Page 121 of Wait for Him

Jackson takes another step toward me, reaching again because he doesn't know; how could he know, and his hands are open and gentle, and they are his father's hands.

"Don't touch me!" It rips out of me at full volume this time. "Don't fucking touch me!"

You wanted this all along, didn’t you. All you little sluts running around here with your tight little skirts and your swaying fucking hips. Hmm fuckkkk. Ffinally I get in that tight little cunt. The fight was so worth it.

"Rose. Baby."

Jackson's arms come around me.

I can feel them. I know them. Some far-off piece of me knows exactly who he is, knows I am thirty-nine years old, knows I'm safe, knows Jackson has never once hurt me.

Goddamn Rosie. I think you’re my favorite one yet. Gripping me so hard. Shhh. Shhh. Don't cry, baby. Daddy’s going to take real good care of you from now on. Now that I know you’re such a good fucking girl.

I can feel Jackson’s heartbeat against my cheek, fast and scared, and I want to tell him I know it's him. I want to tell him not to let go. I can't make my mouth work.

"Is she alright?"

"Should we call an ambulance?"

Fucking hell. I hope you’re on some kind of birth control. I don’t normally come in my girls, but I can’t stop myself. Don't make me hold you down. Take my come like the little slut you are. Fuckkkk yes. Goddamn Rosie. Fuck.

"Someone get her some water and a cold towel."

Get a towel and clean yourself up. You've got blood on my Minotti sofa.

My legs give out. Jackson takes my weight and we sink together, the marble rushing up beneath us while the couch is still under my back and Wesley is still above me and Jackson is still saying my name.

Then everything goes dark.

Jackson

I catch her before she hits the floor. It's like her body simply shuts off, every light in the house going out at once, and I get my arms under her before her head can touch the marble.

"Get him off the premises," I tell security. "Call the police and have him trespassed if he won't leave on his own."

"Rosie?"

His voice.

Saying her name.

And the worst part, the part that will live in me forever, is how he says it. Almost reverent. Adoring, even. Like she's a memory he's fond of instead of a woman whose life he split open and walked away from.

My grip tightens around what is mine to protect.

"You don't ever utter her name again, old man. You forget that name ever fucking existed before you let it grace your tongue again, or I'll cut it out of your fucking mouth myself."

There are gasps behind me at the vitriol, the friendly CFO snarling threats in the middle of the lobby with an unconscious woman in his arms, and I can’t bring myself to care about a single fucking one of them. Rose is limp against my chest, half the lobby has their phones out, and whatever version of my reputation survives the next hour can fend for itself.

I need to get her home.

Then I need to get ahead of the shitstorm coming for us before one of those recordings reaches the press.

Emily is suddenly at my elbow. I hadn't even registered that she followed me down, but she's gathered Rose's phone, her bag, everything that spilled across the marble, all of it collected without being asked.

I'm giving that woman a raise.

Emily calls the elevator while I pace with Rose in my arms, and the war in my chest immediately picks its battlefield. Part of me is screaming hospital. Call an ambulance. Get a doctor. Do the responsible thing.