Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (38 page)

Don’t let go.

He kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead—again and again.
I won’t. I promise you. I won’t.

Eventually the storm inside Samantha subsided into tremors, her teeth chattering as she curled into him like an exhausted kitten. Jack rubbed her damp cheeks with the rough pads of his thumbs, pushing his fingertips through the silky soft locks of her midnight hair. He dropped soft, murmuring kisses wherever he could: her puffy eyelids, the reddened tip of her nose, the soft cushion of her lips, still salty from her tears. He whispered sweet nothings, soothing words of affection, until she finally peered up at him through the wet spikes of her lashes, cheeks pink and tender.

“I’m sorry I snotted all over you.” Her hands fluttered over the damp cotton of his t-shirt, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Sometimes you just need a good cry,” he told her, clasping her fingers and pressing them to his heart. “It’s cathartic. Like a climax.”

She gave him a watery smile. “That didn’t feel nearly as good as coming.”

“I can make you come right now and you can compare,” Jack teased, only half-joking.

The distant cousin of a smile played at her lips. “In my defense, my back hurts like a bitch, and you just happened to be at the wrong place at a very wrong time.” She hiccupped, before groaning into her hands. “My mortification is complete.”

Jack laughed lightly. “
Tesoro,
I’m just thrilled to know that you’re human after all. I was beginning to wonder if I’d inadvertently fallen for Wonder Woman.”

She pulled back to look at him. “I don’t have the whip.”

“It was a lasso—the ‘Lasso of Truth,’” Jack clarified helpfully. “And if anyone has a whip, it’s you, my love—it’s most definitely you.”

“Why do you say that?” She looked up at him, bemused.

Jack caressed a finger across her cheek. “Because you have all the power,
tesoro
. All the control. Men worship you. Whatever you want, whatever you need—it’s yours if we can give it. That’s power,” he stated matter-of-factly. And he meant it.

Perhaps this was growth
, he mused. Before Sam, Jack lived his life exactly as he liked. And he’d tried to go back to the selfish, self-absorbed prick he’d been when she’d left. But that skin didn’t fit him anymore. He was slowly but surely learning to compromise, to accommodate her needs not because he simply had to—but because
he wanted to
. In the quiet of her bedroom, holding her like this after so many months apart, Jack realized he’d begun to change in ways he’d never realized before. He was taking on a new form now—one that was built to walk beside her, to carry her when she needed. He was learning to absorb her pain, to take it into himself and transform it into something altogether different. Yes, he wanted her back, but more significantly—he was willing to do whatever he needed to for her to heal.

“I missed you,” Jack murmured, rubbing her cheek. “God, it’s so fucking good to hold you again. My arms have felt so empty—I didn’t even realize it.”

Samantha took a shuddering sigh. “I’m sorry I cried all over you, but it wasn’t an attempt to start something back up. My life is too messed up, Jack.
I’m
too messed up to be dragging you into this shit.” Her hand closed and opened against his shirt, worrying the fabric, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him back or bring him closer.

“You didn’t take anything I wasn’t offering. And I want to stand beside you for this—”

“No, I have to do this on my own.” She shook her head.

Jack clasped her hand, holding her palm against his heart. “Why do I get the feeling you keep telling me to leave because you’re punishing yourself? Like you’re trying to go it alone because you think it’s what you deserve.”

Samantha frowned at him. “
I’m
punishing
myself?
That’s ironic coming from you. What were you doing after I left for Afghanistan?”

“Wallowing in self-pity,” Jack answered honestly. “You went to war and I hit the club. Not my finest moment—I admit it.”

“I hate that.” Samantha touched the bristle lining his jaw. “I hate that I fucked you up so bad you needed to get high to deal with it.”

“Just being with you is a contact high,
tesoro
.”

She frowned. “Not funny.”

When she made to move away from him, Jack brought her back within the circle of his arms.

Samantha was silent a moment, but when she finally met his eyes again, he saw the worry there. “You relapsed because of me. I drove you to it, didn’t I?”

“No,
tesoro
.” Jack shook his head. “I did this because of
me.
Because I couldn’t handle it, and as easy as it would be to blame you or our relationship, the fact is, this was always my problem,
my
addiction. It started because I liked it. Then I needed it. Uppers, downers, whatever. It’s always been easier than facing the issues. And now it’s time to just meet them head on, don’t you think?” Jack kissed her temple, relieved to be holding her again after these long and lonely months. He breathed in the maddening scent he loved so well. He’d never forget the scent of jasmine now. It was seared in his frontal cortex.

“What are we doing?” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Coexisting,” he answered, not wanting to scare her off after the headway they’d made.

“I’m a fucking emotional yo-yo. I wanted to bite your head off when you arrived, and now I’m crying on you like the world is ending,” she lamented. “What the hell is wrong with me? I’m never like this!”

“You’re so practiced at turning off your feelings,
tesoro,”
he reasoned. “Of course it feels weird as hell when you finally turn them back on.”

She shot him a look. “Were you always so annoyingly self-aware?”

“I’ve been forced to do kumbayah therapy for several months. What did you think was going to happen?”

“Did it help you?” she asked quietly, tracing her finger down his chest. “Do you feel better?”

