25. Chapter 25 #2
And I knew what she meant: "How did he get past you?"
She had trusted me with her life. She has trusted in my abilities and I failed her.
Her eyes glazed over and she was gone.
My hands start shaking and I clench them into fists against the couch, trying to ground myself in Londyn's apartment so I don't slip too far into the past. Mickey's face invades my thoughts regardless.
As the news rippled throughout the concert arena and the police were called, Mikey rushed into the dressing room, pushing through the other security personnel. I was still there, holding Wunmi, my jeans completely soaked in her blood.
Mickey shoved me away as she screamed.
"How could you not protect her? You were supposed to PROTECT HER SEAN. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?"
I focus on my chest rising and falling. I'm suddenly aware of my erratic breath and the tremble in my shoulders. I get my breathing under control and force my heart back to a normal rhythm as Londyn waits beside me.
Even now, years later, the memory hollows me out completely. It leaves me raw and bleeding.
"They caught the guy," I say, even though Londyn probably read news articles about him. "He'll rot in jail for life, but it's not justice. I shouldn't have let it happen."
The gentle pressure of a hand on my wrist pulls me fully back to the present. Londyn scoots closer, her fingers lightly gripping me. Her eyes are soft with an emotion I didn't expect to see: compassion.
Not disgust, only kindness.
"I'm so sorry," she says. "That's… horrific. To lose someone you considered family. I can't imagine carrying such a heavy load."
I swallow hard against the persistent lump in my throat. Her touch is something solid to cling to while the waves of memory recede. "I won't have a repeat of that. Not ever."
My gaze drops to her hand on my arm. Without thinking, I turn my palm upward, clasping her fingers in mine. She inhales sharply at the contact but doesn't pull away.
"I care about you." The truth rises from somewhere I thought I'd locked down, rusted hinges groaning in protest. "Which means I'm already compromised. It would tear me apart if anything happened to you because I failed to do my job."
Londyn stares at our joined hands with an intensity that makes my heart lose its rhythm. Her fingers are slender against mine, warm and alive.
"I understand," she says slowly. "Wunmi was such a horrible tragedy, and I feel awful that you went through that. I really can't speak to what happened since I wasn't there. All I can say is that I still have faith in you. It seems I have more faith than you have in yourself."
"How could you, knowing about—"
"You saved me from Marcus, didn't you? You spotted the men following me. Since you care about me, you'll be more focused, if anything. Because it matters more."
"Unless I'm so focused on you that I don't notice the environment."
She blushes as she squeezes my hand. "I trust you. You saved my coworker, and your company says you're their top security. You've protected so many other people and saved their lives. Even if you think you're distracted, I have complete trust that you'll keep me safe."
Her logic is twisted but somehow irresistible. And with her eyes gazing into mine, I'm getting swayed from my previous determination to keep my distance. She's pulling me in.
"Londyn." Her name comes out as a warning again. A last defense. A last hope that my walls stop me from doing what I know I shouldn't.
"Sean." Her words are shaky. "I've never felt this safe with anyone. I've never felt such a… such a strong interest in any man. Forgive me if it makes me a bit crazy." Her mouth curves in a self-deprecating smile. "I did warn you when we met. I'm crazy."
I can't help but smile at that, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. My heart is back to racing, but for a different reason. She's making the weight of my mistakes feel lighter.
Such an amazing woman, which means I'm completely screwed.
"Fuck, you make me crazy too."
Her eyes widen, lips parting in surprise. "Really?"
"You didn't get that the other night? I was losing my mind over there not being able to—"
The blush that spreads from her cheeks down to her chest is captivating. "Not able to what?" she asks in a breathy voice that's a jolt to my gut.
Things are quickly spiraling beyond where I'm able to control them.
Who am I kidding? I've already lost control because that's the effect she has on me.
I let out a single word: "Touch."
She bites her lower lip in a way that nearly stops my heart. "You can touch now."
The words rattle my brain. My pulse thunders in my ears. This isn't what I came here for. I came to apologize and reinforce boundaries, not tear them down completely. But she keeps pulling me deeper into her world, wrapping herself around my thoughts until there's no space left for anything else.
No woman has ever done this to me. I'm questioning everything I thought I knew about myself, about what I want, about what's right.
Before I can sort through the chaos, she lifts my hand and guides it to her cheek.
Her skin is impossibly soft beneath my calloused fingertips.
She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment, and something inside me detonates every wall, leaving only rubble and a path forward.
I give in. Just a little, letting myself sway closer as I cup her cheeks.
Our foreheads touch, and I feel her trembling slightly beneath my hands. But she doesn't pull away.
"What are we doing?" I ask.
"I don't know." A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "But it feels good, doesn't it?"
Neither of us moves. The moment stretches, fragile and perfect and dangerous. One wrong move and everything shatters, especially the careful balance I keep trying to create.
"Sean," her name is a sigh that falls from her gorgeous mouth.
I close the space between us and brush my lips against hers. It's gentle. Not the kiss I want to give her or the one that's been burning in my imagination. I'm holding back, mindful of her internal scars and Miller's verbal abuse. I force myself to go slow.
