Need surges through me, a molten tidal wave. Need to hold her tight in my arms. To press her back against the wood dock, claim her mouth with mine, and watch her come apart beneath my fingers. To bring us back together — not with words, but with our bodies.
I want to make love to her until I’ve undone all the damage.
Until we both forget the past.
I don’t care how long it takes.
Carefully, like it’s made of glass, she sets my hand down on the dock. Looking up into my face with brimming eyes, her lashes fan across her cheeks as she blinks back tears. “I had no idea any of this happened to you.”
“I know.”
“I wish you’d told me. I wish...” Her head shakes. “A lot of things.”
“Me too, Jo.” I swallow hard. “A lot of things.”
“But what about your parents—”
“They’re okay,” I assure her, hearing the worry in her voice. “The police stormed the place they were being held and arrested the men responsible. Flora and Miguel are just fine, trust me. They’re probably tanning on a beach in Puerto Rico as we speak.”
“And Jaxon?”
“Still on the run. Still with the gang. Wanted for parole violations and a slew of new charges.” I swallow roughly. “If he’s caught… he’s probably going away for life, this time.”
“And… you?”
“I woke up in the hospital with a broken wrist. Three cracked ribs. Some pretty bad bruising. Bit of internal bleeding. Oh, and this souvenir.” I push back the long hair that flops over my forehead to expose the scar that stretches across my temple. I try to smile, but I can tell it’s less than convincing when Jo’s sadness spills over, streaming down her cheeks in a torrent.
“Don’t cry,” I plead, horrified. “Please, Jo, don’t…”
My words evaporate as she leans in to me. I watch tears drip down her face, plummeting from her chin like rainfall. Her face is so close to mine, I can count her freckles, one by one. Her hand shakes as she reaches up to trace the jagged line that extends across my hairline. The scar tissue is extra sensitive, every nerve ending heightened. I hiss out an involuntary breath when her fingers make contact.
Fuck.
In my jeans, my cock is beginning to become a problem — pressing against the zipper with increasing insistence every time she touches me. I shift, trying to lessen the throbbing ache, but it does no good.
“Jo…”
“I can’t believe you almost died!” She snaps furiously, through the flood of tears. “I can’t believe you almost died and I wasn’t there! I don’t care how bad things were between us — you should’ve called me! You should’ve let me be there for you! Why wouldn’t you let me be there for you, you idiot?”
And this is where our story takes a turn.
Where the telling gets tough.
How can I look into her eyes and tell her about her parents? How can I make her understand that, when I found myself backed into a corner with my spine against the wall and no way out… it was Blair and Vincent who put me there? That it was a Valentine bank account that paid for my silence?
As I struggle to find the words, she smacks me on the arm. “I’m so angry at you, Archer Reyes!”
“I know, Jo.”
“I could kill you myself for almost dying!”
“I know, Jo.”
“This is just… it’s too much! I can’t… I don’t…”
“I know, Jo. I know.”
“I… you…” Her face crumples completely as emotion overtakes her. And then, before I can even brace for it, she’s falling forward onto my chest. Plastering her body against mine like a wrecking ball of anger and sorrow and hurt and frustration, all wrapped up in one petite blonde package.
Tears drip against my torso, tracking wet paths from my pecs all the way down my stomach. Her fists land soft punches against my bare skin as she sobs, an ugly cascade of pent up pain.
I can’t take it from her.
I can’t make it better.
All I can do is hold her — stroking her hair in long, rhythmic moves. Absorbing her grief as best I can.
“Just breathe, baby,” I whisper against the crown of her head as I hold her, so softly I’m not sure she can hear it. “Let it out. I’m here.”
I’ll always be here.
TWENTY-THREE
josephine
It takes a long time for my tears to slow from sobs to hiccups. By the time they fade into silence, the sun has begun to slant toward the western horizon. The sky above us is streaked with color; the waters of the cove look like stained glass on a church steeple. Beneath my ear, Archer’s heart beats steadily on. His arms are still wound tight around me, cradling my body against his chest.
It’s difficult to reckon with the fact that I dissolved into an emotional puddle after he described nearly dying. And he comforted me — even after I pushed him off the dock. Even after I lashed out at him. The sting of embarrassment pierces me straight between my cry-swollen eyes.
My emotions are a tangled mess — as is typical, where Archer is concerned. But I must admit, I do feel better after expelling some of them through my eyeballs. My internal well was at capacity, overflowing. Now, in the aftermath of my small breakdown, I feel blessedly empty. Hollowed out. Once again able to breathe without hyperventilating.
Archer is quiet, just holding me without saying a word.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“Hitting you. And pushing you into the cove.” I pause. “And saying I wanted to kill you. I don’t want anything to happen to you. In case that wasn’t obvious from the small waterfall of tears I just leaked all over your chest.”
A chuckle rumbles through him, vibrating his whole body. It feels nice against my cheek. Treacherously nice. I force myself to pull back, to peel away from him, straightening my spine so I’m sitting upright. His arms fall away instantly, but I see a flash of regret move in the depths of his eyes. Like he doesn’t quite want to let me go.
Our faces are close. Bathed in sunset hues, beneath the beard, beneath the man… I see the face of the boy I built my life around. Some of the demons have vanished from his eyes. Some of that tight-held pain has slipped from his expression.
My Archer.
“You’re still in there, aren’t you?” I whisper. “I thought you were gone for good.”
He’s watching me guardedly. I can’t read his expression at all, but I can see the tension in his body even before I hear it in his voice. “I’m not the same guy I used to be, Jo. I wasn’t lying the other day when I told you the Archer you came looking for is gone.”
“Maybe we can get him back.”
“There is no getting him back.” His eyes press closed. His breaths grow shallower, as if he’s drowning beneath the weight of pain. “Don’t you understand? That guy you miss is gone. Dead. He died that day, in the accident.” He pauses harshly. “Sometimes, I wish I’d died with him.”
“Don’t say that!” I cry. “Don’t you ever say that, Archer Reyes!”