I refrained from disturbing her even though I wanted to pet her, chuckling at the way her chest rose and fell in perfect timing with her soft snores.
One of the weights to our right crashed to the floor with a massive bang, the sound echoing through the room. A glance at Enzo showed his body suddenly going solid, all traces of emotion wiped from his face. Turning away from him, I yelled to whoever had dropped the weight so carelessly. "Easy! I—" Enzo lunged over the counter, his body moving with a ferocity I'd never seen. It collided with mine, tackling me to the floor so suddenly that he forced the breath from my lungs in a sudden heave and stole the words from my throat. His body covered mine, every inch of me suffocated by the shield he created with his own weight. "Enzo," I whispered in surprise as my voice came back slowly, my throat tight as I formed the words.
He didn't respond, didn't even flinch, even though there was no way he couldn't hear me. His ear was right next to my forehead, his chin by my nose. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping lightly until I maneuvered it up and touched my fingertips to his bare skin beneath it. His muscles tightened, as if his body sensed my touch, but he never moved. He never acknowledged the touch with his words. Nothing but a solid block between me and the rest of the world. The hand next to my head held his Glock. His gun drawn, eyes alert, I realized with a start that whatever happened had made him tackle me, protect me with his body as his priority.
But voices approached us from the rest of the gym, laced with concern that I could barely hear over the muffling effect of Enzo's body. "Enzo," I repeated. "It's okay." Rebel's nose brushed against my hand as she nudged his side, nuzzling into him. Her tail flicked back and forth like a whip, cracking against my hip now and then as she curled her body into ours. "Lorenzo," I murmured softly. I pulled my hand out from the place he'd trapped it between our bodies, cupping his coarsely stubbled cheek in my palm gently. "Where'd you go, Big Guy?" I asked. Some of the tension drifted from his frame, his body relaxing over mine as he let out a slow breath. He still didn't speak, didn't move to get off me, but his face came into my line of view.
His hazel eyes were blank, and I knew whatever memory played out in his head, he didn't see me as I was. "Sadie," he whispered, his voice hoarse. As if he tried to pull free of the grasp of the memory he was trapped in, of the trauma that pulled him back to a place I didn't want to contemplate.
"I'm right here, Lorenzo," I sighed, touching my lips to his softly. The moment felt unbearably intimate. Seeing him in such a state, touching him when he was so vulnerable, felt like far more than a fuck buddy would do.
Knowing that he still protected me, wherever he went inside the horrors of his mind, only worsened the nagging emotion in my chest that felt an awful lot like love. I didn't want to want him. I couldn't want more, because the moment I did it would be ripped away from me. Just like always.
Life filled his hazel eyes as I pulled back, his entire body going rigid the moment he realized where we were. "Fuck," he groaned, shoving his weight off me. He sat with his back to the front desk counter, hanging his head in his ha
nds and shoving his gun back into his holster. "Did I hurt you?"
"No." I shook my head. "That was probably the least painful tackle ever. I don't even remember hitting the floor," I said with a light tease as I moved to a sitting position. He glanced around, probably wondering who had seen his episode. Rebel butted her head up against his hand, wiggling into his side to demand attention, and he absentmindedly stroked her short fur.
"Can we get out of here for the day? I just...I need to go," he admitted. Normally, I'd have never tolerated leaving the gym early two days in a row. But the humiliation on his face and the soft sound of his voice fell only slightly short of begging. There was nothing left to do but nod and go change and get my things. The gym would be fine for the day with Beth to run it and several other trainers on duty.
Enzo was more important.
I'd been to Indulgence before, but something about walking in with Enzo felt different. The club was still quiet for the day, only one of the bars downstairs open to serve finger foods and alcohol to the people who came in midday. They were few and far between, because while Indulgence had the highest quality of everything, who went to a nightclub for lunch?
Enzo didn't bother with any of the people who looked to him as we strolled in the front doors. Rebel hovered behind us, her feet padding across the hardwood floors quickly to keep up with his rigorous pace. People who wanted his attention seemed to get the hint as he stormed through the space, avoiding him to the best of their ability.
