Page 36 of Speechless
The broken girl on the floorwhined. Fucking shattered Connor’s heart in his chest, and if the look in Sarah’s eyes was any indication, ripped hers into shreds. The sound stripped him down to the bone, to the soul.
“I’ll get something to calm her down.”
“No. No, this she needs to process.”
“She’ll make herself sick, Connor. Or pass out before she can take a full breath.”
Connor didn’t bother walking around the table. It was in his way, so he just tossed it aside. The fury inside him had no match, no cure. Later, he’d destroy something with his bare hands to alleviate the worst of the burn, but for now…
“Arms around my neck, baby,” he crooned as he dropped to one knee in front of Jenna. Expecting hesitation, he was surprised by her immediate reaction. They locked around him like chains, gripped tighter when he rose. Her legs banded around his waist without a word from him. “Sarah, can you—”
Hand pressed to her heart, she stared at him with devastated dark eyes. The absolute joy from moments ago eclipsed now by grief. “Go. Do what you have to do. I’ll see to the clinic until…just take care of her.”
Jenna sobbed into his shoulder, her cries loud and oh-so fucking real. Every breath laced with that terrified whine. Maybe Sarah was right and he should give her something to take the hysteria down a notch, but he knew dealing with the fear was the only way to take the next step forward.
Connor took her to the living room, settled himself onto the couch and the nest of pillows. He yanked the duvet around them, covered Jenna’s head, and couldn’t give a shit about the cream now slicked over him, the duvet, damn near everything.
“Cry it out, Jenna. Use that pretty voice and give me the weight.” Hands stroking, body rocking, Connor anchored her as the vicious hurricane of emotion chewed her up and spat her out. “Good girl. Good girl, baby. Let me take it. Give it all to me.”
Her fingers kneaded into his shoulders, the sharp edges of her nails drawing blood through scratches. Her sobs were shattered, breathless. Keening wails, so savage he felt them tear through her, would shadow his dreams for some time to come.
She was silent no more.
His watch told him over thirty minutes of hell had passed before the noises died down. Thirty long fucking minutes of wordless recollection, an accounting of what she’d suffered. Half an hour of endless tears, grief and terror.
His shirt was wet from the neck down, an effective handkerchief. She was slick with cold sweat, huddled against him now as his hands urged her to unfurl, relax, breathe. She’d gone through the wringer and not come out unscathed.
Connor nudged the duvet back, kept it tucked around her. He needed to get fresh blankets, stop her getting a chill on top of everything else, but right now, she just needed to be held. To know she was cared for, and not alone on what would be an incredibly frightening step on the journey to living life as she was meant to.
Breathing hard, her head rested on his shoulder. Blonde hair matted with sweat, eyes swollen and red. Snot and tears were the least of his concerns. He touched her wet cheek, then gave in and rested his forehead against hers with a sigh.
Hollow green eyes locked onto his, heavy with fatigue and misery.
“You’re going to be okay, baby. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but you are. I’ve got you now. We can only go forward from here.”
Chapter Eight
Being wrong wasn’t something Connor liked to admit.
Admitting he wasn’t right meant he’d done something to entice failure, and God knew he was failing Jenna. He couldn’t understand how they’d gone from progressing slowly but steadily forwards into hurtling back to hell in a matter of minutes.
It was killing him. Physically, emotionally, mentally, it was sucking the life from him in thick, greedy gulps. Two weeks of torture was enough for anyone, so Sarah told him with sadness and a sense of resignation. His stalwart, ballsy nurse who refused to relinquish a challenge unless she had her teeth pried off it was on the fence.
Leaning forward would cost him, maybe more than he had left in reserve. Forging ahead with hours of self-recrimination, endless cajoling, taking care of a woman who had turned her back on her existence.
Falling back gave him no option but to surrender completely. He would lose the future he dreamed of with the same woman who no longer smiled, who couldn’t exist outside of her past.
Pacing the kitchen, Connor ran his hand over his beard—why bother shaving was his new motto—and twisted his phone in white-knuckled fingers. One phone call. One phone call and the nightmare would be over.
For him.
“Fuck!” He spun, slammed his fist into the hardwood cupboard door. The crack in the wood mirrored the one in his heart. Physical pain distracted him momentarily from the agony of making a choice. “Just fuck it.”
“You made the call?” Sarah asked softly, then tutted when she saw the blood on his hand. “You need to be more careful, Connor.”
He dropped his head against the cupboard door with a thud. “I can’t do it, Sarah. I can’t tell them to come get her, lock her away. How do I explain I’m throwing her away? I just…I can’t.”
“You’re one of the best men I know, Connor. They’re few and far between in my book, but you get a whole page to yourself. I’m looking at a man pulling himself into pieces, trying to move in every direction, to do what’s right. The question is, what’s right for you, and what is right for her?”