His eyes lift, meeting mine once again.
“Because a sound like that once had that kind of effect on me.”
Chapter twelve
Jasper
Themomentthedoorcloses behind us, the guesthouse settles into a thick quiet stillness, and for a moment I’m lost in the way the shadows cling to the edges of her face. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, something I’ve noticed she does when she can’t quite figure out what else to do. She’s still shaken from earlier but trying so damn hard to pretend she isn’t.
I don’t want her to pretend with me.
She’s soft in ways I don’t understand yet and sharp in ways she doesn’t even realize. A woman who flinches at broken glass but straightens her spine to build a new life.
A contradiction.
A bruise wrapped in silk.
A survivor who still, somehow, apologizes for surviving.
Clearing my throat, I move into the small living room and lower myself onto the couch, elbows on my knees. Lucy scoots over and practically curls up on top of my feet. Abigail stays standing for a moment. Watching me. Studying me.
“Jasper,” she says gently. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine. Really.”
Her voice shakes a little, but she hides it better than most. She’s trying to convince herself more than me.
“I know you’re fine. But you shouldn’t have to sit alone with your head spinning. Not here.”
She hesitates, then comes to sit beside me. Close, but not touching. “I really am sorry about earlier,” she whispers.
“Don’t,” I say immediately. Too sharp. I force myself to remove the edge from my words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and I won’t have you apologize again. Okay?”
She looks down at her hands and plays with the cuffs of her shirt, something she does when she’s uncomfortable. “It was embarrassing.”
Embarrassing?
Jesus fucking christ.
I swallow hard, anger rising in me so fast it’s almost blinding. Not at her, but at whoever made her believe panic should equal shame. At whoever made fear something she thinks she should apologize for. “Abigail…” I take a slow and steadying breath. “Abbie. You reacted to something that reminded you of… of things you’ve been through. That’s not embarrassing. That’s human. You’re allowed to be human. To feel.”
Her throat works like she’s fighting down words.Fighting memories.I know that feeling. I know it way too fucking well. So does Beau.
And before she can say anything else… before she spirals somewhere else she doesn’t need to be, I say, “I want to tell you something. My story. Part of it at least.”
The part I’ve spent so much of my life trying to bury.
“Jasper, you don’t owe me—”
“I know,” I cut in softly. “That’s—well, that’s kind of the point. You don’t owe me yours either. Not tonight. Not ever if you don’t want to. But I do want you to understand something.” I lace my fingers together, forcing myself to sit still. “I know what it’s like.I know what it’s like to have someone damage your life in ways you don’t come back from the same.”
A silence settles. Heavy. Thick.
Abigail moves closer. Still not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of her thigh. I stare at the coffee table because looking at her makes it harder to talk. Harder to breathe.
“My dad wasn’t always a monster,” I begin. “That almost makes it worse. He was good. Solid. The kind of man people trusted. The kind of dad any kid would have wanted.” I clench my jaw. “Then one accident… one prescription… one moment… and it all was taken away.”
Images I wish I could forget flash through my head. My father’s glazed eyes, my mother’s trembling hands, Joe’s split lip she swore wasn’t from him. The sound of things breaking. The way the silence in that fucking apartment felt like nothing more than a threat.
“Dad actually used to work here, on the ranch, with Mr. Taylor. And then, one winter, he got hurt in a horse riding accident, and well… I was seven when the drugs took him. Nine, when he started drinking between the drugs. Eleven, when the violence got bad enough that I stopped spending most of my time at home. I’d hide here. We have guest bedrooms in the new house, but in the old house, one of those was mine. My safe space from my own father. Chris and Billie made sure I ate. Made sure Joe and I had clothes. They even gave me chores. Gave each of us our own horse. Gave us as much purpose as they could. Even helped mom when her jobs couldn’t cover the bills.”
