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I forgot a fear, a phobia, a trauma, whatever it was, that had followed me for years. Something I’d thought was impossible to forget because of how much it had altered me. Damaged me.
But Liam damaged me more.
So it was not until I was naked, vulnerable and alone that I realized where I was.
Chapter Sixteen
Jagger
He was halfway through his second smoke when he realized what the fuck he’d done.
He dropped his coffee on the concrete and sprinted to the room, bursting through the door.
The shower was on. The door to the bathroom was closed.
He strode over there, hand pausing at the door. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. In his time in the army, after patching into the Sons of Templar, he had always known what to do, because most of the right decisions usually involved violence and death.
But with Caroline, he didn’t want to treat her with anything but care. He’d forgotten how to do that.
“Peaches?” he called through the door.
Nothing.
He gripped the handle. “Babe, I’m comin’ in.”
Still nothing.
He was punched in the gut by what he saw.
“Fuck,” he hissed, striding over to the shower, reaching in to turn the water off. He flinched away from the water he expected to be hot.
It was freezing.
Caroline was sitting on the floor, knees pressed to her chest, shivering, lips blue.
“Peaches,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms. She was cold to the touch, fucking freezing. He pressed her to his body, wishing he could give her whatever warmth was left inside him, which was precious little.
He took them into the bedroom, sat in the sheets that smelled of them both. Her sweet and his bitter, stale smoky scent.
Caroline was still silent.
And she was still fucking freezing. She hadn’t been in there long enough to endanger herself, physically at least.
But mentally…he’d done that.
He’d put her in danger.
He fucking knew it too. He’d just been too angry to remember. To keep his woman safe.
Jagger kissed her head again. Her face was blank. So pale her freckles—the ones that she hadn’t had before—were stark against the translucent skin.
“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, maneuvering her so he could yank off his cut and tee and press his bare skin to hers. He didn’t know if it would help. But he needed it.
It was killing him that he couldn’t help. That there was nothing he could do but hold her, keep her warm and leave her to get herself out of this.
It took thirty minutes.
He knew the second she came back. Because she felt warm. Not her skin. From somewhere different. Her eyes cleared. She moved slightly, but not out of his arms.
“I need to be cold,” she explained, her voice raw. “I need to be cold when I’m in there, it usually helps it not to get bad.”
Fuck.
That wasn’t bad.
Fuck.
He squeezed her in his arms and used everything he had not to break the fuck down. He had to be strong here. Hold Caroline together. He’d been strong for years, never even entertained the idea of breaking down. But he’d already done it once in front of her, after sharing a joint with Swiss in search of numbness. Instead, he couldn’t hide from his feelings. His fear. He broke down in front of her then, and she had every right to shut the door in his face, tell him he deserved every inch of his pain.
But she didn’t.
She was strong for him.
And fuck if he wouldn’t be strong for her now.
“When it happened, I felt so hot, like I was on fire,” she continued. “And when I get like that, it feels like my skin is burning.” She rubbed her bare arms with a vulnerability that was agonizing and beautiful to witness. He wanted that vulnerability. He wanted to be the one she felt safe enough around to reveal that to. She wasn’t revealing it now because she felt safe, but because she had no other fucking choice.
“I need to be cold,” she continued, meeting his eyes.
He kissed her head. Inhaled her scent. She was lax in his arms. She wasn’t fighting to get out, even after everything. She hadn’t tried to escape, not since the beginning. No matter what she’d had to go through, watching men die, watching men come back to life, watching men be tortured, have her life threatened, she stayed through it all. She didn’t fight to get out.
Until now.
And it wasn’t even for fucking her.
It was for her sister.
Kate and Caroline had been close, even though they’d been totally different. Liam didn’t like girls like Kate, but he liked Kate. Because she pretended to be vapid and shallow to fit into the life she wanted. But she wasn’t. Because she was raised by parents who made sure she was more than she appeared.
He knew Caroline was more than she appeared since the first second he’d laid eyes on her. But he thought he’d discovered all of her depths.
