Page 117 of Ghosted

That lands harder than it should.

Because she means him.

And me.

I force my hands open at my sides even though every instinct I have is screaming to push. To ask. To look past her. To find out what Johnny touched, what he broke, what the fuck he did to make her sound like this.

But she’s standing in front of me looking barely held together, and I’m starting to understand that wanting to protect someone doesn’t mean shit if I keep making myself another thing she has to survive.

So I step back.

“Fine,” I say.

She blinks, like she expected me to fight her on it.

I want to.

Fuck, I want to.

Instead, I drag a breath through my nose and make my voice work. “Then come with me.”

Her brows pull together. “What?”

“Somewhere else.”

“No.”

“For fuck sakes, stop being so goddamn difficult.”

“No, Jagger. I’m not getting dragged into another Cutter brother field trip.”

“I’m not dragging you anywhere.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I look at her, at the oversized sweater swallowing her hands, at the dead look in her eyes, at the apartment behind her that feels wrong even from the hallway.

“Trust me.”

She laughs once, sharp and empty. “That is a hilarious thing to say to me right now.”

“I know.”

“Do you really?”

“Yeah.” My throat tightens. “I do.”

She goes quiet, but her eyes never leave mine.

I step back another inch, giving her the door, the hall, the choice. All of it. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Her mouth trembles before she catches it.

“Not like him,” I add, rougher.

Her eyes flash, and even I know I deserve that too.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” I say. “I’m not going to ask you to tell me what happened. I’m asking you to trust me once. Just once. Let me help.”