Page 91 of Jersey

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you have enough," I say, pulling the bottles from her grasp. "Anything else?"

"Is there anything left?" she asks, looking at the over-stuffed suitcase.

I don't bother answering her question before zipping up both suitcases.

"Can someone get the dog food and bowl?" I ask, knowing others are still on the mic. "I'll grab the bed."

I get an affirmative as I reach out for Caitlyn's hand.

"Ready?"

Sheswallows, looking like she's going to refuse, but instead, she drops her palm into mine.

"We're going to go down the hall and straight for the door. There's no reason for you to even look back, okay?"

"Okay," she answers, surprising me when she does exactly as I've suggested, making it to the waiting SUV of her own accord.

I help her into the back seat of one of the SUVs, put her suitcases in the back, and then climb in beside her.

At this point, I don't even give a fuck about my bike. Someone will either see that it makes it back to the cabin, or it can stay here until I'm comfortable enough to leave her side so I can come get it.

Lark pulls open the driver's side door and takes a quick glance at the two of us before dropping into the driver's seat.

"They're going to want to talk to her," he says as he puts the vehicle in gear.

"I'll make arrangements for them to come to the house tomorrow," Hemlock says, his voice startling me through the mic still in my ear. "Jersey, we have shit to discuss. You might want to pull your mic."

I reach up and yank the thing from my ear. I'm not afraid I'll miss anything. Casper is great with his dossiers when we debrief, and I know every single piece of information will be included when he's done with it.

Lark holds his right hand over his shoulder, and I drop the tiny piece of equipment into his waiting palm.

"Thanks, man," I mutter before looking back at Caitlyn.

She's watching out the window, and she seems damn near catatonic, and I hate that there isn't much I can do for her except be here as she works through all of this shit.

"Do we need the hospital?" Lark asks when he pulls up to a four-way stop.

"No," she whispers. "He didn't hurt me."

I know that's not exactly true. There are more painful traumas than anything physical could ever cause.

"Let's just head to the cabin," I say, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

She doesn't speak when we pull up to the cabin, and she seems even more distant by the time we make it up to my room. There's no fucking way I'm going to shove her into a room by herself so she can get even more lost in her head.

"I'm going to put you in the shower," I tell her.

I don't know if he touched her or not, but I know how I felt after seeing my first person die, and the only thing I wanted to do was get clean, as if I could wash off the entire experience.

I guide her to the bathroom, slowly peeling her clothes away one piece at time, giving her plenty of space to ask me to stop, but by the time she's standing naked in my bathroom, her eyes look empty.

I strip to my boxers and guide her into the shower.

I wash her quickly, trying not to get her hair wet because that seems like a whole ordeal to deal with.

When she's clean, I towel dry her quickly, knowing it won't take much for her to start to get chills despite the warmth in the bathroom.

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