by Riley Ashby
“How do you feel?”
“I’ve been better.”
He opened and shut his mouth a few times, struggling with what to say. I thought about how he’d tried to soothe me. Did he call me baby? I’d been desperate to keep hold of him—despite the heartless way he’d spoken to me earlier—and I couldn’t deny I was relieved to wake up and find him here, no one else. Vail wouldn’t have been the same.
He swallowed and finally found the words he was searching for. “We’re going to see a doctor.”
I suppressed a groan, all goodwill toward him vanishing. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
“Not an option. What happened this morning can’t happen again. You need to accept some psychiatric help.”
I blinked back fresh tears, surprised my body had enough water left to produce them. “I don’t want to talk to a stranger, Archer. It’s too hard.” Why can’t I talk to you? Why can’t you just talk to me? Why do we have to keep sparring like this?
“I know it’s difficult. I honestly do. But this morning …” He rubbed his cheek. “You really scared me, Josie. You didn’t let up for over half an hour before I called for help. I’ve talked to a lot of people fresh out of the worst experiences of their lives, and I’ve never seen someone cry like that.”
I bit my thumbnail and played with the fringe of the blanket on my lap. He wasn’t finished.
“I know this isn’t the best time, but I want to be up front with you. After we … after last night, I’m going to call my boss to see about getting my old job back.”
I forced myself not to look up. Use your head, not that dried-out thing you call a heart. “So you’d go back to Virginia?”
“That’s right.”
Who would look after me? “Who would be assigned to me?”
“I’m not sure. Ellery and Castel will figure something out. Maybe they’ll bring you over to the King house.”
I shuddered a little. I had no desire to live in a house full of people, even ones I trusted. I wanted to be on my own. Well, on my own with him.
“And what about the photos?”
“I’ll do my best to figure out what’s going on before I leave.”
“And what if you don’t? Will you take off and leave it unsolved?”
“I don’t think it will take very long.”
“But what if it does?”
“I don’t know, Josie. I guess I’ll get Castel to go after it. The point is you don’t need to worry.”
I tapped my wrist lightly, then harder. I wasn’t worried, not really, but I wanted him to stick around longer. Why did he bring this up now? I couldn’t talk about this anymore. “Where is the other picture?”
“If I give it to you, are you going to break down?”
I shook my head. He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to me. I stared at the old me that I wished so desperately I could go back to.
“My sister took this picture.”
“Is that who you were talking to on the phone?”
I nodded. “My mom died six months ago, and no one bothered to tell me. They thought I wouldn’t care.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. That’s a tough thing to learn.”
I bit my lip.
“Do you want to go home? See your sister?”
I shook my head. “She’s made it clear she doesn’t want me in her life.”
“Do you want her in yours?”
“She’s the reason I left in the first place.”
We were quiet for a while. I barely knew anything about his family. He always shut down the conversation whenever I tried to steer it in that direction. Did he have anyone in his life who treated him half as poorly as Alicia had treated me? Did he know what it was like to fear for your well-being from the person who was supposed to guide you through your formative years?
“It can be hard to move on from people who have been in our lives for so long, even when they were cruel to us.”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure if he believed what he said, but I wanted him to keep talking to me.
He stood up and sat on the edge of the mattress near my feet. I shifted to sitting, running a hand through my hair to comb out the tangles.
“I don’t want you to leave.” I used every bit of my willpower to keep from crying. I knew if I started again, it would be difficult to stop. I couldn’t have two meltdowns in one day.
“I would have thought you’d be happy to see me go.”
“No. You’re the only one I trust.” Guess I was spilling my guts to him. Would it be enough to get him to stay?
He ran his thumb across the pages of his book. “I’m not a good man, Josie.”
“Are you talking about the reason you got fired from the FBI?”
He nodded. “There are some bad people loose in the world because of me. I had the chance to put them away, and I failed. I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.”
“I’m sure you had a good reason.”
“No, Josie.” He turned toward me, putting one hand over my foot through the blanket. I started, and he snatched it back. “Don’t romanticize what I’ve done. I did a bad thing. That’s the end of it. They were right to discipline me, but my life is with that organization. If there’s even a chance I still have a future there, I need to take it.”
“Fine.” I wiped at the single tear that had slipped free and got up, rushing for the bathroom. “Don’t let me hold you back from your real life.”
His heavy sigh followed me through the closed door. He started speaking, but I turned on the shower and drowned out his voice. When I peeked back out into the bedroom, he was gone, so I took my time getting dressed. I still jumped when I walked into the rest of the apartment and found him reading at the kitchen bar.
“Do you ever put that thing down?”
“Not really,” he said as he marked his page and set it on the counter. I chanced getting closer to him and looked at it—a weather-beaten copy of Catch-22. The front cover was hanging on by a thread, creased so much in certain places that the original color of the cover was worn to white.
“Is that your high school copy?” I asked. I was half joking, but he chuckled.
