Holding Her Close

by Lexi Ryan

  “Unless they weren’t,” Janelle says. “Unless she did want to work it out.”

  “It doesn’t matter. At that point, she’d destroyed everything between us. And my pride was far too damaged for me to see her calls as anything other than manipulations. My heart, too.” Cara was my first lesson that I can’t trust my heart—in love or wounded, it fucks up my judgment. “But then she started calling and asking for help. She said this guy was stalking her, and she didn’t feel safe. She wanted me to come stay with her because the police weren’t taking it seriously. He hadn’t done anything or said anything to indicate he was an obvious threat, and Cara had a history of overreacting in the face of overly enthusiastic fans. And, of course, at this point I didn’t believe a word that came out of her mouth.”

  “Oh, no,” she whispers. “It was real. She really did have a stalker.”

  “Yeah. Crazy fucker, too. Just a kid on paper, but he was screwed up. I didn’t believe her, though, and told her under no circumstances would I sleep under the same roof as her.” I’m silent for a beat, remembering how angry I was and how I let that anger rule my decisions. “She was all alone at her house when the guy broke in and pinned her down on the bed.” Just remembering how she looked afterward is enough to steal my breath. She was bundled up in a blanket at the station, the color drained from her face. I’m not sure she’s ever forgiven me for failing her. I know I won’t forgive myself.

  “He raped her?” Janelle asks.

  I shake my head, then remember she can’t see me. “I’d asked one of the guys at the station to keep an eye on things. He was stopping by her place to check on her a couple times a day. He got there and heard her screaming, broke in, and yanked the guy off her. If he’d been five minutes later . . .”

  “And you blame yourself.”

  “Yeah. I do. She wasn’t asking me to be with her again at that point. She only wanted my protection, but I couldn’t see anything but how she’d hurt me.”

  Janelle squeezes my fingers again, then laces them with mine. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It is, though. She was different after that. We both were. When I found out the love of my life had only been using me, it broke something inside of me. And when she felt like she had no one when she needed someone the most, something broke inside of her.”

  “Cade . . .”

  “No, listen. My father was an asshole. He was all about the almighty dollar and what it could get you. He worked constantly, building his company, and he hated his life. At night, he came home and made my mom feel like a piece of trash because he was working so hard, and what had she done?” I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling, at the dappled shadows cast by the moonlight filtering through the curtains. I didn’t mean to talk about my father. I never talk about him. But Janelle’s answering silence doesn’t feel cold or judgmental. It feels like an open door, an invitation to share this with someone else who had a less-than-stellar father. “Mom left him when I was in high school, and Dad was only on the periphery of our lives until I graduated. He wanted me to take over the company when he retired, and I joined the military instead.”

  “What did he say?” she asks.

  “He sneered at me, but I knew I didn’t want to be like him. I wouldn’t let my life be dictated by money or even some vague notion of success.” I love the way Janelle’s hand feels in mine—her soft skin and light touch. “I’ve spent my life priding myself on taking jobs that help people. That protect people. Maybe I’m not the world’s best son or some amazing business mind, but I protect people. But in this case, when someone I loved needed protection, I couldn’t see past my own hurt to do what I do best.”

  The rustling of sheets fills the room, but I don’t realize what she’s doing until she’s on the floor with me, crawling under my blanket and resting her head on my chest. Her cheek is wet.

  “You’re crying.”

  “It’s a sad story.”

  I told myself that from here on out, I was only touching her to comfort her, but now she’s comforting me. And it feels damn good to be comforted. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I could open up to someone.

  “I hate that you blame yourself for that horrible experience of hers,” she says. “I hate that you carry that around with you. Despite what you’ve told yourself, it’s not your fault. You saved her by sending that officer to her house. And I hate what she did to you, but I understand why she asked you to move back in. It probably sounds terribly weak of me to admit, but I feel safe with you here. I’m glad you decided to come to LA, and I’m grateful you’re staying.”

  I smooth her hair back and press a kiss to the top of her head. I’ve just handed Janelle a piece of myself, and instead of holding my breath to wait and see what she’ll do with it, I realize I’m breathing easier because I know it’s in good hands. “Thank you for listening. It’s not something I talk about much.”

  “Any time.” She repositions herself so she’s lying on top of me, her head on my chest, her legs between mine. Our bodies are so close, the heat of her seeps into my skin, and it feels so good it literally hurts to not take more.

  “Earlier today I—” I stop myself and squeeze my eyes shut against the ache of needing her. “My sister says Cara changed me, hardened me. These last few days with you are the first time I’ve seen that hardness as anything other than a blessing.” I wrap my arms around her and roll us so we’re on our sides, facing each other. “You said that Tom changed you when he hurt you, and I want to cut his dick off for that. You’re precious.” I can’t make out her features, but I find her face in the darkness and trace the edge of her jaw and down her neck. “I don’t ever want to be responsible for changing someone as amazing as you.”

  “You’re afraid of hurting me?” I can practically hear the frown in her voice. “Is that why we’re not using the condoms we finally have access to?”

  My groan is edged with every bit of the agony I feel. “You’re pure evil. We both know that’s a bad idea after this morning.”

