Guardian Cougar (Finding Fatherhood Book 2) (6 page)

She twined her fingers through his, squeezing. “That would make me happy too.” A sense of peace filled her, and it also underscored how exhausted she was. Her eyes were heavy, and she surrendered to the urge to sleep, though there were more things she wanted to tell Jackson, and more words to share. They could wait, because she was certain they had all the time in the world ahead of them.

***

Jackson watched her sleep, unable to find slumber himself. His mind was too busy to relax into sleep just yet. Too many thoughts crowded his brain, and he was having difficulty focusing on anything in particular. Instead, he just allowed himself the pleasure of watching her sleep, pleased by her relaxed smile and her deep breathing. She was clearly resting well, and she deserved it. He liked to think he’d helped her reach that state, which filled him with a surge of masculine satisfaction.

He let his gaze move lower, placing a hand on her stomach and rubbing lightly after ensuring he didn’t wake her. The baby responded by kicking him, and he felt a different kind of warmth wash over him. He already had a connection with her child, and he was more than happy to claim him as his own.

He just wished he knew more about the last year of her life that was missing, blanked out because she couldn’t face it. He didn’t share it with her, not wanting to alarm her, but he was afraid she was still in danger. Whatever had happened to her had clearly been traumatic, and whoever she’d been with for the last year probably didn’t want her around to share the details.

He could keep her and the baby safer if she could remember who they might be in danger from, but he couldn’t bring himself to push her to remember something she didn’t want to know. Instead, he’d just have to be diligent on her behalf, keeping a close eye on her and the baby when he was born. They were well on their way to becoming a family, and he would guard his family with his life. If she didn’t want to remember, he wouldn’t push her to do so. He would protect her from her past while she focused on their future.

The next two weeks seemed to fly by, and she couldn’t imagine how life could be more perfect. The only blight was the continued nightmares that plagued her each night. She often woke in a cold sweat with images burned into her brain that she didn’t want to examine or remember. By the time she’d eaten breakfast, she’d usually shaken them off, so she was clinging to the hope she could deal with the nightmares without regaining her full memory.

Jackson was as caring as ever, and together they had transformed the guestroom into a beautiful nursery for Killian. They had picked the name together, and he seemed determined to live up to his promise to be the father in every way. She was certain Jackson would take good care of their son.

She didn’t share her concern with him, because she didn’t want to worry him, but Hannah was afraid she wouldn’t be as adept at motherhood as Jackson was taking to fatherhood. There was a lingering sense of ambivalence about the pregnancy, and though she was positive it had to do with the circumstances of conception, she couldn’t bring herself to try to call forth the memories.

She was still convinced knowing was worse than not knowing. So she tried to suppress any memories that might try to surface and focus strictly on being happy about the pregnancy while trying not to worry about how she had found herself in that state.

She had mostly convinced herself she could live in this world she had created, so when it came crashing down on her, it happened quick and hard. Jackson had returned to working in his office on a daily basis, though he often left early and called her several times per day to check on her.

It’d been a little lonely when she’d first been left to her own devices in the apartment, but she soon adapted to a routine. She started to learn how to clean and do laundry, and she was convinced she’d never done those chores before. She had no memory of them. While doing her daily chores, Hannah often turned on the television or music station for background noise.

She was folding towels and not really paying attention to the gossip show playing in the background when she looked up, and a familiar face filled the screen. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and if she hadn’t been sitting on the couch, she would have collapsed to the floor.

As much as she didn’t want to, she recognized the man being interviewed about his newest movie after a year-long hiatus from production. His handsome features and crisp black hair belied his age, making him seem at least a decade younger than his mid-forties. She knew he was forty-four, having been forced to celebrate one of his birthdays with him aboard the yacht.

She let out a whimper, and the clothes she’d been folding tumbled from her fingers to scatter on the floor along with the basket she knocked against in her haste to escape the memories overwhelming her as Theo Cromwell spoke to the camera. She was incapable of hearing what he was saying, but the timbre of his voice was familiar, and she started to tremble.

Acting purely on instinct, she searched for a place to hide. In her panicked mode, only the hall closet seemed safe enough, and she tossed the things inside out of her way so she could burrow into the corner and close the door behind her. She rocked back and forth in the darkness as sobs overtook her. Memories flooded through her mind, though she didn’t want any of them.

