“Jane.” I keep my voice low and steady, not a command but an offer. “You don’t have to do this.”
The men go quiet, sensing the shift. The kid’s grin fades.
Jane’s gaze locks onto mine. Not daring me to push, but begging me to give her a reason to stop.
“Jane,” I say quietly, just for her. “You don’t owe them anything.”
Her expression flickers as relief battles with shame.
Then she shoves the cigar back into the kid’s hand. “Fine.”
She turns sharply and storms away, her boots punching through the snow as if she wants to leave dents in the earth.
I don’t let my attention follow her yet. I look at the kid. “Don’t bait her into proving anything. She doesn’t owe you a damn performance.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “I was just joking.”
“Don’t,” I repeat. “Not with her.”
He nods quickly. “Yes, sir.”
I turn and follow Jane, finding her behind the barn, one hand braced against the wall, breathing too hard.
“Jane,” I say, approaching slowly this time.
She lifts her head, ready to snap at me. Then she gags. In the next moment, she’s throwing up into the snow.
I’m there instantly. I don’t touch her. Not yet, not until she tells me it’s okay.
“Can I?” I ask, gesturing toward her hair.
She nods, eyes squeezed shut.
I pull her hair back with one hand, keeping it off her face. My other hand hovers near her back, close enough for her to feel the warmth, but not close enough to trap her.
She retches again, her body shaking. It twists something in me; not disgust, but concern and the helplessness of watching someone refuse help until their body forces the issue.
Jane wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and glares at the snow as if it’s offended her.
“I’m fine,” she rasps.
“Yeah,” I say dryly. “You’re glowin’.”
She shoots me a glare. “Don’t.”
“I’m not judging you. I’m worried.”
“That’s worse,” she snaps, her voice cracking. “I didn’t ask you to worry.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Her eyes are bright with humiliation. “I was just... messing around.”
“No,” I say softly. “You were trying to belong.”
Her jaw clenches, and she looks away.
I don’t push. I just hold her hair again when she coughs. The intimacy of it hits me hard, of me holding her like she matters, and her trusting me enough to be messy in front of me.
