Hard to Hold on To (10 page)

She nodded and gave him a little smile. “Yeah.”

Shifting off her, Easy stretched out alongside her and propped his head up on his arm. “I’m thirty, Jenna,” he said out of nowhere.

And he was telling her this because? He thought their age difference was too great? He thought she was too young? He was worried she would think he was too old? Probably D) all of the above. Thing was, all she saw when she looked at Easy was a guy she really freaking liked. One who’d saved her life, helped make her sister safe, and gave her a sense of security she hadn’t felt in years. He was hot as hell, easy to talk to, and one of the kindest guys she’d ever known. Maybe some of that was
because
he was older. Who knew?

“And I need to know this because?” she asked, resting her head on her arm.

The muscles of his shoulders lifted into a shrug, but his face was contemplative. “Because there’s clearly something going on between us.”

Heat rushed across her body. There’d been plenty of evidence that the attraction wasn’t all on her side, but hearing him admit it out loud made her heart flutter and race. She held up a hand, and he laced his fingers between hers. “When I look at you, I don’t see a bunch of differences, Easy.”

“What do you see then?”

Warmth flooded into Jenna’s cheeks, and she chuckled. He’d said that she was beautiful, after all, so why couldn’t she give him a compliment in return? “A really hot guy I’d like to get to know more.”

A smug little smile slipped onto his face, and she might’ve rolled her eyes if it weren’t so damn sexy. “
Really
hot, huh?”

“Well, kinda hot, anyway.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, tugging her hand to his chest. “Can’t take it back now.”

Cheeks burning and big smile threatening, she rolled onto her side to face him.

They lay there, side by side, her chest almost touching his, looking at each other. Tension and desire and anticipation crackled in the space between them, unleashing a flock of butterflies in Jenna’s stomach.

“What do you see when you look at me?” she whispered, half-afraid to ask but even more curious to hear what he’d say. Did he mostly see someone who was too young for him? Or a needy girl he’d had to save and babysit?

Easy squeezed her hand and tugged her closer. She sucked in a breath, sure he was going to kiss her. He did. Just not how she’d thought. His lips pressed to her forehead, then he pulled back to look her in the eye. “I see a woman who’s made me feel more alive in the past few days than I have in a long, long time.”

Chapter 7

A
S HE LOOKED
into Jenna’s eyes, Easy wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing. Or, as the hours passed by, what the
right
thing even was.

Because he was well versed in all the reasons he should be backing off. Problem was, Jenna Dean soothed a very jagged part of his soul. Actually, that wasn’t a problem at all.

She didn’t heal what was broken within him—he wasn’t that naïve or delusional. But she sure as fuck made him remember the man he’d once been. Made him see glimpses of that man within the person he was right now. And made him believe maybe he could become that man again. Hell, maybe he couldn’t ever go back. But something about her smile and her touch and her belief in him made him believe, too.

No matter what, he could be a better man than he’d been this last run of months.

But he’d have to reach for it, work for it, fight for it.

And Jenna provided one helluva motivation.

Right now? He wasn’t good enough for her. But maybe he could be.

“I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said, voice thick with emotion.

Easy leaned in—

Knock, knock.

His eyes locked with Jenna’s, and they both gave a rueful smile and sat up.

“Come in,” she called.

Sara and Becca walked through the door. “How are you?” Sara asked.

“Hey,” Jenna said. “I’m okay.”

Sara’s gaze made a quick survey of the two of them. “Did you manage to eat something?”

Jenna tossed the napkin and placed the glass and spoon on the tray. “Yeah, and my stomach’s feeling fine. Better now, actually.” Easy was really glad to hear that because it probably meant whatever Bruno’s thugs had given her was working its way out of her system.

“Good,” Sara said, relief filling her expression. “Jenna, this is Becca.”

Scooting to the edge of the bed, Jenna gave a little wave. “Hi,” she said. “Sara said you helped me last night. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” Becca smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. Despite his anger toward her father, Easy had liked Becca from the night he’d met her. She’d helped break up a fight between Nick and Beckett, cleaned up Nick’s busted cheek, dressed them all down for their behavior, and earned Easy’s respect all in one fell swoop. And then there was that day on the boat when she’d apologized for what happened to him and his team and promised to help clear their names. Her words had reached inside his chest and removed a weight from his heart—because she was the first person to ever apologize, to ever believe, to ever offer to stand beside them and try to right the wrong that had been done.

Where he came from, that meant a lot.

“I thought Becca should take a look at you and make sure everything’s okay,” Sara said, shifting on her feet.

Jenna held out her hands. “Uh, Sara, I’m fine.” A pause as Jenna looked between the three of them, as if looking for backup. “Buuuut this will make you feel better, right?”

Sara chuckled and hugged herself. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t make me promise not to worry.”

With a big sigh, Jenna said, “Okay, but after this, you have to promise that, too.”