  “Because of Tom,” she says.

  “Don’t get me wrong. There’s a devil on my shoulder telling me I should just make you come so hard you can’t remember his name.”

  “And what does your angel say?”

  I press another kiss to the top of her head. “The angel reminds me I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy. I’ve never been interested in a physical relationship that has no future. I’ve never been a no-strings-attached type. I like strings and complications. Sex isn’t simple for me. Until the night a sexy minx dressed as Catwoman asked me to leave her mask on, I was never interested in pursuing it with a woman whose future isn’t tied up with mine.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  I press a finger to her lips. “The angel says that if Asshole Tom is what you want—”

  “Your angel calls him Asshole Tom?”

  “Yes. Because angels don’t like guys who hurt beautiful women. But if there’s any chance Asshole Tom is what you want, you shouldn’t fuck it up for some guy who lives in a different world. Your life here, your career—those things are important to you. A quiet life in New Hope is important to me.”

  “You’ve really thought this through,” she mutters.

  “Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Unfortunately, that’s what I do.”

  She hums softly. “I think I might like your devil’s ideas better.”

  I chuckle and inhale deeply, taking a long hit of her floral shampoo. “You and me both.”

  * * *

  Janelle

  I fell asleep in Cade’s arms, but when I wake up, I’m in the bed and he’s not in the room. I look at the clock, then rub my eyes and look again. It’s after nine. I can’t believe I slept so late.

  I brush my teeth and search my closet for something casual yet sexy but not slutty. I need to walk that careful line where Cade will want to screw my brains out, despite his very logical reasoning against it, but where my brother won’t mock me for trying too hard. I decide
on tight jeans and a wide-necked T-shirt that falls off one shoulder, and head downstairs.

  Nate and Hanna are in the kitchen making fuck-me eyes at each other, and I sneak past and into the den where I hear the television playing.

  Cade leans forward, his biceps tensed under his black, fitted T-shirt, his elbows on his denim-clad knees, eyes narrowed as he studies the screen. An old Roommates episode is playing, and I grimace to see myself on the screen, my character snapping gum and looking off into the distance like she’s not quite bright enough to remember her name most days. I played that role way too convincingly.

  “Why are you watching this?” I ask, reaching for the remote.

  “Shh,” Cade says, and grabs the remote from my hand before I can hit the power button. He nods to the screen. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  I watch the image of myself on the screen flip my hair and roll my eyes and say in total Valley-girl whine, “But he’s so dreamy.”

  “Oh my God.” I sink onto the couch beside Cade, and my jaw goes slack as I stare at the screen. “I’d forgotten this episode.”

  They talked Tom into doing a single episode on the show, and the fans went crazy for it. His guest appearance was as a total player who’d been trying to sleep with all three of the female characters without them knowing about his duplicity. His character’s thing was to kiss the girls goodnight and whisper, “She loves me. She loves me not.” Of course, at the end of the episode, the girls put it together and realize he’s trying to get them all in bed and they all dump him at once in a show of friendship and solidarity the show was known for. But Tom was such a heartthrob at the time that even though his character in this episode was a complete slimeball, fans adored even his sleazy line.

  Cade shuts off the TV and leans back on the couch, his eyes trained on the dark screen.

  “You’re not going to convince me this is further evidence against Tom, are you?” I ask. “Clearly, whoever this guy is, he’s just obsessed with the show. Maybe he wishes he was Tom.”

  “Maybe,” Cade says. I can’t read his expression, but I get the impression he’s not ready to share his thoughts with me. He exhales heavily and turns those dark eyes on me. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Fantastic. I don’t even remember moving to the bed.”

  “I put you there this morning. Waking up with you in my arms was . . .”

  “Nice?” I offer. “The best way to start a day? Amazing?”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up in a crooked grin, and he looks toward the doorway, as if to make sure we’re still alone. “Tempting.”

  “Right,” I mutter. “Mr. Old-Fashioned.”

  I don’t think he hears me, because he’s already heading out of the room. I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh. Last night he opened up and shared so much of himself with me I could hardly keep up, but this morning we’re back to one-word reveals. Maybe and tempting.

  The couch shifts as someone sits beside me, and I open my eyes to see Hanna has taken Cade’s spot, and she stares at me, studying me like my entire life story is written on my face.

  I smile weakly. “Hey, Han. What’s up?”

  She arches a brow. “When are you going to tell me the real story with the cop? And don’t tell me you’d been secretly dating when you kissed Tom. I know you, and if you don’t tell me the truth soon, I’m going to have an entire explanation in my head and I’m just gonna run with it, whether it’s true or not.”

  I groan. “Can I hear your version first? Then I’ll pick the one I like best.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I think he was a cover-up so you didn’t lose your contract. But then you two started having feelings for each other. And then your world imploded with psycho daisy guy, and now he’s trying to protect you and the feelings are growing with all the bodyguard sexiness, and any minute now Whitney Houston’s going to appear from the great beyond and sing ‘I Will Always Love You.’”

