I held her hand, refusing to give in to my aching muscles or shift to the chair on her other side.Jasmine trusted me enough to sleep, to heal, in my presence.And I was going to be there for her while she did so.
Jasmine rolled over and blinked at me, smiling sleepily.“Miss you when you’re not there.”
She tucked her good hand under her cheek.I leaned forward and kissed her temple, inhaling her lush scent.Why had I fought against this?Fought to distance myself from her?
She was happiness.No, that wasn’t fair to her.Jasmine was contentment; she was the person I could face adversity with and know I’d come out on top.She was serenity to my raging mind.She was, in a word, everything.
And I’d almost lost her.
“I’m going to be worthy of you, Jasmine Grace,” I whispered as I slid back, once again sitting sentinel over my woman as she healed and slept.
As dawn broke, the nursing shift change occurred, and I was politely told I needed to leave.Much as I hated the request that was really a command, I agreed, but not until I’d written Jasmine a note and tucked it onto her tray.
My legs had gone numb during my vigil, so walking on them was a form of agony that eased with astonishing slowness.
I stared at the pink skyline, noting the rising sun as I strode across the parking lot toward my car.A new day.
A new chance.
I needed answers.More, I needed to lay my demons to rest.I’d wrestled with them for too long.Now, I simply had to accept my past.
Which meant I had to go back to my hometown.
Once I was settled in my car, I shot Nash and Aya a text, letting them know I wasn’t going to be at their place that day.Not that me showing up mattered; Aya was going to be traveling for work and taking Nash and Levi with her.My son didn’t like to be apart from his wife, especially when she made overseas trips for her nonprofit.
They’d be back in a week, and so would I.Hopefully, by then, I’d have more clarity.Jasmine needed to understand I’d meant what I said, but it would take time to regain her trust.A lot of effort.
I stared at the sunrise before I started the ignition.
She was worth the effort—more than worth it.Now, I just had to prove I was worthy of her.
I slammed the door to my truck shut, entranced by the small, unassuming house that sat on the small, grassy knoll.I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels, my gaze never leaving the peeling, sagging front door.
My childhood home was in bad shape.Real bad, based on the missing siding next to the front door and cracked glass in the kitchen’s single window.A thick tree branch scraped across the roof, but based on the lack of friction or sound, the wood had rubbed most of the shingles away.
The dirt track leading here was pitted and rough, pretty much as I remembered it.Yet, the house itself was smaller than in my memories.With a deep, chest-expanding breath, I pushed forward and up the one sagging, rotted step to the door.
The hinges creaked, then screamed, as I shouldered my way into the space.A hiss from the kitchen caused my heart to slam hard against my ribs as I spun to face…not my father but a snarling mother possum.
She and I stared at each other for a long moment before she went back to tending her newborns, their pink skin still a little wrinkled and totally unappealing.
I gave them a wide berth as I made my way to the middle of the small living area.Right, in the center of the room, on the dingy carpet, I could make out the bloodstains from the last beating my father ever gave me or my mother.If I hadn’t known about the last evidence of the horrors my mother withstood in this place, I might have overlooked the dark discolorations that sprayed across the carpet.But I was sure that’s what they were—I could still see my mother’s blood, my father’s fist.I could still taste the bitter tang of fear that this time…this time one of us wouldn’t survive.
I dropped to my knees there and stared at the thin, matted pile as tears formed in my eyes and trekked down my cheeks.With the sadness for what I’d lost—my mother, my innocence, I also felt a conflicting anger.
“You should have left him,” I said through gritted teeth.“Why didn’t you leave the piece of shit?”
“She tried once.”I whirled toward the voice, staying low in a crouch.It was an instinctual move I’d learned while living here: keep myself as small as possible to avoid some of the blows while prepared to dart away from more pain.
Sickened by my visceral response, I slowly rose to my feet.“Sheriff,” I said, tipping my head toward the bronze badge pinned with pride to the left pocket of his khaki uniform.There was no point wiping my face as he would have already seen the tear tracks.
“Good to see you, Steven.”The sheriff smiled at me from under his bushy, white mustache.“We wondered if you made it out of here or if Ward killed you, too.”
I spread my arms wide.“Alive and well.”
“So I see.Though, we figured that out a few years back when that article about Nash Porter came out—there you were, smack dab behind the biggest rock star in an age.Gave us all a shock of pride, let me tell you.”
I wiped my wet cheeks with the cuff of my sleeve and offered him a small smile.“He’s my son,” I said, pride puffing up my chest and lifting my chin.
