Not kind of trembling like I was—and had been—but full on shaking. He was pale. Even his lips had lost their color.
I said something to the person over the phone that I hoped at least included a “thank you,” but I would never know for sure, because the next thing I was aware of was ending the call and shoving my phone into my purse, which was sitting against my hip.
That entire six-foot-four, two-hundred and something pound body was literally shaking.
He looked like he hadn’t just seen a ghost, but a hundred of them.
I didn’t intentionally set out to grab his hand or pull him toward me, but I did. Once, I had shaken the same way he was doing right then, and all I had wanted afterward was someone to hold me.
And for me, there had been no one to do that.
But I could be that person for someone else now.
I led him to the curb I was standing on and watched as he sank onto it, those long legs bent at the knee, his hands loose at his sides, his nostrils flaring with deep, deep breaths that could have passed for pants on anyone else. He scared me. Right then, watching his normally tan face go so freaking white, watching the biggest and most no-nonsense man I had ever known shake, scared the hell out of me.
“You’re okay,” I told him, ignoring everything else around us.
His eyes were straight forward, on me but not on me, and I just barely noticed it.
I squeezed his hand and got nothing but another bone-rattling shake.
“Rip, you’re okay. That guy’s an idiot,” I said softly.
He still just stared straight ahead, right at the top hem of my leggings since it was what was directly in front of him.
Dropping into a crouch, my worry kicked up threefold, and I took his other hand, giving both of the much bigger palms and fingers a squeeze. He still didn’t react.
I let go of one of his hands and raised mine to his face, only letting my fingertips graze his stubbly chin. “Hey, you’re good. Nothing happened.”
Nothing.
Even knowing I had no right and no business to touch him, and that he probably wouldn’t like it, I palmed his cheek, tiny whiskers grazing my skin. He was clammy and too cool. “Rip?”
Nothing.
I let go of his other hand and cupped his face between both of mine, trying to catch his eyes, but they were still straight ahead, unfocused and zoned out.
What was I supposed to do?
I could still hear the sirens coming from a distance, but I knew that other than the cut on his face, he was probably physically fine. The worst he’d have were some bruises and possibly his shoulder hurting just like mine was.
I tried again. “Rip?”
Nothing.
“Hey, you’re okay,” I told him, still holding his cheeks. “I’m okay. Take a deep breath.”
He didn’t. He didn’t do anything.
I tried to think about what I would want if I was in his shoes, and I hesitated. But it only took one glance at his zoned-out face to know I was going to do it even if he pushed me off and cussed me out later.
At least I’d be ready for it.
So before I could talk myself out of it, I swept my hands from his cheeks toward the back of his head, then moving one hand to do the same gesture over the top of it too. When he didn’t flinch, I dropped to my knees, ignoring the shooting pain that the concrete sent through them, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, and I hugged him.
I pressed the side of my cheek against his, and I hugged him even tighter, not letting go.
But it still wasn’t enough. He still shook, these shivers that flowed from the center of his body down toward his fingertips.