“Deal,” Sara said, smirking.

After seeing how much and how violently Jenna had been sick not all that many hours ago, Easy was sympathetic to Sara’s worrying. “I’ll clean up this stuff and give you all some privacy,” he said, reaching for the tray. He put the water bottles on the floor for later but gathered up everything else.

“Thanks for getting dinner for us, Easy,” Jenna said. She looked at him with such gratitude and affection that it both set off a warm pressure in his chest and made him self-conscious—because he was acutely aware that Sara was observing them. She had to know that something was going on. Given how little he thought of himself sometimes, it wasn’t a big leap to imagine others would think the same. Just because Sara had seemed appreciative that he’d helped Jenna didn’t mean she’d approve of anything more, especially after everything Jenna had been through.

“You know, you set off a milk-shake-making party,” Becca said.

Sara laughed. “Yeah. Shane made us shakes, then we took them over to the gym, and Nick was all jealous he didn’t have one.”

Grinning, Becca rolled her eyes. “Which was hilarious because he didn’t even know they owned a blender.”

Easy stood. “Well, I guess I’m glad I could provide such a valuable service.” He winked and looked at Jenna. “Need anything else while I’m downstairs?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “Don’t think so, but thanks.”

Easy made his way out of the room, through the night-darkened apartment, and back down to the Rixeys’, where he found all the guys in front of the big flat-screen TV—Nick and Marz kicking back in the recliners, Beckett and Shane sprawled on one couch, and Jeremy and Charlie on the other, with Eileen between them. It was dark in the room except for the flickering light of the screen.

A round of greetings rose to meet him.

“Sexual Chocolate!” Marz yelled over the others.

Easy couldn’t help but smile as his gaze settled on the television, where the classic Eddie Murphy movie
Coming to America
was playing. One of Easy’s all-time favorites. He placed the tray on the counter, then turned and held his hands out. “Good morning, my neighbors!” he said, mimicking one of the prince’s lines.

Right on cue, Marz said in a thick New York accent, “Hey, fuck you!”

Easy could quote this movie
all day.
“Yes, yes! Fuck you, too!”

The guys all chuckled, and Easy leaned his butt against the arm of the couch next to Jeremy and got sucked into the movie.

“How’s Jenna doing?” Shane asked after a few minutes.

Easy nodded. “A lot better. She slept, she ate. Seems like the nausea’s over.”

“Glad to hear it,” Shane said, just as everyone burst out laughing at the movie.

Nick laced his hands behind his head. “Hey, wanted to let you know we got in touch with Louis Jackson. He’s on board.”

“Good,” Easy said. Part of him felt a little bad that the rest of them had apparently gotten at least some work done while he’d slept all day. But another part said that Jenna had needed him, and that was every bit as important.

Something popped into mind, and Easy looked at Marz. “Did you get a chance to look at the chip?” Before they’d teamed up with the Ravens and gone to rescue Jenna and intercept the Churchmen’s gun deal, they’d accidentally made a discovery—a tiny microchip hidden in the eye of a stuffed bear that Becca’s father had sent her before he died. Just one more in a long string of mysteries and questions.

Marz gestured to Charlie. “We worked on it for a while, but when we hit the stage of wanting to throw our computers out the window, we took a break. There are so many fucking layers of encryption and password protection on this thing, it ain’t funny.”

Charlie crossed his arms. “We’ll get it, though.”

“Believe it,” Marz said. “If either of us had access to our regular setups, we’d probably already have it. We did go through the pictures Sara took of Bruno’s files, though.”

Easy’s gut tightened. Sara had taken that risk trying to help the team, but it had inadvertently set off a chain of events that led to Jenna’s kidnapping after Sara’s thug boyfriend realized what she’d done. “And?” he asked.

“The files on Charlie and Becca were both dossiers compiling information on jobs, associated addresses, and known routines. Pretty clearly part of the Churchmen’s plans to grab them. The Nunya file—gangbanger-speak for “none of your business,” I’m guessing—listed illegal business deals going back several months. It appears Church routinely bought heroin using girls and cash, then sold the heroin to raise coin and buy guns. No details on who the trading partners were, though.” Marz waved a hand. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Easy said, nodding to Charlie. “I’m just glad you have some help now.” Marz had been handling 90 percent of their research on his own, but since his rescue, Charlie had rolled up his sleeves and become integral to the team on all things computer.

The movie played on, and the women didn’t return, so Easy figured they were hanging out. Jeremy and Charlie made room for him, but as Easy sat there, two competing thought streams interrupted his ability to just relax. First, how damn good it felt to be with the guys. Not working, not stressed, not under fire. Just kicking back and shooting the shit.

Which was quickly followed by the whole muddied stream of thoughts that said Easy was an asshole for not fessing up about how fucked his head had been. Still was.

