“Good,” he murmurs. “Now breathe in slow. Real slow. Hold it… good. Now out. That’s it. Good girl.”
Beau mirrors him, inhaling and exhaling with exaggerated slowness, giving me something to match. “Right there. That’s it. You’re okay, Darlin’.”
My lungs finally unlock, just enough for me to continue following their instructions. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Again.
It takes a few minutes to come back fully. To realize I’m standing in a safe place. With safe men. Men who didn’t break something out of anger.
“I’m—” My voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”
Lawson shakes his head. “No. Don’t do that.”
Jasper crosses his arms, but his tone is gentle. It’s then that I notice him and Beau still aren’t touching me. “You’re not apologizing for having a reaction. Not to us.”
Lincoln nods. “You’re safe here.”
The backs of my eyes sting at those three words. They all exchange a look, another one of those silent conversations they seem to be able to have, and then Jasper grabs his hat from the hook by the door, runs his hand through his dark hair, before placing it on backward. “I’ll walk her back,” he says quietly.
The other three nod. Not questioning it for a moment.
I follow him out into the cool October night, internally scolding myself for not even thanking them for dinner. The air is crisp as we walk the path toward the guesthouse, its front porch glowing like a beacon under the porch lights.
Inside, Jasper waits by the door as I step in. The sudden bark of a dog precedes a streak of red and white as it bolts in through the front door before curling up on the floor next to my couch. I didn’t even realize Lucy wasn’t in their house until just now, but it’s clear she’s now claimed mine as her own.
“She usually eats dinner in the barn,” Jasper clarifies.
I turn toward him and take a deep breath, letting the stillness around the guesthouse settle me.
The memories still sit heavy in my chest. Constantly threatening to pull me under. But what just happened was different. Instead of violence and shouting and shattered glass leading to pain, four men stopped what they were doing to help me breathe again. To help me stay above the surface.
Four men who didn’t get angry.
Four men who didn’t see me as a burden or as a tool.
And that feels as terrifying as it is comforting.
Jasper leans in the doorway, the soft glow catching the edge of his jaw and the silver chain at his neck. There’s something in his eyes. Something I don’t understand.
But I see it.
And he knows I see it.
“Thank you,” I finally manage to whisper.
Jasper shifts his weight, and for the first time since I met him, there’s no teasing in his expression. Only truth.
“I knew what to do,” he says quietly, “because—”
He stops.
Swallows harshly.
His jaw flexes.
And his eyes drop to the floor.
Whatever he’s about to say, it’s heavy. It runs deep. It’s a pain I’ve grown all too familiar with.
