Page 49 of Homestead

He makes another throaty sound of objection and moves to the couch, pulling me against him and wrapping his arms around me. “Listen to me, Chloe. It’s not your fault. It’s not. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I should have had my?—”

“You should feel safe in your own home. And if you don’t, it’s my fault, not yours.”

I whimper and pull back. “It’s not?—”

“Yes, it is.” His face and dark eyes are dead serious. “It’s my job to keep you safe. I’m supposed to do that, and I didn’t.”

“You did! You got here. You killed him before he could… before he… You did keep me safe, Jimmy. I’m really okay.” I make myself stop crying since I can see the guilt and responsibility in his expression, in his stiff posture. “I’m sorry I fell apart, but I’m really okay.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” he mutters, reaching out to pull me toward him again. “You didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”

“Neither did you.” I should be stronger if only to prove to Jimmy that I’m really okay, but I don’t have it in me at the moment. I need his arms around me. His big, solid body. His familiar scent. The feeling vibrating just beneath the surface of his presence.

It’s making me feel better, and Ineedit.

I say against the flannel shirt he’s wearing, “Thank you for getting here in time.”

* * *

We stay on the couch for a while. He hugs me tightly, rocking us slightly until I’ve finally stopped crying.

He looks relieved when I ask if I can have a bath—probably because it gives him something concrete to do—and he gets busy drawing water and heating up a pot to fill up the tub.

I get in and soak for a long time, eventually using the soap and washcloth to scrub every inch of my body.

I still feel panicky when I remember that man on top of me. I’m still queasy when I imagine what might have happened. But I breathe slowly, purposefully, and calm my mind, convincing myself to hold it together.

Jimmy obviously feels bad, feels guilty, and wants to make it better, but I still have responsibilities as his woman. I can’t fall apart so much I can no longer do my job.

When I finally get out, the water in the tub is cool and I’ve regained my composure. I put Jimmy’s old T-shirt back on and a pair of knit shorts I found at the bottom of a box in the storage room since I don’t feel like wearing real clothes.

“I’m all done,” I say, going to the back door and sticking my head out. “Did you want to take a bath too since we have the tub filled?”

He visibly hesitates, and I understand why.

“I’m really okay. I’ll go lie down in the bedroom. There’s no reason to waste all that water. I heated up another pot for you.”

That evidently decides him. “Okay. You stay inside.”

“I will.” I swallow hard, wondering how this is ever going to work. While I have no desire to be outside by myself right now, obviously that can’t be a permanent situation. I’m sure I’ll be able to overcome my nerves, but Jimmy is acting very protective. Hopefully he’ll relax after he recovers too because he can’t defend me every second of every day.

We both have work to do—work that often takes us away from each other.

I don’t put any of those thoughts into words. His overreaction is probably similar to my continued shakiness. I curl up on our bed while he takes his bath, and I’m still there when he finishes and joins me in the room.

I’m curled up on my side, facing the wall, so I can’t see him, but I can sense him. Hear him. Smell him as he walks over to the bed.

“You okay?” he asks thickly when I don’t turn over.

“Yeah.”

He climbs onto the bed and scoots over so his big body is pressed against my back, spooning me from behind. He wraps his arms around me.

I sigh and want to cry again but manage to restrain the impulse.

For a long time, neither one of us speaks. He holds me, and I hug one of his forearms to my chest.

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