Page 79 of Whistle

His hands were warm, the width of his palms swallowing the sides of my neck while his fingers pushed into my hair. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was just for me. “I fucked up. I know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have a home,” I whispered, heart cracking.

A pained sound filled the air between us, the pressure of his hands increasing when he leaned forward to rest his lips against my forehead.

“Yes.” His voice was rough, lips brushing against my skin. “You do.”

I reached up, gripping his wrists, exhaling a drawn-out breath.

Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed.

He pulled away. “Let’s go.”

He bent toward his coffee and my bags, then suddenly shot back up, shoulders stiff. “He violated you?” he said as if his brain were just now able to process everything I’d said.

I couldn’t blame him. When he was close, I always felt first and processed after.

Eyes that held many flecks of different colors went flat, almost like a TV screen going black and white. Shuttered, he looked at the door of my old room.

A chill moved down my spine when he spoke. “Tell me. Tell me what he did.” His eyes dragged over me from head to toe. “He touched you?” His eyes turned to slits. “I’ll kill him.”

He turned on his heel, heading straight for the door.

It was an odd feeling, me being the voice of reason in a situation. But the protective instincts I felt for him were clearly stronger.

“No, Em,” I said, grasping his forearm and tugging him back. “I didn’t mean like that.”

Glittering eyes assessed me. “He didn’t touch you?”

“Not like that,” I vowed again.

The murderous glint left his eyes, but suspicion still reigned supreme. “How?”

Vulnerability rose inside me, the sting of rejection and insult still so close to the surface I couldn’t tell him. Giving him another piece of me seemed too risky. “It doesn’t matter.”

An argument formed on his tongue. It was also in his eyes. I worried my submissive nature would give in to his dominant demands.

It’s too risky. Don’t tell him.

He’s going to find out.

Not right now.

Two people turned the corner down the hall, and another one entered the building. Emmett’s lips twisted in annoyance, but he backed off, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Get your stuff. My car is outside.”

I gathered my things, juggling them with the trauma latte Wes had given me. They treated me like one of their own. Ryan defended me.

They all did.

I shook my head. It was too much all at once. Between Ronnie, the bros, and Emmett, I was on overload.

I pushed it aside and focused on one foot in front of the other while imbibing the sugared caffeine I’d been gifted. Wes was right. It helped with the adrenaline crash.

Tell no one I said that.

Outside, my footsteps scuffed across the pavement when I looked up and saw the black Mustang. I blinked, thinking my eyes were playing tricks, but when I checked again, yep, it was there.

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