Page 40 of Bear

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Bear

Our headlights beamoff the front window of the cabin, and I shut off the engine. It’s like a fucking oven in here, and Jupiter sits on the bench seat beside me, shaking in her oversized hoodie.

“You okay, darlin’?” I ask.

“What kinda question is that? I just killed a man with a wrench.”

“He’s not a good man, if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

“I don’t know what I’m wondering. I don’t ... I can’t stop shaking ... I can’t feel my toes.”

“It’s shock.”

“Shock?” She stares at me in disbelief, but I don’t even know if she’s registering what she’s saying.

“Come on inside. I’ll make some tea, and you can take a nice hot shower to sooth your nerves.”

She reaches for the door handle and misses. A panicked laugh bubbles up from her throat. I climb out of the cab and move around to the passenger-side door, opening it for her. Her fingers hold onto the seat with a white-knuckled grip, and I help pry them loose.

She clutches my forearm as she steps down from the truck, her tiny fingers digging into my scarred flesh. I want to pull away. Someone as fucking perfect as her shouldn’t touch me and my twisted, marred flesh, like the gnarled knots in a tree. But I don’t pull away. I don’t put distance between us, because it’s clear she needs me, and that’s my downfall—always being the one who’s needed, always being the sucker willing to sacrifice parts of myself, my body, my time—fuck, even my soul—for what’s right.

I lead her to the cabin door and shove the key inside. “You should probably wait here while I check things out.”

“I ... I don’t want to,” she says in a tiny voice so unlike the lavender-haired little spitfire I’ve come to both know and loathe.

“Fine. Then stay behind me.” I pull my gun from my holster and cradle the grip in the heel of my hand. Jupiter’s throat bobs.

I step over the threshold and flip on the lights. An empty cabin greets us, but I make my way toward the bathroom to check it anyway. It’s a tiny space with no door, a toilet, a hand basin, and a chipped claw-footed tub. I shove the shower curtain with my foot. The metal rings scrape against the rod, putting my teeth on edge, but I relax when I see it’s empty.Good. I’m tired as hell and don’t feel like killing some stupid motherfucker tonight.

Jupiter stands in the middle of the cabin, surveying the place. There isn’t much to look at. This one room contains a kitchen sink and a microwave, and a shabby sofa with frayed upholstery—likely tortured by the sun and years of misuse. The bed isn’t large enough for me on a good day, much less with company in it, and everything I own sits in a black canvas overnight bag in the corner of the room. She stares at the faded curtains over the window and wraps her arms around her shoulders.

I set the gun on the small kitchen counter. “Hey, you did what you had to.”

She glances down at the floor. “I know.”

I’m not used to seeing Tink vulnerable. Tough as fucking nails, yes, but never vulnerable, and it makes me want to wrap her in my arms and hold her until the shaking subsides. It makes me want to revive the asshole whose face I just put my boot through just so I can kill him again for making her feel this way, for makingmefeel this way.

I can’t do any of that. I can’t raise the dead, but I can hold her if she’ll let me.

I pull a bottle of Tennessee whiskey from the shelf above the microwave, twist off the cap and take a hearty swig, all too aware of her eyes on me. I hand her the bottle and she accepts it, bringing it to her lips and taking a long pull. “Easy, baby girl. I’m supposed to be protecting you, not gettin’ you as drunk as Cooter Brown.”

I pull the bottle from her lips, longing to taste the liquor on her tongue, willing to drown in her kiss, but knowing this isn’t the time. I screw on the cap and set it down. Then I reach out and pull her into my arms, carrying her to the couch. I sit and pull her into my lap. She doesn’t struggle or pull away, so I’d consider that a win.

“You really get off on this, huh? Taking care of others?” she asks.

“My whole life, that’s all I’ve done. Sometimes I feel like it’s all I know how to do.” I rub lazy circles into her back. “The first man I ever killed wasn’t in warfare.”

Her gaze darts up to mine, but she doesn’t look frightened. Her eyes have finally lost that glazed look and are now wide with curiosity.

Jupiter doesn’t say anything. She just stays in my arms, her pretty baby blues soft and inquisitive, and I don’t want to just give her my story. I want to give her all of me. But the last time I handed a woman my whole heart, the last time I let someone in, she crushed it, fucked my Sergeant at Arms, and then sewed on my nomad patch as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of my bullshit.

“I killed the asshole who assaulted my girlfriend. Fresh out of high school, and I had a rage inside me that I couldn’t quell. I had a shitty homelife. My dad was an angry fucker who beat the shit out of me on a daily basis. He’d already sent my mama to an early grave.” I shake my head.

“God, I’m so sorry.”

“The stress of living every second with him breathing down her neck killed her.” I shrug and squeeze her tighter. “Charlotte was my escape. We grew up in the same town, and I came from nothing—less than nothing. She looked past all that. We were pretty hot and heavy, and I’d sneak in through her window every night, but it wasn’t like her to come to mine. She’d been at a party with her friends, and some douchebag hadn’t listened when she said she wasn’t interested. I went after the asshole. I hadn’t meant to kill him, but that rage just boiled over and I beat him so hard his face didn’t resemble a face no more.”

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