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“Ready to go home, love?” I ask her, holding out my hand.
“With you? Always.”
She places her much smaller hand in mine, and I gently pull her toward me, pressing my lips to her temple. “Wrap your arms around my neck, okay? And close your eyes.”
She does as I say, and I scoop her up in my arms, heading back out to the living room and toward the front door.
Before I can step outside, I hear Gregg waddling up behind me. “Now wait a goddamn minute. Where the hell are you taking my daughter?” His voice is nasally, thanks to the broken nose I undoubtedly gave him earlier.
I turn, looking the motherfucker straight in the eye, silently conveying every vile thing I want to do to him for laying hands on his daughter. His face grows pale, and he stumbles backward, landing on his ass. Good riddance. What a waste of space.
Jordan clings to me, her lips grazing my neck. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her tears wetting my skin.
“Let’s get you home, sweet girl,” I say softly as I open the passenger door and help her get settled inside.
“Home,” she whispers, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face. My woman is so tired, but she needs a hot shower before we pick everything apart. What’s most important is that she’s here now.
10
JORDAN
The ride up the mountain is a total blur. I’m barely aware of parking in front of the cabin and having Huxley carry me inside. My head is spinning, and not only from being slapped around by my dad.
My dad… That man I interacted with today was not my father. Or, at least, I don’t recognize him as the person who raised me. Was he always this possessive? This paranoid?
And then there’s Huxley. He found me, saved me, even though I was trying to prove to him I could do things on my own. I guess I can’t.
“Hey,” Huxley says, sitting me in front of the shower. His voice is heartbreakingly gentle, and more tears form and fall down my cheeks. It feels like an endless waterfall at this point. Huxley turns the water on hot, then returns all his attention to me. “Here, let me clean you up.”
He grabs a washcloth and wets it with the warm water. Cupping my face with one hand, he begins cleaning the blood and tears off of my skin. He ghosts his fingers over the bruise on my cheek and the bump on my head, taking inventory of every injury and applying bandages where necessary.
Silently, Huxley undresses me, his touch gentle and reassuring. Once he’s stripped off his clothes, he guides me into the shower. We stand there, staring at each other while the water beats down on our bare skin, burning away the last few hours.
Huxley’s eyes roam up and down my naked body, followed by the very tips of his fingers. He traces my curves, outlining every peak and valley. It’s not a heated touch; it’s a reverent touch. A reassuring touch. Like he’s making sure I’m real.
I reach out and place my hand on his chest, suddenly needing to feel him, too. The steady beat of his heart pulses through me and draws me closer until I’m pressed against his body and crying into his chest.
He doesn't say anything; he just holds me. One massive hand cups the back of my head, keeping me close, while the other strokes up and down my back. My quiet whimpers turn into full-on sobs that wrack my body. Huxley holds me through it all.
When the tears run dry and I can breathe normally again, Huxley reaches for the soap and carefully cleans every inch of me, scrubbing away everything we went through today.
I spin in his arms and begin washing him the same way, slowly, silently, somberly, making sure he’s real and right here with me. Huxley cups my face in his hands, resting his forehead against mine. We stay like that for long moments, sharing breaths and heartbeats.
Eventually, Huxley shuts the water off and wraps me in a towel before carrying me to the bed. We don’t bother getting dressed; we just crawl under the covers, finding each other beneath the blankets and holding each other close.
“Can you tell me why you left this morning?” Huxley asks, his voice calm and soothing. There’s no judgment. I know he wants to understand.
“I woke up to a bunch of awful texts from my dad,” I start. “He came home early and was livid that I wasn’t home. He said he knew I was out with you and…” I pause, unsure how much I should share.
“And?” Huxley presses. He’s already told me that he wants all of me, even the scared, broken, shameful pieces. So, I decide to give them all.
“He said I was a… a whore.” I whisper the word. It feels so awful saying it out loud. “He said my mother would be so disappointed…”
“Jordan,” Huxley coos, tracing my cheek and jawbone with his fingertips. “None of that is true. I’m so sorry he spoke to you that way. The fact that he would use your mother against you…” He trails off, taking a deep breath.
I can tell he’s all worked up, and it’s hard to comprehend that he’s angry on my behalf. He wants to defend and protect me in the truest sense of the words.
“I knew I needed to finally stand up to my dad if I had any chance of a future with you. I wanted to show you that I can take care of myself and my problems, but… well, that didn’t go so well. I barely made it in the door before he grabbed me, assaulted me, and threw me in my room. Maybe my father was right.”
