“You have blood on your shirt. A palm print.” He frowned, peered down at his hand, then peered at her shirt. When his gaze finally met hers, she saw a flash of horror and guilt—even anguish—before it went blank.

He started to close the distance between them. She flinched, and he planted his heels in the ground, remaining in place. “Did I hurt you?”

He didn’t know? Couldn’t remember?

What the heck had just happened?

If he was a cop, maybe...maybe the sight of the blood had taken him back to a violent memory?

“No,” she said, her trembling growing worse for some reason. She wrapped her arms around her middle.

“You...should go home,” he said. “Please go.”

Maybe I should. Or maybe we’re finally making progress. She’d just seen a side of him she’d never seen before. One that didn’t just hint at vulnerability but screamed it. And though it had scared her—there was no way around that fact—it was kinda like catnip to her. She wanted to curl into his lap and purr against his throat, tell him everything was going to be okay, that they would get through this...whatever this was...together.

“I’m going to bandage your wound,” she said.

“No.”

“Yes,” she insisted. “Don’t argue. You’ll lose. I’ll meet you in your bathroom.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JASE REMAINED IN place long after Brook Lynn walked away, trying to put the pieces of what had happened together. He’d been removing weeds from the side of the house. That’s right.

He’d thought he’d heard a noise behind him and jerked, cutting his hand on the hoe as he glanced over his shoulder. He’d thought he spied a man dressed in brown darting behind the bushes. Jase had stepped forward, intending to give chase, only to realize it had to be a deer. He caught glimpses of wildlife every day.

He’d glanced down to see a well of blood in his hand, and he’d flashed back to all the times he’d been jumped. Sometimes with fists, sometimes with shivs. In nine years he’d endured a total of twenty-three stabbings across his torso and a few more scattered over his legs. He’d lost count of the number of fights he’d participated in, only knew he’d won more than he’d lost. He’d endured several broken bones and had suffered...other things. Things he rarely ever allowed himself to remember.

Held down...too many hands to knock away...

A knee in my back...

Clothing being ripped.

His breath sawed in and out faster, hotter. Brook Lynn must have come upon him while he’d been trapped inside his head. He remembered the softest of touches on his shoulder, the softest of voices saying his name. Soft—when soft was the last thing he’d ever gotten in prison. The contrast had been enough to pull him out of the abyss. At least partway.

He’d...pushed her.

The image of his bloody palm marring her shirt would forever plague him.

He stumbled to the side until he came into contact with the house. He leaned his forehead against the brick. Little tremors slipped down his spine, dislodging beads of sweat.

He couldn’t face Brook Lynn, and he certainly couldn’t let her help him. He deserved castigation, and she deserved better.

West and Beck were right. Jase had judged her from the first as someone too good for him—because she was.

Something else his friends had nailed? Jase had feelings for her. Feelings he could no longer deny.

With the admission, a bright light suddenly shone inside his mind, chasing away the darkness, causing the monsters of his past to hiss and run for cover, letting him confirm what he’d suspected. His armor had indeed been cracked, and Brook Lynn was the cause. She had somehow burrowed deep, deep inside him, and he might not ever be able to pry her loose.

Panic rose, swift and sure. One day, he would lose her. That was just plain fact. If she didn’t meet someone else, she’d have questions about what just happened. Even if he managed to omit the worst of the details, she would eventually find out about his prison stint, about what he did to Pax. She could grow to fear him...hate him.

He could have lost Brook Lynn today, even. He could have done serious damage to her, without even realizing it. Still could, if ever he lost control again.

Can’t take that risk.

He managed to pull himself together and stomp inside the house. Now wasn’t the time for brooding. It was the time for action. He found Brook Lynn in his bathroom, standing by the sink.

She’d anchored her mane of pale hair into an adorable ponytail, two tendrils hanging over her ears. She’d washed her face and changed into one of his shirts.

How was she more beautiful every time he saw her?

You know what you have to do. He did, but first things first. “I’m sorry I scared you, honey.”

“Don’t worry. I’m over it,” she said.

At least she hadn’t tried to deny her fear. “Good. That’s good.”

“I hear a but.”

Just do it. “I hate to say this, but...you’re fired.”

“No, I’m not.” She motioned to the closed toilet seat. “Sit.”

“I’ll still pay you,” he said.

“Of course you will. Because I’m still working for you.”

“Brook Lynn—”

“Jase.” She anchored her hands on her hips. “You don’t like what just happened. I don’t, either, but now we know it’s a possibility. We’ll be on guard against it and handle it better if it happens again.”