But damn, even this small taste is intoxicating.
She makes a soft sound against my mouth, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders. The room feels ten degrees warmer suddenly as her fingers tighten and she inches closer, pressing herself against me, seeking more contact.
I pull away, giving us both a moment to process that kiss.
When she sucks on her bottom lip, she looks ready to burn every boundary. "That was a sweet kiss, but I thought you wanted me?"
Yup. There went every boundary.
I cup the back of her neck, fingers threading through her soft hair, and draw her to me again. This time, I don't hold back. I capture her mouth, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire into the kiss.
There's a lot of pent-up desire.
She moans, parting her lips and inviting me to explore deeper.
"I want you," I say against her lips. "I fucking want you."
She releases a small whimper as I run my tongue along hers and guide her back onto the couch. My hips settle between her thighs and I press my hardness against her center. I give her one teasing thrust as she clings to my shoulders.
As I press my chest against hers, feeling the rapid pattern of her breath, I bury my face against her neck, inhaling a sweet floral scent that makes my cock jerk. "Now that I've made my confession, what about yours? I want to hear how wet you are from—"
Tension ripples through her body a heartbeat before she jerks away, pushing against my chest with surprising force. "No. Stop." Her voice is sharp and panicked, escalating quickly to a borderline scream. "Stop. Get off! I can't. I can't—"
I'm on my feet instantly, backing away to give her space.
The world drops away like I've stepped off an unmarked cliff, a sensation I haven't felt since that extraction in Kabul when our helicopter took fire.
Only this time, the threat isn't external.
It's whatever's happening in my chest, spreading outward like concussive damage.
Londyn curls into herself on the couch. She draws her knees to her chest to make herself impossibly small. The sobs come, low and ragged, tearing through her like they might break her apart. She rocks slightly, a self-soothing motion that somehow makes everything worse.
"I thought I could… I'm sorry. What you must think of me." The words spill out between gasps. "I'm just leading you on."
"Hey. You're not. It's okay." Desperation claws at my chest. What did I do? What did I miss? "Londyn, please, what happened?"
She doesn't seem to hear me. She's lost in turbulence.
"I-I'm sorry. It's not you. This is me. My fault.
You didn't do anything wrong." Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper.
Her fingers twist into her hair, knuckles whitening as she pulls hard enough to hurt.
Her breathing becomes shallow and rapid, like she's drowning in air.
It's like she's talking to someone else, some ghost I can't see.
"Why did I dress like that? They made me wear those clothes.
But I… I wore revealing dresses to parties, didn't I?
Sometimes I didn't wear panties. I made him… "
Everything in me goes still as the hairs along my arms prickle. "Your clothes? What do you mean?"
"They showed my body. Dee wore skimpy clothes.
But I did too. I didn't wear panties because they pinch and there's lines.
So that's why… that's why he did it. I should've worn panties.
I needed more clothes. Then he wouldn't have—" She breaks into a sob as the pieces click into place with sickening clarity.
My insides erupt in white-hot fury as the truth reveals itself in her broken fragments.
"Is this about Alan Miller?" The name is poison on my tongue.
Londyn's head snaps up, eyes like two full moons. I don't need her to say it because the truth is written all over her face. In the terror, the shame, the hurt that has nowhere to hide except the hollows around her eyes and the heavy grooves cutting through her forehead.
Miller didn't just verbally abuse her. He violated her. He took something that wasn't his to take.
My fists clench at my sides as rage burns through my veins like acid. I want to find this man. I want to fly to South Africa and cause him agony for each tear on Londyn's face and every night she's spent afraid. I'll make him suffer for every ghost he left in her mind.
But Londyn—my Londyn—is breaking apart in front of me, and my anger does nothing to help her in this moment.
I lower myself, squatting next to the couch so I'm at her eye level.
I want to pull her into my arms and shelter her, to promise that nothing will ever hurt her again.
But I don't know if my touch would help or harm right now.
I don't know the right words. I don't know anything except that I'd trade my life to take away her suffering.
"Londyn, I—"
"Please go." Her voice is empty of everything that makes her herself. "Please go."
The request hits me hard and I sway on my heels. Not because it's unexpected, but because it's the last thing I want.
But this isn't about what I want. It's about what she needs. And I know, from this second onward, I'll give her anything she needs. I'll do anything she requests of me.
I stand slowly, then back toward the door. "I'll be right across the hall," I tell her softly. "Anything you need, please tell me. I'll—"
A tremor runs through her shoulders as more sobs slip out.
Stop talking. Just give her space.
I shut my mouth, giving her a second to respond. She doesn't; she doesn't even look up. Londyn starts rocking, arms wrapped around herself like she's holding all her broken pieces together through sheer force of will.
As I step into the hallway and close the door behind me, my world collapses inward. Londyn's pain, and my helplessness in the face of it, threatens to crush me.
I stand there, my forehead pressed against her door, consumed by a hatred so pure it leaves room for nothing else.
Someday, I will find Alan Miller. And when I do, he'll wish he'd never laid eyes on Londyn Seever.