Say something. Just do it now. Everyone’s here. We have the time. Just open your mouth.

His adrenaline spiked at the thought of saying the words that needed saying. His stomach squeezed. He realized he was bouncing his foot.

Fuck. He was a ball of anxiety.

All the more proof he needed to spill. Before his bullshit got someone hurt. Only way
that
would be acceptable was if it was him.

No. No more of that.

Shit.

Easy’s gaze settled on Shane as the credits rolled. Shane knew something was up. He’d asked a few times, most pointedly this morning. And the guy had medical training. Maybe Easy could practice this opening-himself-up crap with just one of them first.

Coward.

Yup.

Pulse spiking, Easy leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees, and looked at Shane. “Can I talk to you a minute?” he asked, mouth dry, gut twisting.

“Of course.” He arched a brow. “Uh, here or . . .”

Easy nodded toward the back hallway that led to Shane and Sara’s room.

Shane was immediately on his feet. Easy didn’t make any eye contact with the other guys as he got up and followed, but instinct said he had a whole lotta eyes on his back right now.

In the bedroom, Shane flicked on the light and closed the door. “What’s up?”

Easy sat heavily on the edge of the bed and looked down at the floor. “Don’t really know where to begin.” Maybe he shouldn’t do this. Having made the ask and dragged Shane back here, he had to say something.

Shane sat next to him. Hands clasped, he gave Easy a sideways glance. “Wherever you can. Wherever it’s easiest.”

He gave a rueful laugh. “Ain’t no part of it easy,” he said.

Shane didn’t say anything, didn’t push him, didn’t rush him. Just sat there, providing constant, silent support.

Finally, Easy blew out a long breath and remembered how Jenna had made him feel as they’d talked before. And, really, who else in the world could he tell if not his teammates? Hell, you almost couldn’t be a veteran without knowing at least one fellow vet who’d attempted or committed suicide these days. Sad fucking fact. He didn’t want to put that kind of pain on his friends, not after everything they’d already been through.

Besides, how much longer could he slog through the shit this way? Right now, he was headed down a path he’d never thought he’d walk and he didn’t want to travel anymore. Which meant it was time to ask for help.

“I have these thoughts sometimes.” Even as his resolve to do this firmed up, his heart was a hammer against his sternum.

“Like what?” Shane said in a soft voice.

Easy swallowed hard, feeling like such a weak, fucking coward. “Like . . . that maybe . . . it would be better . . .” He shrugged. Giving voice to this was like performing a self-amputation. Messy, imprecise, and hurt like ever-livin’ hell. “ . . . if I wasn’t here.”

“By here, you’re not talking about Hard Ink.” A statement, not a question. So Shane was following him, then.

He shook his head. “Here as in, you know, uh, alive.” His scalp prickled at the admission, and he forced himself to look at Shane.

The guy’s face was a hundred percent rock solid. No pity, no sympathy, no disgust. But Easy saw the concern settle into his friend’s gray eyes, and just that much of a reaction brought tears to his own eyes.

Lots of fast blinking to keep those motherfuckers from falling. He clenched his jaw so hard he gave himself a headache.

“Okay,” Shane said. “Are these passing thoughts or are you thinking of ways to maybe make that happen?”

Easy had to wait a minute to respond, because he wasn’t sure he could trust his voice not to crack. And damn if a single tear didn’t escape. He scrubbed it away. “Haven’t tried anything,” he said, wanting to make that much clear. “Mostly just general thoughts. Though, lately, some actual ideas have come to mind.”

“Am I the first person you’re talking to about this, E?” Shane asked.

Dropping his gaze to the floor, he nodded. His throat squeezed, his eyes throbbed with the pressure of threatening tears, his stomach twisted.

Shane’s arm came around his shoulders.

And the reality of not being alone with the weight of these feelings crashed down on Easy. He lost it.

He lost it like his body was expelling a poison, hard and fast and violent.

Sobs ripped out of his chest. He slid off the edge of the bed and went into a balled-up sitting position on the floor. He buried his face in his arms and wrapped his hands around his head, just trying to hold himself the fuck together as he fell apart. Easy could’ve probably counted the number of times he’d cried in his life on one hand, and doing it now was about as comfortable as swallowing crushed glass.

Shane’s embrace followed him to the floor, and was a constant, steady presence as wave after wave of grief rolled through him. Easy tried to hold them back, he really did. Every muscle in his back and abdomen ached from the effort to restrain the sobs, or at least to hold back the noise of his grief.

Adrift in a roiling sea of agony, time became meaningless.
I just want this to end, please let it end, please take all this away
.

He had no idea how long it went on, all he knew was that by the time he could manage a full breath again, he was damp with sweat and hot with embarrassment. At some point, he’d nearly curled into Shane’s chest, or Shane had pulled him in. He couldn’t begin to remember.

“Sorry,” he croaked, voice like sandpaper.