Shades of Gray (KGI #6)(46)

“I hate it,” she whispered. “Oh God, Cole, I hated feeling that helpless. Not even when all the shit went down with my S.W.A.T. team did I feel helpless. I felt angry. I was pissed. I was disappointed. But what I did was my choice. I didn’t have my choices taken away from me.”

Cole leaned forward, pressed his lips to her forehead and left them there. She leaned into him, closing her eyes as they sat in silence for a long moment. Just him being there was enough. He didn’t have to offer her platitudes.

When he pulled away, there was a hardness in his eyes that told her the gloves were about to come off. She nearly breathed a sigh of relief, because it was getting too heavy. She much preferred his anger to the overwhelming worry in his gaze.

“Why did you run, P.J.? Do you have any idea what that did to me? To us? The team? When Steele told me what you’d done, I felt like someone had sucker punched me. The other guys were just as bewildered. We aren’t your goddamn S.W.A.T. team. We aren’t dumping you when things get sticky.”

The very real anger and frustration in his voice made her feel shame. There was nowhere for her to go to hide from the look in his eyes or the way he stared so intently at her.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she said. And at the time it had been true. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I was sick to my soul and all I could think about was revenge. I was consumed with hatred and shame. God, do you have any idea how it feels to be totally helpless while someone holds you down and degrades you? I felt like those bastards had taken my very soul.”

Cole’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, I do know. Maybe not on the same level, but goddamn it, I know what it feels like to be helpless. I had to sit there and listen to the whole goddamn thing, P.J. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. To have to sit there while someone I care about was savaged? It makes me sick to even think about.”

She paused and looked up, her jaw going slack as she processed his words. Some of her shock must have shown on her face.

“Yeah, that’s right, P.J. I care. I care a whole hell of a lot.”

She didn’t know what to say or how to react, because they both knew he wasn’t talking about caring on a more casual level. Like the way Dolphin or Baker or Renshaw cared about her. This was something much deeper, and it scared the hell out of her.

Unable to do anything else, she gripped the hand holding hers and squeezed, hoping the gesture conveyed what she wasn’t able to put to words.

He leaned forward, tense and hesitant. His free hand went to her face, brushing aside her hair, and then he simply kissed her.

It wasn’t the burning, scorching-the-sheets kind of kiss that they’d shared that night so many months earlier. There was no impatience and no demand. It wasn’t even sexual. The touch was so exquisitely gentle that it made her want to cry.

He had a way of getting to her. Past her barriers. And there he was, at the very heart of her before she even realized he’d slipped past.

When he drew away, he rotated so that he could climb onto the bed beside her. Then he simply pulled her against his chest, holding her with both arms.

“Rest and let me hold you,” he said in a quiet voice. “Just you and me, P.J. Don’t think about the past or the future. Just focus on right now, you getting better, and let yourself lean on me.”

She rested her head on his chest and stretched her injured leg down the length of his. He was warm and solid and it felt so very good to give in and allow him to shoulder her fears just for a little while.

It took some time to muster the courage to ask the question burning her tongue. She opened her mouth several times and ended up closing it when her nerve fled.

“You care about me . . . even after what happened?”

At first she wasn’t sure he heard her muffled whisper. Then she realized he was merely collecting himself before answering. His voice was chock-full of emotion. He sounded angry, but not at her. The words came as though he struggled to get them out there without losing his composure.

“I don’t give a damn about what happened other than the fact that those sons of bitches hurt you. They put their hands on you. What happened changes nothing about my feelings for you. If anything the fact that you’re coming out of this so strong makes me respect your strength even more, and I already had a healthy dose of admiration for your ability to kick some serious ass.”

She pushed upward, placing her hand in the hollow of his chest as she looked him in the eye. “I have scars, Cole. They aren’t pretty. You saw where he cut me. There are scars in each of those places. And they’re not going away.”

He touched her chin with the tip of his finger and then kissed her almost as if he couldn’t resist. Then he let his hand slide down until his palm rested over her heart.

“I’m more concerned about the scars here,” he said, pressing inward on her chest. Then he lifted his hand to her temple and tapped gently. “And in here.”

He kissed her again, this time on the forehead.

“The physical scars don’t change who you are, P.J. The emotional ones do. Those are the ones I want to help you with. I don’t give a damn that your body has a few more scars. Hell, I’m riddled with them and you didn’t seem to mind.”

Her cheeks tightened and heat rose up her neck.

He picked up her hand, the one resting on his chest, and he laced their fingers together, holding their hands between them.