“I do and I don’t,” he admitted, clasping her closer as he rested his head in his hand. “I’m better, but I see how much stupid, ridiculous shit I did in the time we were together. I just didn’t know how to handle us—to handle you. I’d always been in control in all my relationships. I’d always been the dominant personality. Then you come along and toss the apple cart. To say I handled you leaving badly is a major understatement.”

“I’m bad for you.”

“No, quite the opposite,” Jack disagreed. “I was being a prick. I only wanted to love you on my terms, and I tried to force you into living a life I was comfortable with.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Who are you and what have you done to Jack?”

Jack kissed her nose. “Yes, I’m telling you I was a selfish and conceited jerk. You put everything on the line to protect everyone else, and I couldn’t stand by you for that?” He recalled how pale and small she looked lying in that hospital bed, his jaw tightening. “I thought you died,
tesoro
. Those were the worst hours of my life, imagining my world without you in it. Rehab and cleaning out just gave me the time and perspective I needed to validate that realization.”

Samantha was quiet a long time. When she finally spoke, she said, “Jack—I miss you. I won’t lie to you and say I don’t miss
us
, but I’m not sure I’m ready…” she fiddled with his shirt. “I mean, I don’t really know what I want right now with everything that’s happening…”

“I know that,
tesoro
.” He squeezed her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’ll wait.”

She bit her lip, looking into his eyes. “And if I’m never ready?”

Jack smiled gently. “Samantha, you’re worth the risk.”

They looked at each other for a long time, communicating silently, their eyes sending smoke signals. Jack could tell she was wondering if she could trust him to keep his word, and he was hoping she’d give him the chance to.

*

S A M A N T H A

The game was
set and ready. She recognized the jet and ivory chess set her father had brought back from India, each piece so intricately carved that Sam could see the individual expressions on the King and the Queen quite clearly.

“Do you want to be white or black?” her father offered. He sat across from her, legs crossed casually, his fingers resting against his temple as he waited patiently for her to answer.

“White,” Sam answered readily, moving her pawn to D4 on the board.

Her father moved his pawn to D5.

She immediately moved a second pawn to C4.

“The Queen’s Gambit,” he said, identifying her opener as the hint of a smile played at his lips. “Your favorite move.”

“Because it’s aggressive,” Samantha responded blithely, meeting her father’s steady gaze. She’d forgotten how dark his eyes were—a deep, nearly black, treacle that made them virtually impossible to read. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, but when she looked into her father’s eyes, she could only discern her own reflection.

“You like this opening because you enjoy controlling the center,” he observed, taking her pawn. “Even if it means sacrificing early on.”

“It’s a temporary setback,” she replied.

“Wars can only be won when you’ve set up a long-term advantage.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t mind losing a pawn, Dad. I know I’ll get him back eventually,” she argued, shifting another piece on the board.

“Your long-term strategies can only be achieved through tactics, and your tactics are based on your previous plays,” he told her.

She frowned. “What are you saying?”

He met her eyes. “Don’t let your desire to win blind you from what you’re required to sacrifice to get it. Haven’t you lost enough, Samantha?”

“What’s sacrificing a little now to gain the bigger win later on?”

“What are you winning?” her father asked, pointing toward the board. “What have you lost?”

She watched, horrified as blood covered the board, seeping around the jet and ivory, thick and viscous. Her father stood, knocking over the table between them, so fast that she couldn’t even grasp what was happening. He stepped forward, but it wasn’t her father anymore. Lucien Lightner stood in front of her, leering like the devil. He clutched her throat, picking up her up as she grappled uselessly against his hold.

“Wake up!” he shouted, shaking her.
“Wake up!”

*

April—Early Morning

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

S A M A N T H A

Sam startled awake,
jerking hard like she was breaking a fall. Jack’s arms tightened around her briefly, sensing her distress in his sleep, but he didn’t wake. She watched his eyelids move for a moment as her heart pounded, the dark fan of his lashes closed as he remained lost in his own dreams. As she slowly calmed down, she registered the hazy dawn light filtering through her windows, peeking over the edge of the horizon in a soft golden glow.

They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, on top of her quilts, curled toward each other like petals of a peony. Sam was still holding onto his t-shirt, no longer damp with her tears, but wrinkled from her fist where she’d gripped him like her life depended on it. In the early light of day, her face flamed with embarrassment. She felt inert and tender from her earlier grief. How was it that nighttime brought out her weakest, most wanton self? The loneliness nearly unbearable; her heart so full of sorrow she thought she might drown in it…

Jack had walked back into her life right when she could hardly stand the prison of her own body, trapped as she was within its limits since Afghanistan. To be held by him, to be comforted within the confining pressure of his arms—it was a such an immense relief after months of struggle. Being close to Jack again was both painful and relieving, like running across hot sand and into cool water.

Samantha ran her fingers across the tightly loomed muscles of his shoulders. Jack had always been achingly beautiful to her, but now, as the sun lit the room, she could see the discipline in the angles and hard lines of his face and body. He’d changed since she’d last seen him, furious and bewildered as he tried to argue her out of leaving him in Chicago. He was still passionate and demanding, but there was something else… a sort of focused devotion and care—like he loved her enough to play by her rules. And that scared the shit out of her, because if she was halfway honest, no one had ever loved her like that before. Not ever.