Page 62 of Protector

I run my hand down her hair, gaining my own comfort from the soft, lush locks beneath my fingers as I skim all the way down and then stop on her hip. “I know it’s disappointing.” I’m careful with my words, even though I know it’s not just disappointment. I can feel the fear coming off her, her heart thrumming, her breaths labored.

She huffs and looks up at me. “I’m starting to get really pissed off, actually.”

Okay, that one I didn’t expect. “You are?”

“Yes. I’ll admit, seeing that scene play out, knowing that guy was at my house and somewhere along the line, this insane person crossed paths with me… It really shook me. Then the frustration of not being able to figure this out. But now that I think about it more, this is so maddening. It’s not fair. Not to me, but even more so, it’s not fair to all the people I work with, all the people who count on me for their income. This whole thing…” She stops when her voice cracks.

I take her face into my hands. “Baby, don’t do this to yourself. First of all, none of this is your fault. That—”

“You don’t know that. Maybe I did something… Maybe I pissed this guy off so badly he’s gone crazy.”

Rubbing a thumb over her moist cheek, I shake my head. “No. Screw that. Either this guy is mentally ill, and probably was before you met him… Or he’s just an asshole. Either way that’s on him. Got it?”

She nods, her eyes closing for a few beats. “So, what do we do now?”

“You let me worry about that.” I press a soft kiss to her lips, but she pulls instantly back.

“Um, no. If we’re doing this, then we’re doing this. Together. Please don’t treat me like I’m some helpless little girl.”

My mouth fights to smile, both because she’s right and because she called me out on it. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” As she turns her body to face me, gathering the blanket around her waist, I explain my plan. “First, we’re going to get screen grabs of this guy, send them to that detective we talked to…what’s his name?”

“Souza.”

“Right. And we’ll send it to your mom, your agent…anyone you can think of who might know who this psycho is.”

“And Catherine. She’s been with me for years. Maybe it was a client or someone in the industry?”

“Good thinking.”

“See, we make a good team.” Her expression, part delight, part pride, gives me a little reprieve from my own stress.

“The quality isn’t great, but you can see his face well enough. And I’ll get Jackson to send it out to his resources too.”

“Okay…” She takes in a deep breath, the plan seeming to calm her down. “I guess that’s all we can do for now.”

“Well, there’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“I think it’s time to tell them you’re not doing the show.” Before I finish the sentence, it feels like my words are futile. She’s fought to not let this guy mess with her career, but I’m going to have to put my foot down on this one.

To my surprise, she says, “I think you might be right. Can we go to bed, and I’ll think about it more in the morning?”

“Sure, baby. Let’s go to bed.”

As we make our way to our room and then get ready for bed, I’m determined to give Shay whatever she needs. Talk to her, hold her all night, whatever it takes to make her feel safe, even if it means ignoring the ache to be with her pulsing through me. But when she slips under the covers, completely naked, and reaches for me, I know exactly what she needs.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

Shay

If not for the strong arm draped over my hip and the solid form supporting my back, I’d probably spiral into a full-blown panic attack as my eyes pop open, and I work to calm my breathing. The room is pitch black except for the sliver of light coming through from underneath the closed bathroom door.

I don’t know why I was suddenly thrust into consciousness during that dream, but I can see every moment clearly as it replays in my head. Brendan’s large body pressing me into the mattress, the smell of liquor on his breath, his hands tearing at my clothes as if I’m just an object, an obstacle, and not a human being. And me, swearing, my pissed-as-hell attitude quickly morphing into fear. Until…the door pops open, and there is Brendan’s roommate. Our gazes lock and what I see in his eyes is terrifying. It’s anger but more than that. Anger laced with disgust, maybe even pain. He slams the door, and Brendan lifts off of me. I scramble away, leap off the bed, and brush past the young man as he’s rushing toward Brendan.

Something I didn’t remember until just now—probably because I was so horrified and in shock at what almost just went down—was the chaotic sounds of a scuffle as I escaped, the frantic pleas from Brendan.

“What is it?”

---