  The last part makes me giggle. I’m not sure if I should be relieved or frightened by how close she is to the truth. I decide to go with relieved and do my best to fill her in. I start at the beginning, grateful to be having this conversation with Hanna and not Nate, because I can tell her details a brother just doesn’t need to know. When I get to the part about our conversation last night, she gives a dreamy sigh and leans her head against my shoulder for a beat.

  “I knew he was a good guy, but wow.”

  I scowl. “I know. Fucking chivalry. Lotta good that’s doing me.”

  “He’s right, you know,” she says.

  “I know. Sex will only complicate things, but—”

  “No, I mean about Tom. If you’re seriously considering getting back together with him . . .” She bites her lip. “Please tell me you’re not seriously considering it.”

  “That’s all I thought about while I was trying to sleep last night,” I admit. “Well, that is, once I was able to get my filthy, horny mind off Cade’s body so close to mine.”

  “Come up with anything good?” She narrows her eyes. “About Tom, not about Cade’s body.”

  “A week ago, I would have jumped at the chance to be back with Tom.” I sigh and roll my eyes. “As evidenced by the tabloid stories about our kiss.”

  “But now?” Hanna asks.

  “Now I’m thinking that if I have a chance with Cade, all I want is for Tom to get out of the way. And if that’s true, I shouldn’t want to be with Tom at all, should I? I mean, would I have wanted him to stay married to me only because Bella didn’t want him? So I start thinking about that more, and I realize . . .” I hesitate, not sure how to say what I’m feeling but still sure that if I can find the words, I’ll sound completely pathetic.

  “You realized that you don’t want Tom back,” Hanna says. “You just don’t want to be alone.”

  I nod and tears fill my eyes. “Which pretty much tells me what I need to do where Tom’s concerned, though it’s embarrassing to me that that much wasn’t clear from the start.”

  “I’m proud of you,” Hanna says, pulling me into her arms. “Don’t feel embarrassed for wanting someone to share your life with. That’s a pretty basic human desire. I’m just glad that someone won’t be fuckface Tom.”

  I giggle only because Hanna doesn’t typically swear.

  “You feel better?” she asks.

  I nod. It feels good to have that figured out, even if it doesn’t make a difference for Cade. Tom was only one of a litany of reasons he doesn’t think we should be involved. We have different lives, and mine is a life he can’t stand.

  “We’re leaving today,” Hanna says. “Are you sure you won’t come back with us?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She hugs me tighter and whispers, “He’s crazy if he thinks he’s going to resist you. I’d put money on him caving before the end of the week.”

  Chapter 14

  Janelle

  Hanna was so wrong. I want to strangle her for giving me false hope.

  Cade and I have been cooped up in this house together for ten days.

  Ten. Ten awkwardly silent dinners. Ten pervy mornings where I pretended not to stare as Cade returned from his run, sweaty and shirtless. Ten showers where I left the door unlocked or cracked or even wide open, hoping he’d happen by and would, I don’t know, actually do some of the dirty shower things he once whispered in my ear. Ten lonely nights in a cold bed. It’s all I can do to keep myself from going to him and asking him if I’m misremembering how good it felt when we touched. He can call himself old-fashioned all he wants, but this is the man who gave me the best oral of my life when he didn’t even know my name.

  Ten days ago, Cade made it clear he was staying here as my bodyguard and nothing more. He hasn’t strayed from that role. Not once. And, not coincidentally, ten days ago my life went from a wild rollercoaster to a serious snoozefest.

  The HiLo turned over the footage the police were asking for, and we discovered that we have no idea when Courtney left the bar or through what exit.
There are a couple service exits that aren’t under video surveillance, but the police have questioned the employees and come up empty. Super helpful. Then we found out that the server holding security footage at my condo was hacked from an outside computer, meaning nobody who works in the building was an accessory to Mr. Psycho Rapist. The same day, we learned there was no match in the database for the DNA sample they collected from Courtney’s exam, and the florist leads fizzled into nothing.

  Six days ago, the networks started playing Roommates marathons, the show seeming to get new life from the publicity surrounding “The Daisy Stalker.”

  Five days ago, I was so desperate for attention from Cade that I pulled on my shortest pair of sleep shorts (I have underwear that covers more) and a tight tank top with no bra and wandered around cleaning the house with a feather duster and lots of bending from the waist. He locked himself in his room with his laptop, and Jamaal laughed at me for a solid hour.

  If I’m honest with myself, maybe he’s not the only one holding back. I might be leaving the literal door open for him to make his move, but I’ve kept the figurative door closed by not telling him I have no interest in reuniting with Tom. Maybe I’m afraid he won’t believe me. Or maybe I’m scared of Cade rejecting me even after my ex-husband isn’t standing between us. I’m not sure my heart could handle that.

  Three days ago, Courtney gave a live interview on Ina Turnstall’s show, ripping my heart out as she talked about what it’s like to wake up every morning with no memory of that night, only the knowledge that someone drugged her and had sex with her without her consent. It was the first time I heard her talk about it. After Cade and I got settled here at Nate’s, I called and texted, trying to get together with her. She gave me the runaround every time, and I stopped. I figure she’s not up for company—or at least not my company—and I didn’t want to push it. It was surreal, listening to a woman I used to call my best friend confide more to the whole network audience than she’d been willing to confide in me.