The first sob shakes her shoulders.
The second shakes me.
I’m choking on gravel when I whisper against her hair. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you.”
She cries hard. Hands twisting into my shirt, tears drenching my shoulder.Fuck, what has happened to this woman?
“Cry all you need to,” I murmur as I rub her back. Every stroke of my hand making me angrier.
Jesus.Is she not eating?
“Did you call the cops on him?” I ask, forcing my tone even when I am not even close to being calm.
“No.”
More sobs follow and I know she has to feel the anger shaking my hands now.
It takes a lot for me to get blistering mad. Seeing her wrecked and bruised is gasoline to fire.
How could someone hurt any woman like this?
“Let’s sit you over here. I’m going to take a look at your face.”
When I lift her onto the counter by the swinging doors, she won’t look at me.
“I’m sorry,“ she whispers using her sleeve to wipe her face. “I don’t know what got into me. I just lost it when you said that.”
Those words drag a hot knife through my chest.
I tilt her face up. It’s critical that she sees how much I mean this. “You don’t have to explain.”
Any hope in her expression is quickly doused by doubt.
Silent, she searches my face as I inspect the handprint on her face. It’s huge. Nearly the size of my own palm.
It takes monumental effort to keep anger in check.
”You need ice,“ I half-growl, moving my inspection to her arm where another handprint is turning black. “I want to break this fucker’s arm off for hurting you.”
She goes so still, not even breathing, it draws my focus to her face.
For the first time, there she is. Guard down. Trusting me.
We don’t move. Don’t speak. Not sure we breathe. Whatever passes between us might be silent, but it’s loud as cannon fire.
And don’t want to think about it.
“Let me get you some ice.”
She nods. “Okay there are some bags on the shelves. But really, I could do it.”
“No. You can’t. Not with me here.”
Her gaze is on me as I move to the freezer and rummage around until I’ve got what I need. When I return with a bag and a hand towel, she’s sad. Just fucking sad.
“Here, let’s get this iced down,” I press the ice gently to her skin. “Tilt your face up.”
Her eyes drift closed as I adjust the bag to cover most of the bruise and like some goddamned animal I study her beautiful features.
