Page 45 of Brazen Mistakes

Does Jansen love me?

How the hell can I handle more confessions of love when I’m too broken to even exist by myself right now?

Thoughts, too fast to catch, flood me, my pounding heart drowning out reason. My barely tamped fears break free, and my breath turns to short bursts.

Panic has me slipping out from under the blankets, yanking on Jansen’s sweatshirt from the floor, and sprinting to the bathroom. The water from the tap shocks me, but it’s not enough, my tears mixing with the icy liquid as I splash it on my face. I struggle to take a deep breath, to remember what it feels like to pull in air and push it back out again, in that order.

It’s not working.

I strip off the sweatshirt and climb into the guys’ shower, darkness hovering on the edges of my vision. The cold water dashes against my skin, forcing air back into my lungs, leaving me to collapse on the floor of the stall, a stupid gasping sob escaping.

I don’t know how long I stay there.

Eventually, I’m able to focus on breathing, on pushing unwanted thoughts from my mind. When I can’t feel my fingers anymore, I switch off the shower. Because while numb feels good, frozen is bad.

Without a bath towel, I wring out my hair, wiping down as much as I can with the hand towel before yanking on Jansen’s sweatshirt over my damp skin.

In the hallway, Trips sits on the floor across from the door.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself, glad this sweatshirt is long enough that I’m covered.

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh.”

He pushes himself to his feet. “Walker and RJ will be back soonish.”

“Okay.”

“Come with me.”

I trail him to his room, and he shuts the door behind us. “Are things okay with Jansen?” he asks.

“Yeah. They’re great.”

“I figured. He’s snoring after that noisy fuck fest you just had. Meanwhile, you’re sobbing in the shower.”

Staring at the floor, I don’t know what to say to that truth.

“Give me your hands.”

“What? Why?”

“You said you were mad.”

“Trips, you’re going to have to give me more than that.”

He takes my hands in his, making mine seem delicate in comparison. Using tape, he dresses my knuckles, his calloused fingers gentle but exacting. “You said you wanted to learn to fight, and that you were furious about what Bryce is doing. But instead of getting mad, you’re falling apart in the shower when you should be passed out beside one of your boys. You need to learn how to get mad. And how to throw a punch.”

“You’re teaching me to fight? Now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“RJ will teach you self-defense, to fight. There’s a reason there are weight classes in boxing—you can be the biggest badass ever, but my reach will always be longer than yours, and I’ve got probably a hundred pounds on you. The skills RJcan train you in will even out the odds. But sometimes, you just need to throw a punch. If only for sanity’s sake.”

“Trips, I don’t want to seem insensitive, but I don’t get angry like you.”

“Maybe you should.”

My wrapped hands fall to my sides as I look up at him. “Should I?”

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