Entering her bedroom, I was surprised to find her nowhere in sight. Then, I heard a rustling in the closet and mentally rubbed my hands together. Maybe I’d catch her in the middle of changing after work and could convince her to forget about clothes for the rest of the evening.
The playful smile slipped from my face when I saw her stuffing cash from a duffel bag into a safe tucked behind a rack of clothing. But before I could ask what the hell she was doing, my heart stopped when she gripped the shiny black handle of a gun.
“Gemma?” I croaked out.
She jolted, plastering her back against the closest wall. Chest heaving, each exhale was deafening in the silence as her eyes darted around the tight space, looking for a way out.
That’s when I knew something was very, very wrong.
My gaze honed in on her hand and its white-knuckle grip on the weapon. Swallowing, I dared to ask, “Baby, why do you have a gun?”
She finally turned her face to meet my eye, and my breath seized. I’d seen those hazel depths filled with anger, panic, and even fear, but right now, there was no mistaking the sheer terror flickering in them as she stared back at me.
“Y-you were s-supposed to be out back with the dog.” Her voice was weak as she stumbled over the words.
My body begged me to go to her, to wrap her up in my arms and keep her safe. But in her current state, who knew what she might do while spooked, wielding a firearm.
“That’s not what I asked.” I kept my tone soft, praying that if I did, my Gemma would return to the surface, and we could figure out whatever problem she thought could only be solved with violence.
Gemma blinked at me in a daze. “What?”
“The gun, honey.”
She peeked down at her trembling hand and let out a strangled sob before letting go of the gun. The second I heard the dull thud it made when hitting the floor, I leapt into action, gripping Gemma’s biceps and hauling her limp form to the doorway.
Tremors racked her body as my arms banded around her. Holding her close, I rocked us gently until her breathing leveled out, and she turned her head to face me.
“I’m sorry.”
Clutching her tighter to my chest, I pressed my lips to her temple. “I don’t need an apology. I only want to understand why it looks like you just got back from a heist, sweetheart.”
She took a shuddering breath. “I can’t tell you.”
Those words were like a dagger through my heart. What the hell was it going to take to get her to open up to me? Hadn’t I proven myself?
Going for levity even as pain pierced my soul—knowing she might never fully let me in—I teased, “Ah. Because if you did, then you’d have to kill me?”
“No.” Gemma stared up at me with glassy eyes. “But someone else might try.”
Stunned, I reared back enough that my hold on her loosened, and she stepped around me to drop onto the bed.
Tear tracks ran down her soft cheeks as she silently cried, her mind a world away.
That was enough to snap me out of my shock, and I crossed the room, kneeling at her feet and taking her hands in mine. “Gemma, talk to me.”
Sniffling with her eyes cast down, she said so low I almost didn’t hear her, “I’m not who you think I am.”
Ooooooookay, not sure where this is headed, but I’m in too deep now to walk away.
Untangling one of my hands from hers, I placed a palm over her rapidly beating heart. “I know who you are in here. That’s all that matters.”
Gemma shook her head. “This is a part of my life I never wanted you to see.”
Still confused, I dropped my head in her lap, vowing, “I want every part of you, Gemma. But I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
Sighing, she ran trembling fingers through my hair. “The gun was just the tip of the iceberg. This goes so much deeper than that.”
I hugged her waist, my voice muffled against her clothing. “I know you’re scared. Hell, I lost about ten years off my life at seeing you holding a gun. But whatever it is that’s got you so upset, I want to help.”
