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“You wore it,” I choke out. Unable to help it, my cock swells, and I grip the table.
“I always did,” she says, breathlessly. Her darkened gaze lingers on mine. “I never took it off. Until I met A—him.”
Damn, but I almost caught her there. The Marine in me wants to pry the name out of her. But she needs to open up on her own time. Even if it is slowly killing me.
Say his name, baby. Say his name and let me kill him.
She fingers the chain, dulled by time. The look on her face says she’s far away, reliving the past. “He was so jealous, so angry it was from another man. He hated it. I had to lock it up. Hide it away, so he wouldn’t—” A tiny cry escapes her mouth. She presses fingertips to her lips to smother the sound.
“Koty,” I warn, leaning in. Rage floods my system. I close my eyes, dangerously close to losing it. When I find that fucker, every bone in his body will be dust.
“Why didn’t you call me?” The question wrenches from my lips. A question I’ve ached to ask, but dread the answer.
She’s quiet for a long minute. “I didn’t call you because I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to know.”
It makes sense. To Dakota, losing control, admitting weakness, is her worst nightmare.
I lean in, pinning my gaze to hers. A growl rumbles up from my chest. “Trust me, Dakota, had I known, I would have come for you. And there would have been nothing keeping me from tearing him apart.”
“I know,” she whispers, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Her lower lip trembles. “That’s what scared me.”
Her hand’s back in mine. Touching her is my kryptonite.
Dakota’s face pokers up. She exhales a long breath and shakes her dark head. “No more questions, Davis. I have to focus on moving forward. Not back.”
I grip my water glass with white-knuckled hands.
Back. Something we can never do.
Bras. Boobs. Babies.
Jesus fucking Christ. Is this my life now?
For the last two hours, I’ve parked myself at my desk in the Bullshit Box, adding strange sounding items like binkies and Boppies to my Amazon cart. I’ve got a glass of whiskey to my right, and Keena’s curled up in her bed near the space heater. Across the ranch, a light is on in Dakota’s room in the lodge.
The restraint it’s taking me not to go up to her room right now and check on her is crippling.
She didn’t have dinner. After we got home from town, she barricaded herself in her room. Has been there ever since. The hunch of her shoulders and the shadows under her eyes tell me today was hard. Harder than either of us expected. The sad cringe when she talks about her baby, the refusal to touch her stomach. I see it all.
Fighting a yawn, I reach down to rub Keena’s cool nose. She whines and uncurls for a belly rub.
Dakota’s as skittish as the dogs I train. She’s a ball of nerves, struggling with trauma. The process with my PTSD dogs takes time. Love and care.
Dakota deserves the same.
I refuse to let her break.
I’ve reached for the darkness. I know what it looks like when it reaches back. I don’t want Dakota anywhere near that.
She healed me that summer. Which is why I’m determined to help her.
I won’t fail her. Not again.
That fiery, stubborn woman’s still in there. I have to find her. If she can’t take care of herself right now, it’s my job to do it.
So, I click through the links. Prenatal vitamins. Body pillow. Bras.
Shit.
