I set the phone face down on my chest and closed my eyes for a beat.The house settled into a rhythm -- fridge hum, distant tick of the cheap clock, faint drip in the bathroom I’d been meaning to fix.Underneath it all, another presence existed under my roof.
A woman who had run to me, the one person she’d felt she could trust when she was in trouble.I stood and checked the front door again.Deadbolt.Chain.Solid.Then I checked the front window lock, then the back, even though it faced inside the compound.
My cut hung on the hook by the door.The Glock sat on the coffee table within reach.I kicked off my boots and stretched out.Sleep didn’t come easy.Every time my eyes drifted shut, my mind handed me images of Jade’s bruises and Roth’s hands.My jaw clenched until my teeth hurt.My palms itched for violence.Violence wouldn’t fix what she carried in her head, but it might stop the man who fed it.
Eventually my body took what it could.The clock moved forward in small jumps.The house blurred around the edges.
A sound snapped me awake.Not pipes.Not fridge.Not wind.A soft, choked noise, like someone trapped words behind their teeth.
I sat up fast.My hand went to the Glock, then stopped.The sound came from the hall, not the front door.The house wasn’t under attack.Shewas.
I left the gun on the table and moved silently down the hall.Light spilled under the bedroom door.She’d turned the lamp back on.I paused with my hand hovering near the wood, listening.
“Please,” she whispered.“Just leave me alone.”
Nightmare.Her voice came strained, thick, as if she tried to talk through panic.
I pressed my forehead to the door for half a second, forcing myself not to kick it open.I didn’t want to become another crash in her memory.“Jade.”My voice came out low and steady.“You’re here.You’re safe.You’re in my house, not your apartment.Roth isn’t near you.Open the door if you want me to come in.”
Silence followed, but not the heavy kind.The kind where a brain tried to decide whether help was real.Then the lock clicked.
I cracked the door and looked in.
She sat in the middle of my bed, knees drawn tight to her chest, my gray shirt swallowing her slight frame.Damp hair tangled around her face.Sweat shone at her temples.Her eyes looked too big again, rimmed red, fixed on the door like it might splinter at any second.“Sorry,” she blurted.“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Don’t apologize.”I stepped in slowly.“You okay?”
A humorless laugh escaped her.“No.”
I nodded once.“Nightmare.”
“Door,” she said, voice thin.“He keeps kicking it in.Over and over.No matter how many locks I add, he comes through.Sometimes my brother stands behind him.Watches.Sometimes you’re there too, but you’re… not you.”
My stomach clenched.Roth had gotten into her dreams.That kind of poison spread.I sat on the edge of the bed, leaving space.My hands remained where she could see them.No sudden movement.No looming.“You want me to stay?
Her throat bobbed.“Please.”
“Okay,” I said.“I’m here.”
She stared at me with distrust written across her face.Words had betrayed her before -- I could see the history of those lies in her eyes.Hell, I understood why she hesitated.I lifted my hand between us, palm up.A simple offer.No pressure.No demand.“I’m right here,” I said.“If you want to hold on, you can.If you don’t, we can sit in silence until your head calms down.”
Her gaze dropped to my hand.Her fingers trembled as though she stood at a cliff edge.She slid her palm into mine.
Heat shot up my arm, sharp and unexpected.Not lust.Not yet.Something closer to purpose.The warmth of her hand surprised me – like her, it felt small and fragile, yet she was also stubborn and determined.I closed my fingers around hers, not tight, but enough for her to feel the weight.
Her shoulders eased a fraction.“This helps.”
“Good.”
She swallowed.“Tell me something.Anything except… him.”
For a second I searched my mind.Safe stories appeared first.Boring ones.Then the truth of where I came from pushed forward, and I knew what to share.“When I was eight, my neighbor had a dog named Bruno,” I said.“Big ugly mutt.Half something, half something else.Black fur, white patch over one eye.Everybody in the neighborhood said he was mean.”
Her brows pulled together.“Okay.”
“He growled at people for sport,” I said.“Bit the mailman twice.My old man hated him.Said he was dangerous.”
Her grip stayed on my hand.She didn’t pull away.She listened.
