Page 64 of Don’t Say Mafia

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head in a helpless, broken motion, and a sob tore free again. “I—I got a call,” I choked. “The police. They said⁠—”

My throat closed. The words were refusing to come.

Jagger rested his forehead against my temple, and it kind of felt like his presence was a shield around me.

“My husband,” I finally forced out in a hoarse, wrecked whisper. “They said he was hit by a car and that there might have been drugs involved. They said he’s dead.”

His arms tightened, and he pulled me closer until my face was pressed into his chest as if that were exactly where I belonged.

“Oh, Eden,” he said softly.

He didn’t pretend to understand or offer platitudes or empty reassurances. He didn’t tell me everything would be okay.

He just held me.

“I’m so sorry,” Jagger murmured. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting.”

“I was going to leave him,” I gasped into his shirt, the confession spilling out without permission. “I was going to tell him soon.”

My guilt tangled with my shock and my grief, and with something else I couldn’t name. My body shook harder, my knees threatening to give out entirely.

Jagger didn’t flinch. He widened his stance, absorbing my weight as I sagged into him. One hand moved slowly along my spine, steady in its pace, as if he could smooth the chaos under my skin by sheer repetition. The other cradled the back of my head, continuing to press my face firmly against his chest, protecting me from the world.

I cried until my voice turned ragged, until each breath scraped like it was dragging over gravel. My ribs ached from the force of it. My fingers went numb as they gripped his jacket, yet I couldn’t make them release. It felt like something inside me was tearing loose in strips, leaving nothing but a shaking shell behind.

Through all of it, he didn’t shift. He absorbed every tremor, every broken inhale, standing firm and steady, his heartbeat a slow, unchanging rhythm against my cheek while mine came apart.

***

The hallway smelled like antiseptic and cold metal, a scent that felt designed to strip everything human out of a moment like this. My shoes echoed too loudly against the tile as the attendant stopped in front of a plain door and reached for the handle.

I felt the attendant’s eyes on us, judging me. Her gaze dipped to our fingers laced together, then back to my face, like she was rearranging the story in her head.

Widow. And not alone.

Heat crept up my neck, but I didn’t loosen my grip.

I knew Jagger was a stranger and that something was wrong that I hadn’t argued or questioned it or even thought to call anyone else when he’d told me he would come with me. And I’m sure tomorrow I would ask myself why I’d shown up at the morgue with another man’s hand in mine, but right now . . . I was having trouble letting go of it.

“You don’t have to stay,” I finally whispered, not meaning anything I was saying. “You should go. You shouldn’t have to see this.”

Jagger’s eyes met mine, the deep brown shot through with silver at the centers, like metal catching firelight. The contrast made his stare feel almost unreal, warm and cold at once. When he looked at me, the noise around us seemed to recede, the world compressing until there was only the comforting, exhilarating weight of his attention.

“Is there anyone else you want with you?” he asked as he softly stroked my cheek with the hand I wasn’t holding.

There should have been an obvious answer to his question. A name. A person. Someone who fit. But there was nothing. It was just another reminder of how Ryan and I had built a life in Vegas that wasn’t a life at all.

And now I was truly alone in it.

I swallowed, wincing at the burn in my throat. “No,” I murmured, and suddenly I was sobbing again. I pressed my hand to my mouth like that might keep me together, but it didn’t work.

“Oh, baby,” he said in an aching voice, as though he was experiencing all my pain and sadness right along with me. He let go of my hand and slid his arm around my shoulders, holding me upright with effortless ease. “I’m here,” he said quietly. “You’re not doing this alone.”

I let out a broken breath that might have been a laugh if I weren’t crying so hard. “I don’t even know you.”

His mouth tipped into the faintest smile. “You know my name, remember . . . which means we’re friends.”