I kind of envied them for that, since I felt like wherever we went wouldn't end well for me. Something was coming. Enzo wouldn't hurt me, but the rigidity of his frame set my anxiety to a rapid pitch, my fingers tapping against my thigh in steady bursts of five. Rebel bumped my hand, but even she couldn't distract me.
Not from this.
"I can just hang out here. Learn to be a bartender or something," I said as we reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Walk your ass up on your own or I'll carry you," Enzo said shortly, proceeding up the steps. With a nervous swallow, I followed behind him. When we rounded the top of the stairs, he pulled a set of keys from his pocket and shoved open the first door. A large office with screens all over was inside, the entire back wall occupied by a glass window that looked down on the main floor, I stepped in nervously. The photos on the desk showed Enzo with a group of six women of varying ages, all shared commonalities between them. Family, somehow. They were the only personal touch to hint that the office was his.
He made his way to a cupboard at the side, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and some ice from the mini-fridge next to it. Combining them in a tumbler, he downed the first drink with smooth swallows. I watched his throat work, wondered if he liked the burn of the liquor as it made the journey.
Grabbing a second tumbler, he filled it with ice and whiskey. "It's a little early, even for me," I laughed.
"You're going to want it for this conversation," he said, nodding his head down to the glass one more time. Accepting the glass with a swallow, I tossed it back quickly, wincing against the burn as it poured down my throat.
"What conversation?" I asked, setting the empty glass on his desk. He glanced at it, filling it one more time. Then he moved around to the other side, setting the bottle down as he made his way to his chair. He dropped his weight into it, looking exhausted for the first time since I'd met him. He waved two fingers to summon me over as Rebel curled up on the floor nearby.
Raising an eyebrow at him, I crossed my arms over my chest. I did not give the first shit if he was vulnerable. There was nothing on this planet that would make me come like a pet when summoned. "Please, Sadie," he said, studying me intently. With a sigh, I uncrossed my arms and walked around the desk to stand in front of him. Hands at my hips, he lifted me until my ass perched on the edge of his desk, and he moved his chair to position himself between my legs. His fingers ran over my jean clad thighs, the pressure of them grazing against me, even through the thick fabric, feeling like a soothing sensation in and of itself. I didn't know if it was for his sake or mine, but I suspected it calmed both our frayed edges.
The need to flee already stirred in my veins, threatening to make me try to bolt out the door. "I had a girlfriend at home when I went to Afghanistan," he said, staring at the contact between his hands and my thighs. Like he couldn't quite look at me while he detailed his secrets.
"I don't need to know about this, Enzo," I sighed, catching his chin and giving him a reassuring smile. "You don't owe me anything."
"We both have shit we're dealing with. Unusual symptoms that are going to influence things in the future. We'll never survive if we aren't honest about them," he argued, raising an eyebrow at me as if he dared me to contradict him. But I couldn't, and the fact that I didn't discuss my symptoms or disorder with anyone only strengthened that desire to bolt. "At the time, she was good for me. We were happy, but when I came back, I wasn't the same. I’d always had problems with near blind rage, but the PTSD and flashbacks only made me more dangerous. I didn't function well in normal situations and surroundings. I didn’t have it in me to make small talk and socialize when I just didn't give a shit about frivolous crap. I couldn't keep a job because of my anxiety and spells like what happened today. Anything could set it off, and I couldn’t control my reaction. It happened more often when I first came home. She ended things with me because of it. Looking back, obviously I know it was for the best. The man I am now will never be the boy she loved before, but you need to know what you're getting into. I function better now. I have a job and socializing is fine. Spells like today will happen occasionally, particularly during times of high stress."
"You don't need to be stressed because of me. I know I'm splitting your focus too much. I can take care of myself, or I guess Matteo could put someone else on me who's under less pressure," I argued. His face darkened with the latter suggestion, his eyes turning molten as his grip tightened on my thighs.
"My stress has nothing to do with my job. I'm stressed because someone broke into your house in the middle of the night and tried to do God knows what with you. I'm stressed because if I slip up in protecting you, my woman could end up dead."
"I'm not your woman," I said automatically.
He chuckled, shaking his head. The smile faded from his face, those hands holding me tight to steady me. "When were you diagnosed with OCD?" he asked.