Chapter 12
breathe for me
Rowan
His body bounces off the car and shrivels to the ground.
The piercing sound of a woman’s scream echoes in my mind like a battle cry, driving the toe of my boot into his stomach, my fists into his face. My bodyweight overpowers his before he can throw a decent punch.
Knuckles crack against his cheek, his ribs. Again and again.
He cries out, begs me to stop. I show him the same courtesy he showed her—I don’t stop.
Groaning through the blood spilling from his mouth, he tries to get his feet under him, but another fist to his jaw lands him back on the ground. He shields his face with his arms as my blows keep coming.
We tussle on the ground, rolling until I have him face down in full submission. I yank his hands behind his back and lock them together in my grip, my knees bracketing his hips.
“Get the hell off me!” he grunts, body squirming.
I press a hand into the back of his head so he eats concrete. “Not a chance, asshole!”
He spits out blood and bits of loose asphalt. “Bitch was asking for it.”
His head slams into the pavement under the force of my hand. “Shut your fucking mouth!”
The asshole finally goes quiet, and I suck in my first full breath since I heard the screams from the other end of the parking lot. I didn’t think. I just ran.
The woman shifts in my periphery, pushing herself up off the ground. Hair hangs in shreds over her face. She’s panting and disoriented.
She maneuvers onto all fours. Her body trembles as she crawls, bare knees scraping the asphalt, one shoe missing.
“Miss,” I say quietly.
She pauses and sweeps a hand over her cheeks before she collapses to one hip. Long hair darkened by the shadows, curtains her face from view. Her entire body breaks out in tremors synced up with her quiet cries.
I tighten my grip on the attacker’s wrists as I repeat, “Miss?”
Her head lifts. Hair falls from her face. The distant glow of the parking lot light reveals her features one at a time. Eyes. Cheeks. Lips. My breath freezes in my lungs.
I’ll kill him. Right here, with my bare hands, I’ll end his life.
“Hannah?” I ask, voice low, thick with worry.
Awareness dawns as her eyes widen on mine. “Rowan.” A breath, a plea, and a demand all at once. The emotional dam breaks and she disintegrates into full body-wrecking sobs.
I forget everything else and rush to her.
Her attacker stumbles to his feet and runs off. I grind my molars but don’t move to chase after him. Hannah’s eyes keep me right here, imploring me to stay. Crouched down in front of her, she falls back against the wheel of the car, knees angled to one side.
“I need you to breathe for me, okay?”
She takes in a few unsteady breaths. “I-I ca-can’t,” she stammers, air fighting for purchase in her chest.
I hold up my palms. “Is it alright if I touch you?”
She swallows, a fresh set of sobs pouring from her. But she nods. I check the pulse on her neck—her heart is pounding. “Hannah, you’re in shock. I’m gonna need you to breathe for me. Like this.”
I model deep breaths as I continue to assess her. My eyes survey all the parts of her I can see.
“Did he hurt you?” It’s a dumb question. Of course he hurt her, but she knows what I mean—I need to know if he left a mark.
She raises her arms between us. One white-knuckled fist clenches a set of keys.
I fold her hand over in mine and slowly peel her fingers back, every digit meeting resistance as though the fear has paralyzed them.
At last, the keys clatter to the asphalt.
Heavy indentations mar her palms. I see where his hands had been locked around her wrists, the skin there ringed in red.
I pull out my phone. “I’m gonna use my flashlight to get a better look, okay?”
Her head bobs. I pull in another deep inhale, encouraging her to do the same. “In and out. Keep breathing, Hannah.”
When I came in guns blazing, I didn’t see exactly what he’d done before I yanked him back. A woman screamed and I saw her trying to fight him off, but I didn’t process much beyond that before I took him down.
I sweep the light over her and bite back a curse. She’s in a dress. And he had her pressed against the—I interrupt that image and exchange it for what I can recall of the guy whose face I just rearranged. My mind searches for any recollection of the state of his pants. Were they undone?
White-hot rage fueled by fear sends my mind spiraling. I swallow thickly, trying hard to hold myself together. “Did he do anything else?”
Her chest quakes on a long exhale, but she shakes her head.
Relief tempers some of the protective instincts flaring inside me. I suck in a breath through my nose.
I spot her purse behind the wheel, and when I move to grab it she clasps her hand in mine. Desperate and pleading. “Please, don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m just gonna grab your bag.”
She nods and releases her grip. I keep one hand on her as I collect her purse, keys, and missing shoe. I settle back on my haunches before her. Her breathing has steadied now.
