Page 7 of Jagged Burn
She nods once.
“I swear to God, Anna, if Matt hadn’t been there—”
“You can’t.”Her hand lands on my wrist, stopping me mid-sentence.“You’ll lose everything if you go after him.And then what?I can’t be the reason you lose your job.Or worse.”
I swallow hard, forcing down the rage.She’s right.Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hunt that bastard down and make him bleed.
When I’m done patching her up, I sit back on my heels.“You should rest.You can take my room.I’ll crash on the couch.”
“I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”
“Anna.”I let her name roll off my tongue slow, deliberate.“You’re safe here.That’s all that matters.”
Her gaze lingers on me, searching, like she’s trying to read all the things I’ll never say out loud.Like how I’ve loved her since we were teenagers but never let myself go there because of Matt.Like how every scar on my body feels less jagged when she looks at me like I’m not a monster.
Finally, she nods.“Fine.But only because I feel like I’m going to collapse if I don’t lie down.”
I chuckle under my breath and stand, offering her a hand up.“I’ll get you something to sleep in.Not sure I have anything small enough.”
She quirks one corner of her mouth.“Guess I’ll just have to drown in one of your t-shirts.Better than smelling like antiseptic and fear.”
There’s that bite of sarcasm I remember.My heart kicks against my ribs, harder than it should.
I hand her a clean t-shirt and sweats, then step outside the room to give her privacy.Leaning against the hallway wall, I drag my hand down my face.Jesus Christ.Having her here, in my space, wearing my clothes, is going to kill me.
When I finally check back in, she’s curled up on top of the covers, already half-asleep.My shirt hangs off her shoulder, exposing pale skin and the edge of a bruise.The sight guts me.What’s worse is the fact that her uncovered legs are bared for my gaze.The curve of her ass peaks out beneath the fabric of my t-shirt and it takes every ounce of self-control I have to not touch that bit of exposed skin.
I stand there too long, watching her breathe, fighting the urge to smooth the hair back from her face.To kiss her forehead like I’ve imagined doing a thousand times.Instead, I force myself to turn away.I feel like a damn pervert, my cock pushing at the front of my jeans, but she has always had this effect on me.
From the living room, I can hear the storm rattling the windows.I sit on the couch, staring at the ceiling.Sleep won’t come, not with the image of Anna in my bed, not with the rage still simmering in my veins.And not with the bone-deep certainty that this—her being here, me keeping her safe—is only the beginning.Because no matter what it costs me, I’m not letting anyone hurt Anna again.Not her ex.Not even her own fears.
Not while I’m still breathing.
Chapter Six
Memories And Smart Mouths
