I thought the dreams were going away because she’d opened up to Gordy and the rest of the guys on her team. Shiloh was forthcoming about the conversations she had with the guys. They treated her no differently than they always had; there was just a layer of closeness Shiloh hadn’t allowed in the past.
“You get nightmares when you get a letter.”
Shiloh nodded into my throat even though I hadn’t asked her a question.
“You know it’s gonna happen. You know what the letter’s gonna say but you open them anyway knowing they’re gonna give you nightmares. You do it to keep the pain fresh because you think you deserve it.”
Again Shiloh nodded and a burn hit my chest.
“You’re doing it to torture yourself.”
She made a low, guttural, keeling sound and that burn slithered up into my throat. I felt the noises Shiloh made vibrating against my chest but I was wholly unprepared for the sob that tore from her. I flinched at the sound, jerked in surprise, and held on tighter when her body shuddered.
That burn that had ignited seared through me as pain leaked out of Shiloh. It streamed down her cheeks, it leaked from her pores, it filled the room until I couldn’t breathe through the thick clouds of agony.
Body-wrenching.
Breath-stealing.
Excruciating cries of pain.
And I was powerless to stop it. There was nothing I could do but hold on. So that was what I did until my arms ached from clutching her close, then I held on longer until she cried herself to sleep. I waited a good long while until I carried her to bed and tucked her in.
Then I went back to the kitchen to turn off the oven and put the dinner Shiloh had made into the fridge. I turned off the lights, locked the front door, and got into bed next to my woman.
I felt the moment Shiloh woke.
It was nearing on midnight.
I’d lain awake for hours listening to her breathe coming up with a plan. My first instinct was to run roughshod over Shiloh and take matters into my hands. I figured it would take a five-minute conversation with Echo and he’d shut Clive Hutchinson down. The problem with that was Echo would likely cause bodily harm while communicating to Hutchinson the letters were to cease. Not only would that put Echo’s ass on the line but Shiloh would be worried about her brother. Gordy was an option. I doubted he’d take it to a physical level but the way he cared about Shiloh he might. Which again meant Shiloh would be unhappy. I considered them because I knew better than to seek out Hutchinson personally; there was no doubt I’d rip the man apart. And it was debatable after I held Shiloh while she exhausted herself sobbing in my arms—witnessing her pain and despair—if I’d have it in me to leave the motherfucker breathing.
So, I was out. Echo was out. Gordy was out. I had other options. My brothers would take my back, they’d go have a word and make sure Clive Hutchinson understood he was never to reach out to Shiloh again. I could make the letters stop.
But I couldn’t make Shiloh heal. She had to do that for herself and the first step in that was admitting she did not earn the shit Hutchinson was shoveling.
Which meant she had to be the one who made him stop.
I didn’t like this. I wanted to protect Shiloh. I wanted to stand between her and anything that would cause her harm. But I knew better. She’d twist my protection into something ugly. The irony of the situation was she wasn’t strong enough to accept my help. She would view that as being weak instead of realizing it takes more strength to allow someone to help you than it does to push them away.
“Did you turn off the oven?” Shiloh asked groggily.
I smiled, something I didn’t think I’d do with the memory of her tears fresh in my mind.
“Yeah, babe, I put dinner in the fridge, too. You hungry?”
“Did you eat?” she returned instead of answering.
“No.”
I heard Shiloh sigh and she burrowed closer.
“You missed dinner because you didn’t want to leave me,” she said conversationally.
Shiloh was correct, therefore I didn’t find it necessary to confirm. I liked her close, I liked what it said and I liked her turning to me for comfort. But I was uneasy about where her head was at after what happened.
“Don’t get it.”
The words were whisper-soft and even though her cheek was resting on my chest, her chin was tipped back, and her statement was uttered against the skin under my jaw I could barely hear her.
“Get what?”
“Why you don’t leave me.”
Before I could get a handle on my rising irritation she went on. Which only made it worse.
“I’m so fucked-up I’m a basket case. My job calls me out all hours of the night, it interrupts dinner, and it interferes with plans. I’m a total bitch. I pull away and hide because I’m a chickenshit. I mean, aren’t you fed up with my shit yet?”
I took a moment to take a deep breath, then I exhaled and took another one. After the fourth one, I realized deep breathing wasn’t going to work. Not this time. I also realized that the only way to get through to Shiloh was to say it straight.
So that was what I did and I pulled no punches.
“You love your job,” I started with the obvious. “If you didn’t, you being called out in the middle of the night and rolling out of bed would seriously suck. If you didn’t, you getting a call out while we’re in the middle of eating dinner would get old. But you love what you do and I’d be a fucking dick if I complained about something that’s important to you. I’m proud of the job you do. I’m proud knowing my woman rolls out of our bed, kits up, and goes out to protect and serve.”
“But—”
“No buts, baby. That’s it. I’m proud of you. Period. Now, we’ve discussed you pulling your frosty bitch routine. I know why you were doing it, you admitted you know why you do it, and we’ve moved on from that. And, Shiloh, as much as I love you and will stand next to you and help you through the rest of the junk polluting your head I won’t allow you to keep dragging this shit back up. You explained, apologized, I told you I understood, and even though there was nothing to forgive I gave you that anyway.”
“You love me?” she whispered.
“Crazy in love with you.”
I felt Shiloh go solid. Her hand resting on my chest glided down and curled around my ribs and her fingers dug in.
“Why?”
“Baby, look at me.”
I waited for what seemed like an eternity until she tipped her head back and caught my gaze.
“Why wouldn’t I love you?”
Her eyes flared and the rest of the mask I hadn’t realized she was still holding onto shattered. I watched it happen—all pretense fell away, and before me was the little girl whose mom left when she could no longer deal with the life she’d created. That being a life where she’d hooked her star to a criminal, made a family with that man, and when the repercussions of that life hit full-force she bailed.
Late one night, Shiloh had told me about her mother. A weak woman, who was tired of her husband being carted off to jail leaving her to fend for herself and four children. A weak woman who didn’t wise up and use one of the many opportunities while Lester was in jail to pack up her kids and leave. A selfish woman who’d waited for Lester to be released, then packed her shit up, left her kids, and took off.