too much.
I wasn’t even sure you’d want to talk to me, let alone help me, but you were, and you still are the only one I trust to protect me. So don’t say that shit again.”
He blinks, probably shocked at my attitude. “The problems you caused?”
“It’s my fault you got shot and then everything after with my dad and—”
“Shut up,” he snaps.
My head rears back. Um, no. Being told to shut up is one of the worst things you can say to someone, telling them basically that they’re not worthy of speaking.
I’m more hurt by Ben’s dismissiveness than anything, though, so I stay quiet as he says what is clearly more important than what I have to say.
“That was not your fault. It was mine. All of it.” He grabs my hand and slides it under the collar of his shirt.
Touching him like this has always been a fantasy, so my anger is a forgotten memory.
“I hate that you’ve been blaming yourself.
” His skin is warm, eyes languid, and I wish I could glide my fingers into his hair to feel if it’s as soft as I remember.
But he guides us in a different direction—to the front of his shoulder, a little to the left.
I encounter a circle of rough tightness and realize what he’s doing.
I try to pull away, but my effort is moot.
“I’m the one with the scars, Annie, so I get to say who’s to blame.
” He leans in and drops his forehead gently to mine, making it impossible to avoid his declaration.
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Tell me you understand that. ”
I get it. He wants me to not only hear him but to really see him. And I do. I hear the veracity in his words, I see the sincerity not just in his eyes, but from the truth shining behind them. He’s wrong, but he’s also right—I am to blame, but he’s the one with the scars.
So if that’s what he wants to hear, that’s what I’ll say. “I understand.” But it’s a lie.
“Liar,” he whispers. “But I’ll let it go for now because we’ve got more important things to do than argue about something we can’t change.” He leans back and helps me to my feet. “You need a shower.” He doesn’t hold back his grin when he adds, “You stink.”
He’s already walking away, so he doesn’t see me glaring. “So do you.”
“Bullshit. I smell like the ocean,” he hollers over his shoulder.
I hobble behind him to his bathroom where he’s messing with the shower knobs. “Give the water a few minutes to warm up while I grab you some stuff.”
I spy a half-empty bottle of Cool Water cologne next to the sink and press the pump, smelling the fine mist. It’s refreshing with a hint of sweet, but when it’s on Ben, it’s even better, delicious.
“Oldie but a goodie.” He murmurs, scaring the crap out of me.
I scramble to put it back, feeling like I just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
He dumps a pile of clothes and towels on the counter. “Holler if you need anything.”
And then he’s gone, and I finally see my reflection. “Oh my God.” I look like death. My face is covered in dirt, and the wipes just spread it in streaks. My hair is a rat’s nest…no, a bird’s nest, I think as I pull out a few leaves and a couple of small twigs.
I wash my hair twice, but I do it as fast as I can. I’m anxious about finding Joan Wick, praying she used her kitty senses to come back home. Ben’s waiting for me, too, and I’m already putting him out, so I don’t want this to take any longer than it absolutely has to.
Mainly, I make quick work of my shower because nothing good will come from having time to think.
There’s a good chance I’ll break down or freak out, and I don’t want to do either.
I don’t want Ben to feel like he has to be my emotional support on top of everything else.
Having him believe me is all I need. I haven’t felt validation in a really long time, and I couldn’t ask for anything else.
Yet here he is, giving me more than I deserve.
After a quick rinse, I dry off and wipe the steam off the mirror. My face looks almost back to normal. The cut on my forehead is smaller than I thought it would be, and my cheek is only a little puffy.
My ankle, however, is a lot puffy. It’s so swollen that it hurts to put weight on it as I struggle with the leggings he left for me.
I finally get them on, and when they snap tight around my waist, I frown.
These are women’s pants, and so is the tank top.
The socks and hoodie are his, but I can’t even enjoy being wrapped up in his sweatshirt because I’m annoyed with myself for being annoyed that I don’t want to be wearing one of his ex’s clothes.
I know he had a life without me, and I had one without him.
But mine was boring and on the verge of nonexistent, really.
Obviously, he’s had women since…I don’t want to think about how many.
For me, guys were few and far between, and none of them lasted any significant period because they weren’t worth mine.
None of them were the kind of man I really wanted. They weren’t like Ben.
But he’ll always see me as a helpless little girl, not a sexy, mature, independent woman. My showing up like this doesn’t change that, but I still hate the thought of him with someone else.
A quick knock jolts me out of my pitiful thoughts. “You good?” he asks through the door.
“Yeah.”
“Clothes fit?”
Unfortunately. “Yup.”
“Good. For once, I’m glad Kit stole a dresser drawer.”
Kit. Is that his sister? It has to be. I wonder if it’s the same sister he compared me to. He only has one sister and two brothers, I think? Regardless, I’m relieved. I shouldn’t be, especially when my cat is missing, and someone broke into my place.
What is wrong with me?
“Need anything else?”
Sanity. “Nope.” Ben doesn’t move when I swing the door open. “I’m ready,” I encourage, but he’s still blocking my exit.
He’s studying my face, then his gaze lingers down to the clothes, my feet, then back up, pausing on his bulky sweatshirt. He gently probes my forehead and grazes my cheek with his knuckle. “Cut’s not as deep as I thought it would be.”
“Me either.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
I use the wall for support and wish I had the time to study the pictures hanging. When I limp past his bedroom, the door is only cracked, but I see enough to know he’s still a clean freak. His living room is huge, and the tan floor-to-ceiling curtains cover what’s probably an awesome view.
“Hop on.”
I drag my attention from the shelves before I get a chance to read the titles of the books. “What?” I hold the back of the couch as I make my way toward him.
“Piggyback.” He arches a brow as I near him toward the exit. “Unless you’d rather have me carry you.”
“I can walk.”
“Your ankle is likely sprained, and you have no shoes. Pick or I will.”
I know he’s strong, and he wasn’t even close to out of breath when he carried me up them, but the thought of him falling on the way down makes my knees shake. “I’ll hop down the stairs, then just wait for you to pull around.”
He comes at me so fast that I don’t have time to protest before I’m in a firefighter hold. “Oh my God.” I fist his shirt, then squeeze my eyes shut as he descends the death trap he calls stairs. “Ben, you’re gonna fall.”
Once we reach the bottom, he says cockily, “No, I’m not.
” Then we’re out the rear door, and fresh air hits my face, the mist still lingering.
I feel him shifting to put me down, so I point my toe out so I can put my weight on it.
I start letting go, and he reaches over his shoulders, gripping my arms right above my biceps. “Hold on.”
“Wha—ahh.” He swings me off and around his back, and I have no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck.
His strong hands are digging into the back of my thighs, dangerously close to my butt, while he hefts me up.
He adjusts his grip, then starts walking down the alley like he didn’t just toss a human being around like a backpack.
“Jeez, Ben, do you moonlight as a Navy SEAL or something?”