“Fake It” had been her first movie, or her first real role anyway. She was going to have a minor speaking part, but suddenly rewrites came in that cast her in a more important role. She still wasn’t an essential actress, but there were more lines to memorize, and it required her to stay several weeks longer on set. At first, she thought it was a lucky break, and that someone had appreciated her acting skills enough to expand her role. She hadn’t understood then that it was the producer, Theo Cromwell, working behind-the-scenes to ensure she was around more often.

At first, he’d been charming and funny, and he’d taken her rejection to his invitations seemingly with aplomb. After two weeks of him persistently asking, growing slightly more demanding each time, she’d started to grow fearful whenever Cromwell managed to corner her on the movie set. She’d been giving serious thought to breaking her contract and walking away, knowing it would be the end of any hopeful career in Hollywood, but seeing no other option.

Then he just stopped. He hadn’t approached her for hours, and then days, and finally a week had could gone by. She started to breathe easier again, assuming he had finally accepted she wasn’t interested in dating a man twice her age. It wasn’t even the age part so much as something about him personally sent alarm bells ringing in the back of her mind. She’d thought Theo was over her and had moved on, so she had relaxed her guard.

She didn’t remember the last night on set very well, but she recalled having a drink with several of the actors and production people, as they all tended to do after a long day of shooting. Hannah was certain she hadn’t drunk too much, having restricted herself to a single glass of wine, but she passed out as soon as she reached her room, already feeling dizzy.

She’d woken to a rocking motion, realizing she wasn’t in her trailer, and after glancing out the window, she understood she wasn’t even on shore any longer. She was in the middle of the ocean on a luxury yacht.

Hannah trembled as she remembered the moment when Theo had entered the room where he’d locked her in. The charming façade had disappeared, revealing the ruthless monster beneath. In his mind, she belonged to him, and he had taken what he wanted without regard for her feelings or lack of desire. She trembled as she recalled that first horrible night, which had been the worst of many to follow.

She cried out when the door opened suddenly, letting light shine into her little warren, and she curled against the corner, turning her back to whomever had opened the door. She was so lost in her panic and memories that she fought hands trying to pull her out, not comprehending they were gentle.

It wasn’t until she was halfway out of the closet that she stopped fighting when she recognized Jackson. Instead, she collapsed against him with a sob, clinging to him. She thought she was over her weakness, but it all came flooding back with the memories. She wasn’t the strong and confident woman she’d pretended to be for the last two weeks. Once again, she was the broken creature he’d found floating in the ocean.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the sofa, laying her down carefully while keeping an arm around her. Her head rested against his chest, and one of her arms was over his stomach. The other one, she kept balled tightly against her chest as she struggled to breathe through the panic.

“Hannah, what’s wrong?”

“My memory,” she said in a shaky voice. “It came back. I don’t want it. Get rid of it. Please.” Even in her irrational state, she knew it wasn’t a request Jackson could honor. He could no more take away the memories than she could. She’d just have to live with them and reintegrate them into her reality, which was a terrifying prospect she had longed to avoid.

“Shush, you’re all right. You’re safe now.” He continued murmuring reassurances as he held her hand until her tears had abated.

She lay against him limply as reality crashed over her, settling in. “It was Theo Cromwell. He stole me from my life because I didn’t want him.” After a brief hesitation, the words spilled from her, and she shared the horror of the last year she had spent as his prisoner.

The words were cathartic until she reached the part involving Killian. She froze, and dread swelled in her, along with a sudden swell of hatred for the child in her stomach. She wanted nothing to do with Cromwell, let alone have his child. Her voice was monotone and emotionally disconnected when she recounted events for Jackson.

“I don’t know when I realized I was pregnant, at least I don’t know how far along I was. There weren’t any pregnancy tests, and when we occasionally went ashore, I was never allowed off the yacht. Either Theo or his goons watched me the whole time, so I couldn’t get a test easily. I just had to wait until the symptoms manifested, and it became obvious. Theo was excited, both because he wanted a child and because he thought it was another way I’d be bound to him.”

Her voice cracked as she recalled the desperation that had driven her, temporarily bleeding through her monotone. “I didn’t want it. I didn’t want him, and I certainly didn’t want his baby. I don’t want it. When I had the chance, I threw myself down a flight of stairs on the yacht. It wasn’t enough to make me miscarry, but he was angry with me.” She trembled, remembering the slap of leather against her back as he’d beaten her.

