Page 66 of Just My Type
Something is wrong. Horribly, terribly wrong.
Below me, Hannah goes stiff, wheezing out a breath, her eyes wide and filled with terror.
“My wrists,” she manages through stuttered breaths. “Let go.Please.”
Her wrists. The bruises. Three years ago. Six months ago. The fear in her eyes.
Fuck.
My heart leaps into my throat as I let go of her wrists immediately, pulling out of her and pulling her up and into my arms. I turn so my back is against the headboard, and I slide Hannah between my legs, her back to my chest, locking my arms around her torso, careful to leave her hands untouched.
She circles her wrists over and over again, like she’s reminding herself that she can move them freely, and my mind races with the implications of this panic attack. My stomach churns as I consider all the different ways she may have been hurt. What he may have done to her. But I shove it away for thetime being, forcing my focus to Hannah and Hannah alone. She is the only thing that matters right now.
“Breathe for me, Gorgeous.” I murmur in her ear, laying one of my hands flat against her heart. It thunders under my palm so fast. Too fast.
“I…can’t.” Hannah gasps, her entire body trembling in my hold.
“You can. I know you can. Feel my chest against you, sweetheart. Breathe with me. Do what I do.”
I take slow, exaggerated breaths, curling my body around hers so she can feel my chest rising and falling against her back and tapping my thumb on her chest three times. “I know you’re scared,” I say against her ear. “Panic attacks are fucking terrifying. But I swear I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe here with me, Hannah. I promise you are, and you always will be. You’re safe, baby.”
When I repeat the wordsafe, Hannah’s breath whooshes out and then she takes a slow, shaky inhale.
“Good girl,” I murmur, thumb stroking her chest as she breathes again. We keep breathing together, and I feel her heartrate slow, her skin turning clammy. When she shivers, I reach down with one hand and pull the comforter up, tucking it around her, stroking her hair back from her face, keeping my other arm locked around her body until her breathing evens out.
The muffled sob has me turning Hannah to face me, gathering her up against my chest. And with my arms back around her, her face buried in my neck, she breaks. Her tears come hot and fast, dripping down my chest, her body-wracking sobs shattering my heart into a million pieces. I wish I could take whatever is hurting her and carry it myself. Absorb all her fear so she never has to feel it again.
But since I can’t, I do what I can. I hold her tightly and stroke a hand up and down her back. Murmur words into her ear, telling her over and over again that she’s safe.
When her sobs quiet and her tears slow, she sits up in myhold. She looks at me, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed, her face red and blotchy from the crying jag.
She is the most beautiful girl in the world.
Mine.
The wave of possession that grips me is strong and fierce. It makes me want to leave this bed and hunt down whoever hurt her. Make sure they never, ever get the chance again. They won’t. He won’t. I’ll make sure of it.
Cupping Hannah’s face in both my hands, I wipe away the remaining tears with my thumbs, leaning in to kiss her forehead. When my lips meet her skin, Hannah leans into me, letting out a shuddery breath that sounds a lot like relief.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters.
“No, baby.” I pull back so I can look her in the eyes. “Don’t ever apologize. Not for this. Never for this. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. I did something that scared you. I’m so, so sorry, Hannah.”
She shakes her head, turning to press a kiss to the inside of my palm. “You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know. I didn’t tell you.” Her voice drops to a whisper when she says that last thing and she pauses, looking almost like she’s arguing with herself, before speaking again. “I want to tell you. I want you to know everything.”
I bite back my protest. My instinct to tell her she doesn’t have to explain everything right now. Or ever. That no one is entitled to anything she would rather keep to herself. Because another part of me, a bigger part, understands that Hannah has had more than enough of men telling her what’s best for her. Instead, I drop my hands from her face and take her hands in mine, tangling our fingers together. “If you want to tell me, then I want to know.”
Hannah breathes a sigh of relief. “Do you think I could have some water first?”
Lifting our joint hands, I kiss her knuckles. “Anything. Everything.”
Understanding that the request is a way to give herself a minute alone, I climb right out of bed and pull a pair of shorts from my dresser, tugging them on and heading to the kitchen. I grab a glass and fill it with ice and water and pull a Sprite from the fridge and a bag of Twizzlers from the cabinet. Biting the ends off one, I stick it in the Sprite can the way she likes.
When I return to my room, Hannah is sitting cross-legged against the pillows, wearing my T-shirt, her hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head. When she sees what I’m carrying, she gives me a small smile. “My hero.”
I hand her the water, setting the Sprite on the nightstand and keeping the Twizzlers as I slide back onto the bed, turning so I’m facing her. “I thought emotional support Twizzlers were in order.”
Hannah takes them from me, pulling one out of the bag. “You thought right.” She takes a bite, silence falling between us as she chews. “I’m not sure where to start,” she says when she swallows, taking a long sip of the water and handing it to me to put back on the nightstand.