“Yeah, actually. I liked it so much I kept it. I was a senior, so tracking me down wasn’t high on their priority list.”
I ran my fingers over the butter-soft edges, worn from years of transport and dozens of re-reads. “It’s a good book,” I admitted, chancing a glance. He smiled at me.
“You have good taste.”
I carefully poured a glass of orange juice, placing the cup on the counter and then holding the jug with my left hand. I sensed Archer had more to say, but he wisely waited until I finished pouring to speak.
“We’re going to a doctor in half an hour. You’ll have weekly appointments after that.”
I grimaced as I drank. “I don’t need to see anyone.” Normally, I appreciated how firm he was with me—with everyone—but I really wished he would back down on this. My spine tingled at the thought of having to repeat my tale to yet another stranger.
He didn’t grace me with a response. When I looked over at him, his patronizing glance was like one might give a child.
“I’m not going to bother arguing with you. You’re going, whether you come willingly or I have to drag you.”
“I’ll stop going once you leave.”
“You’re not getting out of this that easily. Whoever replaces me will make sure you go, too.”
I was feeling better with a little sugar and some calories in my system, so I grabbed a jar of peanut butter and a spoon and started eating directly from the jar. Archer’s mouth curved up on one side as I shoved the spoon in my mouth.
“It’s good to see you have an appetite.”
I ducked my head, thinking back. Despite what my weight gain would suggest, I hadn’t wanted to eat much in the hospital. I got as much as I did only because Archer ate with me every time. He would leave only long enough to get some greasy delicious fast food
that I couldn’t turn down. I had reverted to living on French fries for a while—certainly not a hospital-approved diet—but the high caloric intake did such wonders for my overall well-being that no one complained.
Among the doctors and dietitians in the hospital, he’d been the one to care for me the most while I was there. He was doing the same thing now, whether he realized it or not. I didn’t think it was normal bodyguard duties to force your charge to eat sufficient calories and obtain psychiatric help.
The truth was, though, if he wanted me to go, I’d go. Because he asked me. I would have followed him anywhere, no matter how angry I was with him, because out of all the shitty men I had dealt with throughout my life, he was the most reliable and the least likely to let me down. Even after last night, I didn’t hate him, not really.
When he checked the time on his watch, I stomped to the closet and grabbed a pair of flip-flops. After they were securely on my feet, I looked up to see him regarding me with astonishment. He hadn’t expected me to cooperate.
“Let’s get this appointment over with.”
I ran out of the apartment before I could give away any more of my heart.
I jiggled my leg nervously in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. Josie had been in with the doctor for about forty-five minutes, and I had no clue how she was doing. It wouldn’t surprise me if she refused to speak, though I hoped she’d open up a little. I had called a dozen offices before I found a doctor who was able to see her today. It was going to cost a lot, but I didn’t see an alternative.
A quick look around the waiting room confirmed I was the only one there. The receptionist was staring at her computer screen with her mouth half open, completely oblivious to me. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands, letting myself collapse a little.
Seeing her unwind had been completely terrifying. I’d talked with dozens of women and even children brought back from the brink of hell and never seen anyone come undone the way she did. When I held her trembling in my arms, I just wanted to hold her tight enough so she wouldn’t break apart anymore. But no matter how tightly I held on, she only sobbed harder.
I had to get out of here. Not just because I had crossed a line by almost sleeping with her, but also because every day we spent together, we tangled up a little tighter. Her mannerisms, the airs she put on when she was trying to hide something, what her different smiles meant and when she used them. It was all becoming too familiar to me. I couldn’t get bogged down in the feelings I could no longer deny were developing for her, and I had to get out as soon as possible.
I snapped my head up so quickly it cracked my neck as the door to the therapist’s office opened, and Josie stomped out, arms folded over her chest, but a prescription paper stuck out from one hand. Thank God. Now I had to make sure she took it.
I snatched it from her as soon as we got in our cab back to the apartment. “I’ll make sure this gets filled,” I said, looking at her pointedly.
“Whatever,” she muttered. “They won’t help.”
“Then you’ll have no problem taking them.”
We stared sullenly out of our respective windows. I had to fill the silence. What was the saying, isolation feeds depression? I couldn’t let her pull away from me completely.
“How did it go?”
She scoffed. “I didn’t say a word.”
I rubbed my palms across my thighs. To be expected. “Did he have anything helpful to say?”
I waited for her snarky remark, but none came. When I looked over, she was staring at her hands.
So he did get through to her.
“Anything you want to share with me or talk about a little more?”
Again, I expected an eye roll, but she jerked her head up to me with surprise and hope. I turned toward her unconsciously, my knees brushing against the back of the passenger seat and stopping me partway.
She smiled a little. “We need more accommodating transportation.”
“What were you thinking?”
“Maybe a Rolls? Something with a leather interior and a center console that looks like a movie screen.”
I laughed. “Maybe we can get one of Ellery’s castoffs. Something he threw out because it wasn’t luxurious enough.”
