“Nothing has been real,” she began in a soft voice, shivering despite the warmer water, and her nipples hardened to painful points. “The marriage. The Southern gems. Nothing. But what I feel for you here and now, despite all the craziness . . . is real.” She set a hand over her heart and kept going so she wouldn’t break down and sob. “What I feel for you right now, it’s real. And no one can take that from me.” She swallowed. “From us.”
He stepped forward. “What are you saying?”
“You need to know that as angry as I might get with you at times, or as scared as maybe I’ve been . . . my vows to you were real.” I love you. I’ll always love you. But why couldn’t she say that right now?
Jesse’s gaze fell to the tiled floor, his chest expanding with a deep breath as he holstered his sidearm, and she nervously waited for his next move.
Shifting his attention to the door, Jesse clicked the lock in place before turning to her. The strain in his jaw beneath his facial hair and the vein at his neck were signs he was still trying to fight something. Or maybe he was fighting his desire to come to her?
“Are you going to reject me, Jesse Edward McAdams?” she whispered. “Or are you going to love me?”
Two steps closer, and he was within arm’s reach. “I told you my vows were real. So are the photos in my wallet. All of it,” he returned in a low tone that had a shiver going down her spine. “How I feel about you, and how I have always felt about you is more real than my own existence,” he rasped while erasing the last bit of space between them, and without hesitation, he cupped the back of her head. He looked deep into her eyes and added in a hoarse voice, “It’s so real that in three years, I haven’t so much as touched another woman.”
His lips met hers, and she sealed her eyes as his tongue explored her mouth, and it took her a few seconds to truly comprehend what Jesse had confessed. And he’d said a hell of a lot.
She didn’t want to cry because of his confession. She didn’t want to break into an ugly sob at the fact he’d admitted he hadn’t been with another woman since New York, not while they were kissing, but . . .
The tears unleashed anyway, blending in with the water overhead. Jesse must have heard the emotion choking her up, or felt it in her kiss because he slowly eased back and brought both hands to the sides of her arms, holding her tight while her wet skin soaked through his shirt.
She needed to tell him about Brian. To tell Jesse he was the only man she’d been with since New York too. And the only man, as of the other day, who’d gone down on her . . . ever. Ever-ever. Thirtysomething years old, and she’d never let a man set his face between her legs until Jesse.
But the knock at the bathroom door had Jesse stepping back, and he drew the curtains together as if terrified one of his teammates would see her naked body.
“Hey,” Griffin called out from the bedroom. “Thatcher’s on the phone, and he’s finally ready to talk to you.”
Chapter Twenty
“Jesse, did you hear me? I said I’m sorry,” Thatcher repeated. The secure line from which he’d called was currently broadcasting his words through the speaker of Jesse’s phone. Jesse closed his eyes, those last four words triggering an unpleasant memory, taking him back to Bama during his senior year in high school.
“I said I’m sorry. Did you even hear me?” Jesse’s father had grumbled before picking up the wrench he’d thrown at him in the garage, out of sight for Rory or his mom to witness.
Afterward, his father had taken a knee in front of where Jesse sat, his back to the wall and his hand massaging his ribs in an effort to ease the damage his father had inflicted with more than just the wrench. “You have to stop getting into fights at school.” Like always, his dad’s tone had become more calm and even, almost like he cared. Like he’d really felt bad about hitting him. “You can’t keep playing the hero, fighting other people’s battles for them just because they’re too weak to do it themselves.”
“What am I supposed to do, Pops?” His ribs had been on fire from the pain, but he’d swallowed a groan. He never let his dad know how badly he’d hurt him, but it’d always taken a bit more effort to hide the pain from his mom and sister. “The guy had it coming. He was picking on someone three years younger, and I’m not gonna just watch it happen.”
“I said not to involve yourself, and that’s what I damn well mean. Don’t you give me lip, boy. Don’t talk back to me.” He’d leaned in and spat out the words, his breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Single malt scotch. Always Glenlivet. “You get suspended one more time, and you’re going to the Army the second you turn eighteen. Now get the hell out of my garage and clean yourself up. I’m sending you to the Hawkins Ranch to do some real work since you’re not allowed to go to school for three damn days.”
“Jesse?” He opened his eyes at the sound of Ella’s soft voice guiding him back to the present, and he spotted her standing on the other side of the table where his cell phone lay faceup.
Those beautiful blue eyes were the calm to his storm. Always had been. She’d never had a clue about his father’s temper or abuse, but she was always the first person he’d sought out back then to help “revitalize” him, in a way. There’d always been something about her that put him at ease, long before his attraction to her had become sexual. Her fresh outlook on the world made all the ugly at home fade away.
And looking at Ella right now, not even five minutes after he’d admitted to her in the bathroom how he really felt . . . made the memory with his dad hurt less. The pain in his chest felt as though it was shrinking in size the longer she stared at him.
Ella reached over and set her palm over his hand on the table. Had something officially changed between them upstairs?
She’d witnessed him take lives that night, and he’d have throttled Henry if she hadn’t stopped him.
But the moment they’d shared in the bathroom felt significant, and that kiss had him wondering if they were finally working toward that “middle place.” And it gave him hope. But first, he had to deal with Thatcher, as well as the world of problems his old boss had created for him.
“Yeah, I heard your apology,” Jesse finally spoke, and based on the anger he heard in his own voice, he figured everyone in the room was most likely worried he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. The only two teammates missing were Jack and Oliver, who were outside walking the perimeter for another security check.
Jesse purposefully avoided scanning the room for everyone’s reactions to this shit-show between him and Thatcher. He needed to keep his attention on Ella if he was going to get through this call.
“And I don’t accept your apology,” Jesse slowly added when Thatcher opted for silence this time. “I don’t care what you’re about to say as to why you lied, used, and—”
“Just hear me out,” Thatcher cut him off. “I’m in France right now. I can come to you if you’d like?”
Of course, he was in France. What’d Jesse expect? For him to sit on the sidelines? No, Thatcher may have had E-9 status, the highest Air Force enlisted rank when he left, but he’d never lost the scrappy, go-for-the-jugular, New Guy mentality. He was an overachiever when it came to cutting down the world’s bad guys, and at one time, Jesse had admired that about him.