Page 61 of Protected from Reprisal
Most of the time, a punishing workout is enough to slow my brain down. The pain screaming through my muscles is enough to flip the switch on the thoughts careening through my head. When the anxiety and guilt become too much to take, a couple hours in the gym are usually enough to grant me a brief reprieve.
But I’ve been in the gym for over an hour, pushing myself far beyond what I normally do, and it still hasn’t silenced the voices that haven’t shut up since I found Yara tied up and bleeding in her basement.
Voices that keep asking things like,Why didn’t you get there soonerandWhat kind of man can’t even protect his own girlfriend?
It’s not just the voices, though. It’s the images I can’t stop seeing—of Yara bound and bleeding, her poor broken fingers all crooked and swollen, and Kellogg’s blade poking into her chest, staining her torn sweater a dark crimson.
And the look in her eyes. Ah, fuck, how she looked at me. With so much relief, like I was the hero of her story, there to save her.
But I didn’t arrive soon enough to keep Kellogg from cutting her soft skin and hitting her all over. Not soon enough to prevent the painful bruises littering her body. Not soon enough to stop him from breaking three of her fingers—fuck, I could kill him for that—and plunging her right back into the trauma from her first captivity.
Shit, I wish Ihadkilled him.
I thought about it in the moment before I pulled the trigger. But something stopped me—logic, telling me it would only make things more complicated, or fear that blowing his head off would traumatize Yara even more—and now I’m left with another regret.
Three days ago, I didn’t think about how bad Yara’s nightmares would be.
I didn’t think about how much it would hurt to watch her cry.
And shit, I didn’t know how terrible it would be to see her in pain. She tries to hide it, but the longer I spend with her, the easier it is to tell when she’s hurting. And the worse it feels, not being able to fix it. I can’t even give her answers about Malik. Tyler’s been searching, but he hasn’t found anything to even hint that her old teammate might still be alive.
My chest tightens at the memory of hearing Yara crying in the bathroom last night. I moved her to my place after that first day, when I fucked up royally by putting her in the client apartment. Upsetting her on top of everything else, making her feel like I didn’t want her around, making her cry…
Shit.
The familiar anxiety creeps in, choking my lungs and making my heart race.
And with it, the judging voices chime in.
You’re not good enough for her.
Not before, and definitely not now.
Hoping to silence them, I punch the control pad for the treadmill, increasing its speed and raising the elevation. I push myself faster. Harder. My legs burn from the effort. A fresh coating of sweat slicks my body.
As my feet pound against the treadmill, the sound echoes in the otherwise empty gym. I intentionally came down later than usual, hoping to avoid my teammates. It’s not that I’m upset with any of them; I just wanted some time to myself—time to hopefully get my head on straight before going back to Yara again.
When I left her, she was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee and a granola bar, which I don’t think is enough for breakfast, but she insisted was plenty. “I don’t eat much first thing in the morning,” she assured me. “I’ll have something more substantial for lunch. Don’t worry.”
But Iamworried.
I’ve been worried.
Is a granola bar really enough when her body needs the energy to heal? Should I have stayed home and made a full breakfast instead?
Was it selfish of me to leave her so I could come to the gym, especially after I promised her she wouldn’t be alone unless she wants to be?
Shit.
I promised her she wouldn’t be alone. And here I am, leaving her.
Guilt settles on my chest, heavy and suffocating.
What was I thinking, leaving Yara like that? Anything could happen to her while I’m gone. She could be triggered into a panic attack. She could have a flashback and take off running. She could hurt her hand without me there to help her.
Worries crowd in; cramming their way into my head until it’s buzzing with them.
Instinctively, my legs move faster.
