Page 21 of Guarded from Corruption

And there’s a weird feeling in my stomach. It’s like the feeling I had when I was on the roof of that building, my M24 in position, target nearly in view. My gut told me to turn around—it was screaming at me, really—even though it wasn’t a part of the plan.

So I did. And I took out a tango that was about to fire at my team.

I don’t ignore my gut, and right now, it’s telling me that something’s wrong.

When I open the door to my apartment, after opening a series of complicated locks I’m still not used to, I’m not sure what I’m expecting.

The sound of Jade crying in the bedroom? A small bundle huddled on the couch, wrapped in blankets, fear in her eyes? Or a complete contradiction—Jade sitting calmly, watching TV, just as she said she planned to?

But it’s none of those things.

Across the open living room, I spot Jade in the kitchen, and she’s scrubbing furiously at the marble counter. Just to the side are three different cleaning sprays, several sponges, and a half-used roll of paper towels. As soon as I walk inside, I’m hit by the stinging scent of disinfectant, fake lemon, and bleach.

I can’t see her expression clearly from the door, but from her rigid posture and frenzied movements, I know it’s not going to be good.

I close the door behind me quietly, not wanting to startle her. Then I pitch my voice so it’s low and soothing. “Jade. I’m back. Sorry, that took longer than I expected.”

Jade startles, letting out a small yip of surprise. Her hand jerks, knocking into the spray bottles, sending them all skittering across the floor. Then she looks over at me and exhales shakily. “You’re back.”

Shit. Her voice isn’t close to normal. It’s tight. Small. Scared.

“I’m sorry.” Hurrying across the room, I’m at her side in seconds. “The meeting ran late. Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

She stares down at the counter again. “I’m… okay.”

No, she isn’t. Nothing about this is okay.

Her hands are shaking, and the one holding the sponge is pink and raw. Her chin is wobbling, and her lips are pressed into a pale and trembling line. And now that I’m close, I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.

“Jade.” I gently take the sponge from her. “What’s going on here?”

She keeps staring at the counter—this immaculately white marble I’m not sure why I chose—and whispers, “I spilled coffee. So I was trying to get it off.”

What? There’s no stain I can see. Not even a hint of one. “Hun. There’s nothing there.”

“Maybe. But…” Lifting her head, she finally meets my gaze. Her voice is achingly tiny as she adds, “I wasn’t sure. I just wanted… it’s your new place. And if I messed it up…”

Oh. There’s a terrible wrenching in my chest.

The look in her eyes. Fear. Shame. Despair.

“You didn’t, Jade.” I take her hand and lead her over to the couch. She’s like a puppet, obediently following along, sitting down limply where I set her.

I sit down right beside her; not touching, but only inches away, and I hold her poor, swollen hand between mine. “Hun. Can you talk to me? What’s going on?”

At first, there’s just silence. Then a few seconds later, in that same small voice, “I thought I could do it. Stay alone. I’m thirty-one years old. I’m safe. I know I am. But… I panicked.”

My heart twists into a painful knot. “Ah, Jade. I’m sorry.”

Tears glisten in her eyes. “No. It’s not your fault. I just… I should be strong enough to be alone. And… I’m not.”

“Jade. You are strong.” Holding her gaze, I keep my tone firm but gentle. “You are. But you don’t have to do everything on your own.”

“I just—” Her voice cracks, and the tears break free. “I hate feeling like this. Weak. Afraid.”

Fuck. My heart.

“Hun.” I stroke my thumb across her palm. “We all get scared. It’s okay to lean on other people for help sometimes. When it gets too heavy to carry on your own, let the people who care about you help bear the burden. They want to. I promise.”

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