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This was the part I was most worried about, not the follow through, the part I knew would be hardest for her, but the having to break the news to her, to ruin her day. That part sucked for me.
"Yes and no," I said, putting my hand on her ankle and squeezing.
"Let's start with the no," she said, her breathing already going a lot more shallow than it should, her hand resting below her throat like she knew what was coming was going to make her freak.
"After some digging, Bry and my brothers and I have concluded that the guys who attacked you actually work for Bry's boss."
"Okay," she said, the hand inching a little higher.
"And that's bad news. He's someone from Camden with a bad reputation of rape and murder," I said, giving her ankle another squeeze as her body started tightening. "So, I am setting up a meeting with my family to see what we can do about a long-term solution. Until then, I told Bry to lay low somewhere no one can look for him. And that means..."
"No," she said, already shaking her head, already understanding.
"I'm afraid it's not really much of a choice here, honey. We can't stay here. We're right across the hall from your apartment. The guys saw me and they are eventually going to start watching me."
"But they won't see me!" she objected, her voice an airy squeak, likely because I hadn't seen her take a breath in far too long.
"Can't guarantee that. Maybe they won't know you're here. But that doesn't mean they won't break in if I leave and happen upon you. Then, Dusty, I don't even want to fucking think about what can happen. I understand this is huge for you. And I'm sorry I can't think of any solution better than this, but we have to go."
She yanked her legs off of mine, putting her feet down on the floor and lowering herself down until her elbows were on her knees, her head cradled in her hands. I watched for an almost alarming time before I finally saw her take a breath, slow and a bit shaky, but deep, like she was trying to keep calm.
"Where?" she croaked out, refusing to look at me.
"Not far. I have someplace we can go that's safe. Even if I wasn't there, it would be safe. And we've already concluded that my car is okay for you."
Even if we had only concluded that it was okay in a stationary position while parked only a couple yards away from the door that lead up to her safe place.
"When?"
"Honestly? As soon as we can pack some shit and go."
"Rocky..."
"Can come," I said, knowing he probably shouldn't but not giving a fuck. They'd have to make an exception.
She looked at me then, her eyes huge, her lip a little trembly. When she spoke, her voice shook. But it said what I needed to hear. "Okay."
I mean, it wasn't like she had an option. I had tried to gloss over that. But even if she freaked the fuck out and I had to carry her over my shoulder again, I would. I wasn't going to let her stay and allow fuck-knew-what to happen to her.
"Would it be better for me to pack and you just try to..."
"No. I'm better if I'm doing something," she said, jumping up, grabbing all the items she had around her and moving to put them back into place.
She went on a search for Rocky and I moved to the bedroom, grabbing a suitcase and throwing what shit I had for her in it along with several of my own things before zipping it shut and walking back into the main room.
I found her in the kitchen, the cat carrier on the island, shaking violently as Rocky fought his confinement. But I also found Dusty standing there, one hand slammed down on the counter, the other pressed to her forehead.
"You okay?"
"Lightheaded," she admitted, not moving.
"Alright," I said, putting the suitcase down and moving behind her, wrapping one arm across the very lowest part of her stomach, placing my other right in the center of it like I had seen her do many times. "Breathe."
She did, the air making her belly shake at first. But she leaned back into me, eyes closed, and kept deep-breathing until most of the tension left her body.
"Sorry."
"Don't," I said, turning my head to kiss her temple.
"Don't what?"
"Don't apologize for being anxious. Anyone would be anxious in this situation."
"You're not," she observed, a question in her voice.
She was right. I wasn't. In fact, I hardly even knew what the sensation of panic was anymore. First, because I just wasn't a person prone to it. I was calm and rational and handled shit before it got out of hand. Second, because my life was too fucking crazy to allow me to freak over every thing.
