The Closer You Come (The Original Heartbreakers, #1)(54)

She trudged around the side of the house—and that’s where she found him. His back was to her, and he was as still as a statue.

“Jase,” she repeated and walked around him.

He was staring at his hand. His bloody hand. Crimson pooled in his palm and dripped onto the ground...a discarded hoe.

She gasped, horrified, and dropped the water. “Jase, are you okay?”

He gave no indication that he’d heard her, just continued to stare down at his injury. His expression disturbed her. It was totally and completely blank. As if he wasn’t all there, his thoughts far away.

Not wanting to startle him, but knowing he needed help, she gently tapped his shoulder. “Jase.”

The contact jolted him out of the trance, and before she could blink, his arm shot out. He shoved her with enough force to send her tripping backward, falling to her bottom. She landed in the cold water she’d spilled, the glass rolling away from her. His face contorted into the darkest, meanest scowl she’d ever seen, scaring the crap out of her. His hands fisted, the blood now pouring from the wound.

He took a menacing step toward her, and she would have sworn she saw her death shining in his eyes. He looked at her as he’d never looked before: as if she were a stranger to him. A faceless threat to be eliminated.

She crab-walked backward, uttering a trembling, “Jase? Please. Listen to me. It’s me, Brook Lynn.” There was no way she could defend herself against him if he attacked, the strength she’d once lauded enough to kill her.

Fear moved through her like an avalanche, growing stronger, bigger. Consuming her.

He just kept coming. Closer and closer...

“Jase.” She lumbered to her feet and held out an arm. A puny move, but what else could she do? “You’re scaring me, and I need you to stop. Jase!”

He blinked, skidded to a halt. “Brook Lynn?” Frowning, he shook his head, as if to clear cobwebs. “Are you okay?”

Relief gradually melted the avalanche. “I—I’m fine.”

“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.