“Can you stand?”
She winces. “I think I twisted my ankle.”
Using the flashlight again, I find some minor swelling around her foot, but there’s no bruising so it’ll likely heal on its own. With a little help from me, she gets to her feet. I bend down to slide on her shoe and find my hat that got tossed during the altercation.
Hannah leans against the car, shoulders slumped.
I’m no stranger to life or death situations.
My entire career has consisted of running toward danger instead of away from it.
Every mission has a clear objective. I attack with calm and steady precision to accomplish the task set before me.
Yet in this moment, nothing feels clear.
I’m torn between needing to chase after the bastard who did this to her, but I’m also terrified to leave her side.
Do I drive her to the police station? Should I take her home? To the hospital?
I may not know exactly what to do but I can follow her lead. “What do you wanna do, Hannah?”
Seconds tick by with no reply. I don’t want to push, but the longer she stays quiet the more worried I become.
Hands poised at my sides, I stand before her like the soldier I am and wait for her to tell me what to do next. My heart races but it’s not clear to me why. The threat is gone. She’s safe.
I repeat it to myself like a mantra. She’s safe. She’s safe.
Without a word, Hannah pushes off the car and loops her arms around my neck. She melts into my chest, and I fold myself around her.
Her emotions bubble back to the surface in soft hiccups against my collarbone. She trembles in my hold and I squeeze her to me, breathing quiet encouragements into her ear. “You’re safe,” and “It’s over,” and “I’m here.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. Hannah holds on. A few more quiet sobs before her lungs find a steady rhythm and she adds, “It’s really good to see you.”
She smiles into my neck, and the feel of it is more satisfying than any military honor I’ve ever earned.
“I should have told you that earlier today. Sorry.”
Our breathy chuckles intertwine, both of us a little timid, not sure if it’s okay to laugh yet or not.
“It was the concussion. I was rendered mute from the impact,” she teases.
My smile softens into something hesitant when she eases back. Our gazes find each other. I ignore the smeared mascara and tear-stained cheeks because all I see is that tiny glimpse of light in her eyes, and it loosens a knot in my chest. She’s safe.
“What now, Hannah? Can I drive you to the police station to—”
“No! I don’t want—that’s not…” She pauses, collects herself. “He didn’t actually…you know…”
“It was still assault.”
“I know. I just…” She leaves the statement unfinished—as vacant as the expression on her face.
“Look, I won’t force you to do anything, but he shouldn’t get away with what he did.”
Everything unsaid rests heavy in the way her hazel eyes meet mine. It’s the same way she looked at me five years ago on that sidewalk.
“Will you think about it? Even if you don’t go tonight, you could go tomorrow or a few days from now.” She nods. “Would it be alright if I took some pictures of your wrists in case you change your mind?”
A long swallow moves down her throat, but she agrees.
I move us to a more illuminated area of the parking lot and snap a picture with my phone first, then hers. Before I pass it back, I add myself as a contact.
She pushes up to her toes to sneak a peek at her screen. “What are you doing?”
“I’m your only witness. You need my number.”
Eyes hooded, I look up at her, and there’s a smirk on that wily little face of hers. When my contact is saved, I navigate to her texts and send myself a message. The simultaneous sound of a whoosh from hers and a ping from mine, makes her cock a brow.
“And that?”
“That,” I say, handing her phone back, “is me leveling the playing field. You have mine and now I have yours.”
“If you say so, soldier.”
Neither of us move. Her grin is timid and soft, but genuine. I still don’t know if it’s okay to laugh. I don’t think she’s sure either. But she’s trying. I think I can try too.
I glance at the time. “Will you let me drive you home?”
“You don’t have to—”
“Let me rephrase that,” I interject, tone serious. “You shouldn’t be driving by yourself. So, if you won’t let me drive you, I’m at least going to follow you so I know you get home safe.”
Her lips purse for a beat, considering, her attention locked on something over my shoulder. “You know what I really want?” My forehead crinkles. “I want a drink.”
The delighted tilt of her mouth and pointed direction of her gaze has me spinning to see what she’s got in mind. Amidst the rush of fists and adrenaline, I’d forgotten where we are.
Our shoulders brush, stares fixed on the bar that shall not be named.
“I don’t know, runaway. You think we have it in us?”
She glares. “I need a drink.”
After the night she’s had, I can’t blame her. And you’ll catch me dead before I turn down extra time with this girl. If a designated driver is what she needs, that’s exactly what I’ll be.
I arc a dramatic arm ahead of us. “Lead the way then.”