Page 10

The water is freezing, but I barely feel it.

All I can feel is her . Small and weightless, pressed against me, trembling like a goddamn leaf. My arms hold her tighter than they should, tighter than I mean to...like if I loosen my grip, even slightly, she’ll slip away again.

I can smell the liquor on her breath.

What the fuck was she thinking? Throwing herself into the pool fully clothed and half-drunk.

What if I hadn’t been home? What if I’d spotted her a minute later?

She would have fucking drowned. I would have been dragging her cold, dead body out of the water, and that thought angers me more than I’d like to admit.

For a moment, neither of us moves. She just looks at me, utterly broken and lost, as though she’s already halfway gone.

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, something sharp pinches in my chest. A crack I didn’t even know was still there.

Fuck. The devastation in her eyes feels like a punch straight to the ribs.

And you want to know the real kicker? I can’t fucking stand it.

Those blue eyes of hers are meant for shining. Mesmerising. Not drowning in tears. Not shattered by grief so thick it bleeds out of her.

I grit my teeth, my jaw locking painfully as I haul us both out of the water and onto the stone edge. She doesn’t resist. She just slumps against me, her body limp, soaking wet, shivering despite the humid night air.

For a while, I just sit there...holding her. Staring down at her soaked hair, her pale skin, the way her fingers clutch weakly at my shirt without even realising it.

I’m not built for this. For comfort. For broken things. I’m the guy who’s spent his life cleaning up other people’s messes with blood and violence. Not the guy who knows how to fix a girl drowning in her own grief.

Especially not her. Especially not Jordyn Windslow. The girl who doesn’t belong in my world. The girl who’s already wedging herself somewhere deep under my skin, clawing at the parts of me I buried and thought was dead a long time ago.

I exhale harshly through my nose, my chest burning.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” I mutter under my breath, not even sure if I'm talking to her or myself. Because the truth is...when I saw her fall, when I heard the splash and looked up and realised that she wasn’t coming back up, my heart damn near stopped.

And for one terrifying second, I knew exactly what it would feel like to lose her. And I didn’t like it. I didn’t like that I cared about this girl I barely know.

When I received the call about the accident, it took everything in me not to rush over there. I wanted to be there, by her side. I didn’t care how or why, but I wanted to shield her from all the pain and grief of watching her parents die right before her eyes.

But it wasn’t my place. And this, right now, this isn’t my place either, yet here I am, for some bizarre reason, unable to let her go while her body violently shakes with hoarse sobs in my arms.

I drag a hand over my face, trying to shove these unfamiliar feelings down.

Trying to remember who I am... what I am.

Not the guy who comforts broken girls. Not the guy who saves anybody.

But when she shivers, soaked to the bone, arms hugging herself like she’s trying to hold her own heart together, I can’t just sit here and watch. I can’t just walk away.

“Come on,” I mutter, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. “You’re freezing.”

Before she can argue, or maybe because I know she doesn’t have the strength to, I scoop her up into my arms. And fuck me, she’s light. Too goddamn light.

Jordyn tenses for a second, maybe out of instinct, but then she sags against me, resting her head against my chest like she doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

I hold her tighter, jaw clenching so hard a sharp pain travels up the side of my face.

Her wet hair clings to my shirt. Her breath is warm and shaky against my damp skin.

And every step I take toward the house feels heavier than the last. I shouldn’t be carrying her.

I shouldn’t be letting her get this close.

But there’s no force on earth strong enough to make me put her down right now.

She doesn’t belong here. Not in this world. Not around men like me.

And still...I hold her like she’s something precious. Something worth saving. Even if I don’t know how or where I even start to help her deal with her grief.

By the time I get her to the house, her shivering worsens. Small tremors rack her body, and every one of them feels like it lands right under my ribs. I move through the halls without thinking, ignoring the curious looks from the staff.

They know better than to say anything.

I don’t stop at the guest room. I don’t trust anyone else to look after her right now.

So I carry her straight to mine. Not the wisest decision on my part, but fuck it. Rationality has gone straight out of the window tonight.

