Page 58 of Trapped and Tackled

And it was the way she shrunk, the way she raised her arms to protect herself, the fear that flashed across her expression, that kicked me in the chest. That caused bile to churn in my stomach.

The silhouette of my mother on the bathroom floor.

The memory came unbidden. It flashed through my mind—clearer than it had any right to be—and in my gut, I knew.

Toby wasn’t the first fuckhead to raise a hand to my girl. In the moment, that’s how I thought of Leni. That’s how I saw her.

And right now, I feel the same.

I won’t let anyone hurt a goddamn strand of hair on her head.

But what the fuck happened? Was it the ex—Craig? Is that why she left New York? Or was it someone else—an isolated incident she hasn’t been able to speak about?

I want to know every-fucking-thing. But first, I want Leni to know that she’s safe. That I’m here. That I’ll do whatever the hell she needs.

I reach into my bag and pull out a plastic bottle of water I swiped on my way out of the lake house. “Here, Len. Have some water.” I uncap the bottle and hold it to her lips.

She blinks again, her eyes holding mine.

I grip the back of her head and lift it gently. Then, I pour a mouthful of water into her mouth and watch as she sips it. Swallows. Blinks again. “Thank you, Talon. For being here. I—I’m sorry.” She sounds so dejected. So…fucking sad. Lost. Nothing like the girl from Coach’s stories. Nothing like the woman who whooped my ass in a swimming race. Or the unknowing seductress who cooked dinner for me.

I brush my fingertips over her cheek and lean closer. Resting my forehead to hers, I close my eyes. “Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do, Talon,” she argues. “I have so many things to apologize for. So many mistakes. So many missed opportunities.”

“Tell me what you need. Right now, Leni.” I can’t do nothing. I need to help her. Be here for her. And I have no clue how.

The sounds of my mother’s tears, so fucking long ago, echo. Fresh in my mind. What the hell is happening?

My expression twists and tears—tears I haven’t cried in decades—burn the backs of my eyelids.

Someone hurt my girl. The same way someone hurt my mother.

And then, she lost everything. But I won’t let that happen to Leni. I won’t stand for it.

“I want to shower.” She shivers slightly under my touch, and I realize she’s cold. Damn, her adrenaline must have plunged. “And put on something warm. And get in bed.”

“Okay.” I breathe out a sigh of relief. I can do that. “Let’s do that.” I help her sit up. Keeping one hand anchored to her thigh, I squeeze gently. “I’ll go run the water.”

She nods and swipes her tongue across her dry bottom lip.

I leave her for a moment, just to flip on the bathroom lights, turn on the showerhead, and make sure the dial is pointed to hot water. I check to see that she has shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. I shake out a towel and hang it on the hook next to the shower, place down a bathmat for when she’s done, and move the robe from the back of the door to the top of the vanity.

When I reenter the bedroom, Leni is sitting right where I left her.

Her teeth are chattering now, her eyes nearly closed.

“Come on, Leni,” I murmur, stepping in between her legs and bending down. I hook my fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, holding her eyes. “Can I help you?”

In response, she lifts her arms, and I peel the shirt off her frame, discarding it on the bed beside her.

“You got this,” I say, to the both of us, as I wrap one arm around her lower back and help her stand. Then, I’m kneeling in front of her, popping the button on her jean shorts, and working them down her thighs.

She’s clad in a matching light pink bra and thong set. But other than seeing the color, I don’t look. I don’t check her out. I keep my focus purely on her well-being. I help her into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain.

Steam fills the room, turning the mirror hazy.

A sigh of relief falls from Leni’s lips. She glances at me over her shoulder. “Will you stay? Wait for me?”

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