Page 25 of Holiday Scars
Blade catches me, hands firm on my shoulders. “Hey, Jett. Breathe. Look at me. You’re okay. You’re with me.”
I try, but my vision tunnels.
“Don’t do that,” he says softly. “You’re safe. He’s fine. You hear me?”
I nod to keep it together. Blade pulls me into his arms anyway. His hand settles at the back of my neck, grounding me.
And for once, I don’t pull away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Blade
I’m freaking out, to be honest. What if this ring knew Dirk was under surveillance and they got to him first?
Jett and I scope out the perimeter around the cabin to look for anything suspicious. Anyone else hanging around who shouldn’t be on their land.
Our hands brush until one of us just gives in and laces our fingers together. His palm is warm, rough from years of training and cold nights on a stakeout or tracking.
When we get back, there’s still no Dirk and Hana. No boots by the door. No jacket thrown over the chair. Nothing. No sounds in the cabin except for some leftover crackle of embers in the fireplace.
I try Dirk’s phone again, but it goes straight to voicemail. “Damn it, man.”
I don’t leave a message in case the Feds get a signal on it when he turns it back on.
“Your brother stopped me from...doing something stupid to myself,” I admit to Jett, sitting down. “I showed up at the community center gym with a busted face from my father, who told me I wasn’t worth breathing air. I believed him. Your brother was the only person who ever gave a damn if I lived or died.”
“Until you met me,” Jett says.
I look up at him. “Dirk just didn’t give me a place to sleep when I had nowhere to go. He gave me you.” The words scrape out of me before I can stop them.
Jett steps closer. “Me?”
I nod, staring at his mouth. Then I kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Gratitude, grief, and want collide in the same breath.
Jett lets me devour him to stop us both from spiraling. Then his hands come up, one fisting in my shirt, the other sliding to the back of my neck.
“We’re filthy from this afternoon,” he murmurs against my lips. “Come on.”
He pulls me down the hall to the bathroom. Steam fogs up the mirror in seconds. We strip off the clothes caked with dirt from the woods. The water sprays hot against my skin, and for a while, all I can hear is it rushing around us. Jett runs the bar of soap over my arms, my chest, slow and deliberate.
“I like it when you take care of me,” I say and dip my head forward.
I can’t remember the last time anyone touched me like this. Not to take. Not to fuck. Just to care.
When Jett is done, I take the soap and return the favor.
He leans into it, letting me. “So good.”
“Turn around,” I hiss.
I love washing his back, feeling his muscles ripple under my touch. God, that ass. I cup each cheek and even slide my finger down his seam.
He groans over his shoulder. “Yeah, that feels good.”
When the water runs cold, we step out, and I don’t even feel the chill. Jett tosses me a towel, and I dry him off. It feels so natural.
We dress in warm, cozy sweats and then move to the main room. I make us sandwiches from the leftover turkey. We eat shoulder to shoulder on the couch as the sun sinks behind the northern peaks.