I kick the door shut and it slams behind us with a solid thud, drowning out the rest of the world. I set her down carefully on the edge of my bed, like she might fall apart in my hands if I’m not careful. Hell, I think she already has.

Jordyn’s head droops forward, strands of wet hair sticking to her face, her arms wrapped tight around herself, goosebumps visible, her teeth clattering.

I curse under my breath and rip open my wardrobe, grabbing the first hoodie I can find and toss it onto the bed beside her.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” I mutter, turning away, giving her space and privacy. My hands curl into fists at my sides, fighting every instinct that wants to stay, wants to kneel before her and make it better somehow.

I hear the soft rustle of fabric behind me, the muted clink of wet clothes hitting the floor.

Releasing a slow breath, I head into the en-suite to grab a towel.

When I return, she’s curled up on the edge of the bed, swallowed by my hoodie…

the sleeves trailing past her fingertips, legs tucked beneath her.

I cross the room in silence, kneeling in front of her as I begin to dry her hair.

She watches me, I can feel it, but I don’t look up.

My focus stays on the towel, on the gentle motion of wringing the water from her strands until they’re only damp, no longer dripping.

When I’m done, I drop the towel at the end of the bed and despite the internal war inside of me, my eyes lower and lock with hers.

Something twists low and hot in my gut when I see the despair staring back at me.

It’s the kind of look that makes my fists curl. Makes me want to hunt down the bastard who broke her and tear him apart piece by piece.

Jordyn exhales softly and lowers herself down on my bed, curling up on top of the cover.

Standing, I walk across the room, grab the thickest blanket I can find, and throw it gently over her small, trembling form.

For a second, I stand there motionless and watch her.

Eyes closed, every breath short and shaky.

I move across the room and sit down in the armchair, elbows on my knees, raking a hand through my wet hair.

I don’t move.

I don’t sleep. I just sit there.

Watching and guarding. Because if tonight’s taught me anything, it’s that the girl sleeping in my bed might be the only damn thing left in this world that’s still worth protecting. Even if I don’t understand it. Even if it ruins me to do it.

I lose track of how long I sit there, hunched in the armchair across the room, my elbows on my knees, watching her.

The shadows creep across the floor, the only light coming from the moon spilling through the window.

Jordyn’s curled up on top of my bed, swallowed by my hoodie, still breathing slow and shallow.

For a while, she looks peaceful. Fragile and untouchable.

I should call Enzo. Tell him where she is. Let them come and take her back to whatever part of the house they’ve decided to forget about tonight. She doesn’t belong here, in my room, on my bed, wrapped in the kind of broken that I have no business trying to fix.

Bianca should be the one holding her. She should be here, comforting her little sister, not halfway across the manor or buried in funeral plans like that's the only thing that matters right now.

I grind my teeth, the tension bleeding into my jaw and travelling down into my neck.

Do they even realise she’s gone?

Do they even fucking care?

She could have died tonight. Falling into that pool, half-drunk, not caring if she came back up. And where the hell were they?

The longer I sit here, the hotter the anger builds in my gut. It coils, slow and venomous, sinking its teeth into me. I want to tear through this house, drag them out of whatever safe corner they’re hiding in, and make them look at what they’re leaving behind.

She deserves better. She deserves more than people who notice too late.

Looking at her now. She’s a mere shadow of the girl I met the night of the wedding.

She used to be all quirky wit and quiet sarcasm. Always had a comeback, even if it was just under her breath. But I’m watching that part of her bleed out of her since the day she lost her parents. Like whatever spark made her laugh at the world died with them on that road.

My fists clench against my thighs, knuckles whitening. My leg bounces restlessly.

And even though I know I should pick up my phone, call Enzo, tell him to get his shit together and come for his sister-in-law. I don’t.

Because the thought of her waking up alone, of her opening those broken blue eyes and finding herself abandoned again, it guts me in a way nothing else ever has.

I stay exactly where I am, the anger burning a slow, lethal path through my veins, keeping silent watch over the girl who unexpectedly stumbled into my life.