Page 57 of Careless Hope
“Why the hell not?”
“Because there was no damage done. The steel door is fine and he didn’t lay a hand on me. I suspect he has morecontrol than he lets on. At least with people who aren’t his wife,” I added under my breath.
“What about for your patient? Can’t you report him for hurting her?”
“It’s murky. There are state laws on reporting to protect children and the elderly from abuse. But she’s a young adult and she didn’t tell me what he’s doing, in fact, she denied it. I don’t have proof.”
“Fuck.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the air hazy with frustration.
“It scared me. But I just . . . I froze, Walker. I’m supposed to protect my patients, and all I could do was stand there while he spewed venom. I feel like a failure.”
“Hey.” His voice was firm, pulling my gaze up to meet his. “You’re one of the bravest people I know. You face sickness and pain head-on every day. That doesn’t make you a coward, Caroline. It makes you a hero.”
A small, humorless laugh escaped me. “Doesn’t feel very heroic.”
“Trust me, it is,” he insisted, his eyes fierce with conviction.
My confession hung between us, heavy and suffocating, until Walker let out a sound that was half-growl, half-sigh. “You need to tell me who it is. I should go find him, give him a taste of his own medicine. Show him what it feels like to be scared.”
“No.” The word burst from me louder than I intended, my grip tightening on his hands. “Violence isn’t going to solve this, Walker. It’ll only make things worse—for her, for you, for everyone.”
He searched my face, and I saw the conflict raging within him. After a long moment, he nodded, his anger slowly receding. “Alright. But I’m not letting this go, Caroline. No one threatens you and gets away with it.”
“I’m afraid people like him have a way of coasting along, getting what they want and avoiding trouble.”
“Yeah well, it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“Maybe not.” I let the words hang in the air, but didn’t have a solution. “You know, I thought I wanted to be alone, but I’m glad you’re here. Can you stay a while?” I asked softly, the words sounding like a plea.
“Always,” he promised, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken vow.
I felt a sense of safety envelop me as he stayed by my side. In a world of chaos and uncertainty, Walker Anderson was becoming an anchor I hadn’t known I needed. And perhaps, in some small way, I was becoming one for him.
“I just want to shower and go to bed.”
“We can do that.”
He led me by the hand to the stairs, climbing them slowly, with a sense of purpose. When we reached the second floor, he ushered me in front of him with his hand on the small of my back, so I could lead the way to my bedroom.
He closed the door behind us and I turned around to face him. I was going to excuse myself to the ensuite bathroom but he walked up to me and laid the softest kiss on my temple, rooting me to the spot.
I may have actually melted.
Walker led me into the bathroom and turned on the shower. His hands were steady and sure, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of my blouse as he unbuttoned it with a tenderness that belied his large, calloused fingers. Each brush against my skin felt like a balm, soothing away the sting of the day’s harshness. His eyes never left mine.
“Let me help you,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle asif he understood that every thread removed was not just an article of clothing but a layer of my defenses unraveling.
In the steam-filled bathroom, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just Walker and me, and the sound of water droplets cascading from the shower head, rhythmic and hypnotic. He slid my skirt down my legs with a care that made my heart throb painfully against my ribs.
“Lean on me.”
I did, resting my head against his shoulder as he helped me step out of my clothes. The vulnerability of being this exposed, both physically and emotionally, would have been overwhelming with anyone else. But with Walker, it felt natural, right even, to let him see all of me—the strengths and the fractures.
“Alright, let’s get this shitty day scrubbed off of you.”
He stripped his own clothes off, showcasing the muscles honed from endless days of hard work. His abs rippled, his chest was defined and covered with a light scattering of hair. His long legs were like the trunks of the oaks in my yard. Hard, thick, powerful. But his cock . . .
