“It’s me, isn’t it?” he asked earnestly. “I scare you.”
She swallowed hard again. “No. Not you specifically. It all started…” She stopped talking, licked her lips, and whispered, “…a long time ago.”
Tripp let that explanation be enough. If she didn’t want to talk about what happened Friday night, fine with him. “You don’t ever have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Ashley. I’m nothing special. But it’d be good if you found someone to talk with. Someone who cares. Honestly, you keep your stress well hidden. I never would’ve guessed you had PTSD until you freaked.”
Her head bobbed, and for the first time since she’d come to, a tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. “I did freak, didn’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am. Officially, you scared the shit out of me, and that’s saying something. I’ve been to two county fairs and a goat roping, but I sure didn’t see that coming.”
“I’m usually very careful. I don’t go out at night, and I don’t go to unfamiliar places, and…” Her eyes widened as she took in his apartment. “I never take chances. But last week and today…” Her shoulders lifted. “I guess I thought I was stronger than I am.”
She’d almost revealed what had happened Friday. Darn. Tripp wished she trusted him more.
“You’re a control freak,” he teased.
Actually, she was a victim. The attack Friday night had left a deep impression. A scar. But the problem with control freaks was the total impossibility of their self-assigned goal in life. Because life was not controllable. Shit still happened.
Chapter Ten
Desperate to escape, to reimagine herself, to at least transform the prison she’d created for herself, Ashley stepped out of her comfort zone and bravely asked, “Would you, umm, h-h-hold me?”
The brightness that exploded over Tripp’s ruggedly handsome face was like the sun breaking through black clouds on a stormy Easter Sunday morning. “Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. Not moving an inch, he just spread his arms wide and let her make the first move.
Which was the best answer. Ashley set the glass on the end table and, like a limp ramen noodle, poured herself off the couch. Cautiously, she landed in his arms, her backside on his crossed legs, and her heart beating like a frantic herd of wild horses. This might be the craziest thing she’d ever done, but she was so tired of being at the beck and call of the ugliness of that day. That other day. And now Friday night...
Once she settled, she wrapped her arms around herself. Tripp was much bigger-boned, and his legs were like sitting on crossed tree branches. Everything about him was so much harder than her, but those thick thigh muscles were warm and solid. Without saying anything, he wrapped his arms around hers like a blanket. He held her gently, as if she were a fragile package, which, at the moment, she was.
Ordinarily, she steered clear of getting this close to men she didn’t know, but not once had she gotten a predator vibe from Tripp. He was big, but teddy bear big. And he was kind to stinky dogs and elderly women and—her.
While half of Ashley still held her breath, her other half looked up at the first man she’d taken a chance on in years. Everything about him was larger than life, yet she wasn’t afraid anymore. At least, not scared witless, like she’d been when she’d passed out. How embarrassing.
He started rocking then. Slowly. His fingers were splayed on her back and her opposite shoulder, forming a solid circle around her. He’d turned into an impenetrable shield no one else could get through. Not even him… that other him...
At last, the frightened part of herself took a deep breath, then another. Her nose flared to inhale more of the masculine scent of his skin. The iron band around her lungs uncinched. She really was safe. She could breathe again.
“Believe it or not, I still have panic attacks, too,” Tripp murmured confidentially. “It’s not so bad now, but light a firecracker, and you’ll see how fast I turn into a rabid dog. Foaming at the mouth and everything. Mom and me have a solemn pact. She doesn’t allow fireworks near her house on the Fourth; I don’t tear her place apart.”
Ashley wiped her face on her crossed arms and listened as his belly expanded with a deep, manly breath.
“It’s what happens to guys and gals who’ve seen combat. No big deal. I’m coping. A lot of them have it worse than me. I’m actually better now, but when I first came home…” He blew out a soft sigh against her cheek. “Things were pretty intense. You got someone to talk to? A counselor? Family?”
She shook her head. “No. Yes. I mean the doctor said—” Darn. She hadn’t meant to let that slip.
“A doctor was involved, huh?” Tripp’s arms tightened and his voice turned ragged, like he really wanted to do more than just talk. “That tells me whatever happened must’ve been damned scary, that you were hurt.”
He hesitated as if waiting for her to elaborate, but there was no way she’d talk about either of her mistakes. Because that’s what they were, and she was to blame for her two assaults. If she’d been smarter and more aware of what was going on around her, neither would’ve happened.
“You don’t have to say another word,” Tripp continued. His arms were solid, as big as her thighs. He was kind of like a warm, living wall that really could keep monsters out. “I understand how hard certain things are to talk about. When you’re ready to ask for help, you’re smart enough to ask. You’ll get it. In the meantime, I’m here for you. Promise.”
Those words… No. It couldn’t be. Tripp was not her avenging angel. About the only thing he had in common with that guy was his size. Nothing else.
Pursing her lips, she focused on breathing slow and easy, like women in labor did. The worst