He’d never been above physical discipline, but after the first few weeks when he’d broken her down a lash at a time, coupled with his psychological warfare, he rarely had to resort to physical violence against her after that. When he’d realized she deliberately tried to abort his child, he’d beaten her across the back, leaving the scars the emergency room doctor had discovered. He’d been careful to avoid her stomach even then, and he’d kept an even closer eye on her after that.

“I couldn’t go anywhere alone. I wasn’t even allowed to use the restroom by myself, but slowly, he started to relax again. I guess because I was farther along and made no more effort. I knew it wasn’t safe, and I might die too if I did something to trigger a miscarriage as I entered the second trimester.

“Thankfully, he grew careless, and one night he drank too much. He passed out before he remembered to lock the door, which had a biometric scanner. Without his fingerprint, I could never get it to open on its own. That night, I slipped out and managed to avoid his goons. When I saw a couple, I pretended to be walking on deck. Theo often took me out in the evenings to get exercise, wanting to ensure his offspring was healthy, so they seemed to think nothing of it.”

Jackson had kept his arms around her, not speaking and simply offering quiet comfort as she’d spoken. Now, for the first time, he broke his silence. “How did you get off the yacht and into the ocean?”

“I saw one of the survivor packs. I’d made a note of them on our trips above deck, hoping I might get a chance to use one someday. They were like large backpacks that had a raft, three days of water, and some MREs. I jumped into the water, and it was so cold for a moment that I thought I was probably going to die right then.” She found the courage to look into Jackson’s eyes, seeing nothing but compassion and understanding there.

“It would have been okay if that had been the outcome. Being dead would have been better than being trapped with Theo for the rest of my life. But I didn’t die. I recovered from the shock of the water and managed to swim several hundred yards from the yacht before fumbling with the pack and getting the raft to inflate. There was also a lifejacket inside, and I put it on as soon as I was in the raft. The tiny little oars weren’t much help, but I was able to get away from the yacht without detection.

“I floated for two or three days. I’m not entirely sure how long, but I was out of water when the raft started leaking. I tried to use one of the empty water bottles to bail out the water, but it was a losing prospect. The raft capsized, and I swam as long as I could before exhaustion took over. I must have been closer to the shore than I thought, because I apparently got pulled in by the tide, and you found me.”

His arms tightened around her reflexively. “I’m glad I did. The alternative…” He trailed off, looking troubled.

She nodded, though she didn’t want to think about it. Panic took over again, and his arms were suddenly too restrictive. She pulled away and got to her feet, pacing around the living room. “He won’t stop. He’ll keep looking for me. He’s looking for me right now. Even if he doesn’t want me back, he’ll want his kid.” She paused in mid step. “Maybe I can get him to leave me alone if I give him the baby?”

Jackson let out a hissing sound, and his expression was full of pain. “You don’t really mean that.”

Despair swept through her as she realized Jackson’s feelings toward the baby hadn’t changed. Only hers had, her ambivalence giving way to full-on horror at the idea of bringing Theo’s child into the world. She’d spent the first thirty weeks of the pregnancy dreading the idea and hating that Theo had put his offspring inside her.

For a couple of blissful weeks, when she hadn’t remembered anything about Theo, she’d been able to embrace the baby’s arrival with a modicum of excitement, but that was gone now. She was back to hating the thought, and she couldn’t bear to raise his child. She knew Jackson was already bonded to the baby, and it wasn’t even born yet. Killian was ruining her life once again.

She wasn’t thinking when she turned on her heel and ran from the apartment, feeling the need to escape everything. Jackson followed, calling her name with his own edge of desperation, but she was too immersed in panic to really hear him or respond. She felt the urge to flee, and she capitulated, letting instinct take over as she fled, though she couldn’t outrun the demons plaguing her.

She was jerky and uncoordinated, even more so than her state of pregnancy would have made her in general, and she stumbled down the steps. Her feet seemed to catch and drag together, and though she reached for the banister to arrest her fall, her fingers slipped right over it as she plunged down the remaining stairs, landing heavily on her stomach.

Jackson was there in an instant, or perhaps she had greyed out. Blood was in her eye, and her head throbbed, telling her she’d hit her head too. As he put his arms around her, one hand fumbling desperately for his cell phone, she needed him to know. “Not on purpose.”