Phoenix (The Bellator Saga Book 4) by London Cecilia

Author:London, Cecilia [London, Cecilia]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Principatum Publishing
Published: 2016-05-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Caroline sat on her couch, rubbing her wrists. It was a hot August day and the air conditioning on the base was spotty. Normally she’d sweat through anything but when she was alone she forced herself to look at her bare arms, to train herself to stop reacting. To keep herself from giving in to the despair. Her wrists were red but no longer raw from the injuries she’d received after her arrest. She tried not to think about it.

What the fuck was wrong with her? For the past half an hour she’d been telling herself to suck it up and go back to therapy, to apologize, to fix the damage she’d done. That was all she seemed capable of lately. Fucking things up. Maybe that was all she knew how to do. It was why she was better off alone. Less collateral damage that way.

She heard a loud series of knocks at the door. It wouldn’t be Natalie. Not after she’d raked her over the coals. Which meant it could only be one other person. Caroline looked through the peephole and cursed.

“I know you’re in there,” Jack said. “Open the door before I break it down.”

She cursed again before opening the door. Jack stepped into her apartment.

“May I come in?” he asked.

So polite yet so incredibly angry. She was really in for it now. “Since you’re already here, I guess so.”

He glanced at her wrists and grew pale. “Do you need a minute?”

Defensiveness was the order of the day. He’d leave faster. “I don’t care if you’re uncomfortable. Maybe I should always wear short sleeves. It might keep more people away.”

“It’s not that, I-”

“I know why you’re here.”

Jack returned her stare. “You think it’s a good idea to keep pushing away one of the people who genuinely wants to help you?”

If it means I stop hurting them, yes. The lies flowed like water, splashing over whatever rocks had gathered in her path. “Natalie doesn’t care about me. She wants to prove something to you, or to her parents, or to the world. I’m a bump in the road to wherever her little ambitious self wants to go.”

“No, you’re not. And that’s not who she is, either.” His expression softened. “May I sit down? I’ve had a stressful afternoon.”

Caroline gestured toward the spot she’d vacated on the couch. “Fine with me. You’re not staying long, so don’t get cozy.” Against her better judgment, she sat on the couch next to him, although a good foot of space remained in between them. Jack continued to stare at her arms.

“Your wrists are still red,” he said.

She spent enough time memorizing her many scars. She didn’t need him to be hung up on them too. “I don’t heal very quickly.”

“I remember. Do they hurt?”

Caroline rubbed her arms. “Emotionally or physically?”

He frowned. “Both, I guess.”

“I have no physical pain.” Jack clenched his hands but didn’t say anything. She lifted up one wrist. “These old scars are ugly, aren’t they? Want to know how I got them?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

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