Stowing my fear and my need for help, I choose the lie that keeps them alive, even though I know what it’s going to cost me. I push to my feet, my heart slamming hard enough into my rib cage to make me dizzy. My hands shake, and I hate that my body is betraying me. “I need to get back to work.”
“Blake,” Jagger says, pushing from the step and reaching for me. His hand closes around my forearm, light and gentle, almost like he’s afraid he’ll hurt me further. “Talk to me. Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” I bark, yanking my arm free andshoving him back a step. The words taste like ash the moment they leave my mouth. “You should go.”
His eyes widen, hurt flashing there before he can hide it. “Blake?—”
“I saidgo,” I repeat, my voice cracking despite everything I do to hold it together. When he doesn’t, I shove past him and storm for the door, my pulse roaring in my ears and tears welling.
“Blake!” he calls after me.
I don’t stop. I can’t, because I know what will happen if I do. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, my shoulders tall and my chin lifted, even as tears prickle down my cheeks and my chest aches like I’ve just ripped my heart out and tossed it on the concrete floor in that stairwell.
I expect him to follow, that I’ll hear his footsteps stomping down the hallway behind me. Part of mewantshim to. Wants him to chase me down, grab hold of me, and refuse to let me self-destruct. But he doesn’t. And somehow, that hurts more.
I make it back to the nurses’ station on autopilot, snapping my professional mask back into place with practiced ease. Charting. Meds. Vitals. A consult that could have waited but didn’t. I float through the last two hours of my shift, smiling when required, nodding when spoken to, my mind replaying the look on Jagger’s face when I rejected him.
Zahra watches me with narrowed, concerned eyes but uncharacteristically doesn’t push. Not here. Not now. And I’m beyond grateful for that small mercy.
When 3:00 a.m. finally crawls around, I clock out and leave without looking back. The night air is cool and damp, wrapping around me and chilling me to my core. I breathe it in deeply, trying to shake the feeling that I’m being watched and convincing myself I’m safe. That I’m alone.
My apartment is dark and quiet when I get there. Inside, I toe off my shoes, peel off my scrubs, and crawl into bed without bothering to turn on a light. The darkness wraps around me, heavy and suffocating, as I curl onto my side and finally let the tears fall.
Sleep comes in jagged spurts, shallow and not deep enough, until a knock at my door jolts me awake. My heart surges as my stomach drops. It’s late. Too late for neighbors or anything good. “Who’s there?” I call, my voice thin and shaky as I slide out of bed.
I move quietly, grabbing my phone from the nightstand and bringing up the contact number for the useless building security guard as I pad barefoot across my apartment. My mind races through worst-case scenarios with brutal efficiency: the man from the exam room, the one from the market, Maryam’s husband. Approaching the door cautiously, I hover my thumb above the call button. I open the door as far as the security chain will allow.
Jagger…
Relief crashes into me so hard my knees nearly give out. He looks wrecked. His shoulders are slumped, and his jaw is shadowed with stubble. The anger and fear in his eyes have gone, leaving his blue pools dark and haunted.He’s hurt.
“Jagger,” I exhale, pushing the door shut. I undo the chainand open it wide, letting the hallway light spill into my apartment as a soft glow casts around his broad frame.
“Hey,” he says quietly. For a moment, neither of us moves; we merely stare at each other in silence. When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is rough, like the words have been clawing at his throat for hours. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I just… The thought of anyone hurting you… Something happening to you…” He steps closer and cups my face gently. His thumb brushes beneath my eyes, clearly noticing that I have been crying. Bending down, he presses his forehead to mine, and his nose brushes against my cheek in a tender, affectionate gesture. “It makes me see red,” he finishes softly.
My resolve crumbles, and I sag into his touch, my walls cracking just enough to let a small sob slip free. “I’m sorry,” I whisper back. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I just… There are things you can’t know. Things I can’t tell you.”
He pulls back far enough to look at me, really look at me. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he promises. “Not tonight. Not ever, if you can’t. I just need you to know I’m not the enemy here.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I know.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath since the stairwell. “Can I come in?”
I step aside without answering, letting him into the quiet darkness of my apartment. He looks around briefly before taking my hand and leading me to the bed. We sit on the edge, close but not quite touching, as the silence stretches long and heavy between us.
“I didn’t come to fight,” he shares after a moment. “I came because the idea of you being alone tonight didn’t sit right with me.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.” He tenderly wraps his hand over mine. “I want to.” I glance down at his hand, tattooed and strong, resting over mine on my thigh. Large hands that could destroy or protect with equal measure. Hands I trust—more than I should—to protect me.
“I’m scared,” the confession timidly tumbles over my lips.
“Of what?”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “If I say it out loud, it becomes real.”
He doesn’t argue or demand to know my secret. He shifts closer and wraps an arm around me, pulling me gently against his chest. I go willingly, pressing my face into the warmth of him, breathing him in like oxygen.
