The fear of rejection makes my hand falter on the doorknob.
When I manage the courage to open the door, I find her sitting on the edge of the bed. She isn’t crying, but her face is blank when she looks up at me.
“Everyone is so nice,” she says with a mild shake of her head as if kindness confuses her. “I don’t know what to do with it all.”
I close us into the room together, pressing my palm behind my back to the door. “Have you ever had a different expectation of the club?”
She shakes her head. “No, but working with someone professionally and on a personal level are two different things.”
“They don’t change who they are depending on the situation.”
This isn’t exactly true. The guys I work with and I can be brutal bastards when we’re working, but we’d never bring that home. I don’t consider it changing who we are but rather reacting to a situation and being whatever part of our personality is needed. At home, we’re kind and respectful. In the field, we have to shut that part of us down because the people we encounter don’t value human life. They don’t deserve an ounce of kindness, and we spare none on them.
“I’m starting to realize that,” she says, giving me another soft smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“If you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop with everyone here or waiting for their true colors to show, I can promise, the men and women you’ve met are showing you exactly who they are.”
“And I can trust every single one of them?” There’s a challenge in her voice.
I take a moment to consider the new guys, but I guess I’m still a little bitter about what went down with Thumper and how we had full faith in him. We all know the truth now, but I guess there’s a little rawness left behind.
“Everyone is vetted to the highest standards possible, even more so now. The new members wouldn’t be here if there was even so much as a bullying post made on social media when they were in junior high. Kincaid only hires people with superior integrity.”
“Including yourself?”
My cheeks heat. What I just explained wasn’t meant to be a pat on my own back, but the truth holds.
“Even me.”
Her eyes sparkle, the first sign of happiness since we got back from her office.
I push off the door and cross the room to her. With my hand on her cheek, I stare into her pretty eyes for a long moment. I feel like I’ve broken some sort of invisible barrier when she doesn’t try to look away.
“I get so confused about you sometimes. I don’t know what you need me to say to make things better for you, but I want you to know that I’m here for you and I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
She nods before leaning in closer and pressing her face into my shirt. Her arms circle my waist, and although things are still bad regarding the situation she’s currently in, it feels like we’ve turned some corner, that we’ve made progress as Ethan and Faith, rather than just a Cerberus member and woman that needs our help.
The atmosphere around us shifts, that chemistry neither of us can hide, slowly building to the point of refusing to be ignored.
“Hugs turn you on that much?” she teases, her voice throaty and filled with the same need that’s now pressing against her.
“I don’t even have to touch you to be turned on,” I confess, pressing my lips to the top of her head, but not making a move to take things further.
She pulls back a few inches, looking up at me, eyes filled with desire and arousal.
“Touching you turns me on too.” She licks at her dry lips, and I can’t seem to look away from the action.
Every bad mood, every time she’s scared, or something bad happens, this is where we end up. I want her, have no doubt about that, but I also wonder if it’s a coping mechanism that’s only going to cause more problems in the end. Is her need for me in moments like this a sign of trauma, and it’s the only way she responds to pain? Am I reading too much into it?
I brush hair from her face before lowering my lips. I’m going to treat her as a woman who desires me rather than worrying about her reasons for always responding this way. Maybe I’m the one with the issue, always finding problems where there may not be any.
I can’t worry about tomorrow and live in this moment with her tonight.
I can’t worry that she won’t reach for me when she’s no longer sad or afraid.
What I can do is take care of her so well in her time of need that she’s not going to be able to walk away when things in her life are good again.