She giggled like a little girl. I liked that sound. “Do you think he has a car graveyard with all the vehicles that angered him for not turning tight enough?”
“I’ll ask him next time we go out for drinks. You know, bro date.”
She let her head fall back and laughed out loud. Nothing should have been sexy about it—she was loud and braying—but she was fully emoting something other than grief or anger. I found myself grinning wider as I watched her, laughing along with her as the driver stared at us in the mirror with a bemused expression. When we climbed out of the car outside the apartment building, her smile didn’t quite fade.
“I want a laptop,” she announced as we got into the elevator. I looked up from my phone to find her staring at me. Her shoulders were back and chin high. That session did do her some good, after all.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied with a mock salute. “Should it be gold-plated as well?”
“Shut the fuck up.” She rolled her eyes, but her tone was good-natured. “You get to go online all the time. I want the same freedom.”
I mulled it over as we got off on her floor, and she followed me into her apartment. It could be dangerous. I wouldn’t know what she was looking at or if she was contacting people she shouldn’t. What if the remnants of Chase’s organization uncovered her and decided to try to recapture her?
“I don’t like the idea of you on social media.”
“That’s fine; I have no friends anyway.”
Far from reassuring, that actually made me feel worse. She was so far from living a normal life again. She needed support besides me. But she was listening to me and not putting herself in danger just to spite me, so that was good.
“And I want some spending money.”
I blinked. “What could you want to buy?”
“That’s my business, not yours. If I’m not allowed to get a job because I’m recovering”—she dropped her voice to mock mine—“I still deserve some financial freedom.”
I studied her. She was being very bold, asking for an expensive gift and then cash on top of it.
“Did that doctor tell you to stick up for yourself?”
She raised her chin. “Maybe.”
“Well, at least you got something out of it.”
I pulled out my wallet and removed the second copy of my credit card I’d had couriered over to the apartment the day we arrived, placing it in her outstretched palm.
“I had this sent over for you. That’s my money. I’m not going to put a limit on you, but please don’t be reckless with it. I’m trying to save.”
She looked a little shocked at first, staring between the card and me, but then her whole demeanor changed. She shifted to one leg, her hip curving sensuously to one side. She lowered her chin so that she looked demure instead of confident. “Yes, Daddy,” she whispered, clutching the card to her chest and batting her eyes up at me.
My stomach tensed; I had to turn suddenly to hide the way my cock hardened in an instant. I shouldn’t have told her I ordered her the card. Shouldn’t have said it was my money. With one little word, she turned us from friendly to flirtatious, and I didn’t even see it coming.
Her small body pressed against my back as her hand snaked around my stomach, squeezing me in a quick hug.
“I appreciate it, Archer.” Her voice was serious now. Did she realize she’d crossed the line again, or was she trying to downplay what she’d done and lull me into a false sense of security? Did she know I was about two seconds from bending her over the back of the couch and fucking her raw without a second of foreplay, all for calling me daddy?
I thought she did. She knew exactly what she was doing.
But she pulled back as my self-control thinned to a hair’s breadth, walking
around me to the kitchen and pouring a glass of water.
“I’ll get a laptop couriered over for you.” My voice was a little higher than it should have been; I swallowed roughly. My throat was dry. “Any particular one you want?”
She spoke without facing me. “Whatever you use is fine.”
“Fine.”
“Great.”
I took a step toward my door, eager to escape, then paused. When I looked back at her, she was staring at me out of the corner of her eye. In two steps, I was across the room to her. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrenched her head back so I could kiss her, thrusting my tongue in her mouth. I pulled back before she could properly respond, and her eyes remained closed for a few seconds before she met my gaze.
“You continue to push me even when I tell you to stop. Do you have no sense of self-preservation?”
“If I don’t, then neither do you. At least it’s mutually assured destruction.”
I frowned. “Keep playing with fire, and you’ll get burned,” I warned her in my firmest interrogation voice.
She licked her lips. “Light me up, then.”
I thought about shoving her away, but at the last second, I let her go gently. I massaged the back of her head for a split second, then turned my back and left.
He wouldn’t talk to me at all for a week. A couple of times, I needed help with something my hand couldn’t manage, and I had to beg him to unscrew the lid of a jar or chop up an apple for me. He’d performed the tasks silently, then settle back into the chair in my living room, reading his book. He wouldn’t speak, but he wouldn’t leave me alone either. There were still no knives in my kitchen. If I wanted painkillers because the pain in my hand was flaring up, he dispensed them to me and then locked the pills in a small safe. You could only read the same book so many times in a week, but he didn’t seem to want anything else. I caught up on a lot of TV I had missed while I was … away. I hadn’t missed a lot.
The only time we left the apartment was when we went to a lower level to use the building’s gym. He was obsessive about his workout routine, adding weight to his lifts every other day and following up each workout with a muddy-looking protein shake. Never once did he ask me to join him.