Page 109 of Jenna's Protector

“Of course.” Carter starts the car again, pulling back onto the road. “He’ll be happy to see you.” As we drive toward the vet clinic, I lean my head against Carter’s shoulder. For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel safe.

Max is alive.

I’m safe.

We’re together.

Carter’s voice breaks the silence. “Maybe we stop at home first?” His thumb still traces circles on my hand, a gentle, soothing motion.

“Home?” I lift my head to look at him.

Home.

The way he says it, like it’s his too, sends a warm flutter through my chest. I want that.

I want us to have our home.

“Yeah,” he says softly, his eyes flicking between me and the road.

“But I want to see Max.”

“Max is still recovering from surgery.” Carter’s eyes flick toward me before returning to the road. “Malia’s with him, keeping an eye on things. I think you should take a warm shower and put on some fresh clothes. It might help you feel human again.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Carter continues, his voice soft but firm.

“That way, we can spend more time with Max without having to leave for these things. He’ll be more alert later too.”

Reluctantly, I nod. As much as I want to see Max right now, Carter’s right. I’m exhausted, sore, and probably look a mess. I nod slowly, the thought of a shower and clean clothes suddenly incredibly appealing.

“We’ll check on Max right after, I promise.” Carter squeezes my hand, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Home first.”

“It won’t be long, I promise. Just a quick stop, then we’ll go see our boy.”

Our boy.

The words settle in my chest, warm and comforting. As Carter turns the car toward home—our home—another spark ignites in my heart.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur of streetlights and the rhythmic hum of the engine. Carter’s presence beside me is a steady anchor, keeping the lingering fear at bay. I’ll need to deal with my trauma, but I’ll do that—later.

The apartment door clicks shut behind us. The familiar surroundings are both comforting and surreal. Everything looks the same, yet nothing feels the same. Carter’s hand on the small of my back guides me gently forward.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” His voice is low and soothing.

I nod, suddenly aware of how heavy my limbs feel and how every movement takes effort. Carter leads me to the bathroom, his presence steady and reassuring.

The hiss of the shower fills the small space as Carter turns the knobs, adjusting the temperature. Steam begins to rise, fogging the mirror and wrapping around us like a warm blanket. I stand there, swaying slightly, as Carter turns to me.

His hands are gentle as he helps me out of my clothes, his touch reverent, careful of my bruises and scrapes. My energy seems to evaporate with each layer removed until I’m standing bare, vulnerable, barely able to keep my eyes open.

Carter sheds his clothes quickly before guiding me into the shower. Hot water cascades over us, and I lean my forehead against the cool tiles, letting out a shaky breath.

Carter’s hands are on me again, gentle and sure, as they work shampoo through my hair. His fingers massage my scalp, and some of the tension in my body melts away. He works methodically, washing away the grime and fear infusing every pore.

The last of my strength fades as he runs the washcloth over my skin. A sob escapes me, then another, until I’m shaking with theforce of them. Carter’s arms encircle me immediately, pulling me against his chest.

Holding me.

---