Page 58 of Fight from the Heart

“I know.” His voice remains serious. I lower under the covers, and he lies next to me, mirroring my position. We just stare at one another for a long minute. I wish I could read his thoughts.

“Remember in Branagh’s version of Frankenstein, all the creature wanted was a mate? He wanted someone to love him for who he was, ugly and scarred, and then the doctor built him one only to destroy her.”

I stay quiet.

“I don’t know if I’m the creator or the creature. I desire and destroy as they both did.”

“What if you aren’t either? What if you’re just Jacob? A man who deserves good, does good.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to do good, and what I should do is stay away from you, but I can’t resist you. I feel that pull more strongly than ever, and I’m spiraling out of control.”

Suddenly, I feel like I’m the one destroying him. “Have you been drinking?” I question afraid of the fight this might bring on.

“No, but I want another drink badly tonight. I was hoping to lose myself in you, instead.” He’s honest, but it hurts a little. He wants sex to forget his pain.

“You can’t replace one thing for another,” I whisper, and he closes his eyes.

“I know.”

I reach out for him, stroking over his face.

“Remember when you were sick, and you were rubbing my arm over your waist?”

I hardly remember that, but I shrug. “Sure.”

“Can I ask you to do that again? Let me hold you.”

My brows pinch, but he isn’t opening his eyes. It’s as if the closed lids are protecting him, keeping his dungeon locked tight. Without answering, I roll to give him my back, and he moves closer to me, wrapping his arm over my waist. I slide his forearm up against my breasts, hating how instantly my nipples respond. The swells ache for his attention, but I won’t be giving in to temptation tonight. I scratch my fingernails lightly over the coarse hairs on his arm, and he hums at my neck.

“That scent. You’re lilacs and heaven.”

Having him this close, knowing how much he hurts, feels like hell, though.

+ + +

The next day, we plan to visit iconic sites such as the Statue of Liberty, The Empire State Building, and Ground Zero. Thankfully, Ethan and Ella plan to go with us as we take this shortened tour through the city. Jacob and I are quiet around one another, cautious actually.

“No private tour guide today,” I lightly tease.

“He’s decided to give you the weekend special. Payment accepted whenever you’re ready.” Jacob’s voice rings melancholy this morning, and it’s not a sound I’ve heard from him. He’s confident, funny, sarcastic, and tough, but this is a different man before me.

I’m grateful for the distraction of Ethan and Ella, but especially Ethan, who turns each stop in the full tourist package, complete with a hundred selfies, posts to social media, and running commentary as he looks up facts on the internet. New York is a world of difference from our small town, and Ethan soaks it all up. The photos remind me I should have been posting for Jacob on his social media accounts, and I make a mental note to work up some kind of trip in review for once we return.

It’s a whirlwind of visits until we reach the final destination.

As we stand in the silence surrounding the fallen towers, it’s surreal to imagine their height and accept the eerie quiet at the memorial despite the rushing city around this now-sacred space. Tears fill my eyes for the victims—both innocents and first responders—and when the salty liquid trickles down my cheek, Jacob pulls me into him.

“This was too much,” he states, but I shake my head.

“It’s so hard to be on the front line sometimes,” I explain, recalling emergencies and accidents over the years. There were only two that broke me, and they happened simultaneously. “The night of my father’s accident and yours, something inside me snapped. I couldn’t get back into the mindset I needed to be on-task. Without even realizing it, I suffered post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Jacob leans me away from him only so much that he can look at my face. “How did I never know this?”

“It wasn’t something I wanted tell my new employer, especially when he was part of the cause.”

“Lilac,” Jacob groans, staring at me with a mix of concern and compassion.

“I’m better now, but the anxiety of you possibly being involved and the adjustment to my father’s loss, it was too much. I felt helpless and not of sound mind.” I needed a break, which I never thought would happen. “I’d witnessed hundreds of blood and guts moments over the years, but that night, I cracked, and I couldn’t be put back together. At least, not enough to return to work in the same mental capacity I’d had before.”