Not Just Friends (Hot in the City #3) - T. Gephart Page 0,97
“No one is going to think less of you because you need help. This doesn’t make you weak, Baby. It makes you human.”
Human?
Funny that I felt anything but.
“I can’t lose myself, Jared. I can’t lose everything I’ve worked so hard for.” My eyes shone with new tears, as I said words I never thought I’d feel, let alone say. “I’m scared.”
The pads of his thumbs brushed underneath my eyes as he smiled. “If you can even think that—let alone believe it—you have no idea of the woman you are, the woman I know.”
I wasn’t sure who he was talking about, but it couldn’t be the pitiful mess huddled in the shower stall. Had to be some other girl. And probably someone who deserved him more. But whoever she was, I wasn’t just going to hand him over. Not after I’d waited so long to get him.
I blew out a long shaky breath, feeling completely out of my depth.
“I need help.”
Jared
THE FIRST THING I did was turn the shower back on, dump the wet towels and get her back under the warm water. And unlike when we first got in, there wasn’t an agenda other than getting clean. She sat on the floor, letting me wash her as she blinked silently.
It was hard to watch, the light that used to be so bright in her eyes almost completely gone as I rinsed her off and got dry towels to wrap around her. She didn’t fight me once, first letting me get us both clean and then when I dried us off, carrying her to the bed.
I’d never seen her so quiet, missing her fiery spark. But unlike her, I wasn’t scared. That inferno we’d had to attack—with no idea what was inside—could be taken from each side. She’d finally let down those walls, and shown me exactly what kind of hell she’d been living in, and I wasn’t walking away. Not a chance, not until we saw that turmoil snuffed out entirely. And fuck, was I proud. So unbelievably proud that she’d finally let me in.
We curled up together under her blankets, ignoring the world as she cried off and on for a while. Sometimes she’d talk, sometimes she didn’t—and I did nothing but held her for as long as she needed. I wished I’d something smart or enlightening to say but nothing that came to mind seemed like it was good enough. So rather than pretend to know what I was doing, I let her cry it out.
By late afternoon she’d decided that she probably shouldn’t go to the club. I’d wanted to suggest it but figured it was better if she came to that conclusion on her own. It was a gamble, the chance she’d get dressed and head out the door still fairly high. And if she did, I wouldn’t fight her, following and being ready to catch her if she needed. Not sure how many prayers of thanks I offered the Virgin Mary when she called Raelle and asked her to cover. It was the first time since Diablo opened that she wasn’t going in. Raelle assumed the conversation had been with Presley’s ghost since the only conceivable way she’d miss work was if she were dead. And I think in a way, she was half-right. Still, the shift was covered, and while I knew it was a temporary fix, we had one night where neither of us had to work.
The way I saw it the next twenty-four hours were critical, and while she was talking, we needed to come up with some kind of plan. I didn’t have a psychology degree, and I wasn’t going to pretend I did, which was why I called Tara Roswell.
She was the shrink we went to see if ever things got too much in our heads. Traffic accidents, bad burns or close calls on the jobs—all of which can mess you up if you let it fester. So instead of ending a promising career over something that usually wasn’t our fault, we’d talk to Tara and work it out. And while I assumed Tara couldn’t technically treat Presley since she wasn’t serving with the FDNY, she did have some good starting points as well as a name of someone who could.
And after we’d done all of that, we went back to bed and not had sex. Never thought there’d be a time where I was glad Presley didn’t want to sleep with me, but given the circumstances, it was a