Page 76 of Finding Carly
Wiping her face clean of the tears she’d shed, Carly stood. She knew she was probably blotchy and her eyes bloodshot, but that couldn’t be helped. She would confront Jag, find out what the fuck his problem was, then go home. Back to her own apartment. She’d be fine. Threat or no threat, she’d rather take her chances on her own.
Her mind made up, and determined to tell Jag off, she took a deep breath before marching out of the bedroom and into the hall. The only illumination in the apartment was the light over the stove that Jag left on just in case she needed something in the middle of the night. He’d said he didn’t want her to trip over anything and hurt herself.
Mentally, Carly snorted. What a crock of shit.
She stomped into the living room, ready to tear into him—but stopped dead in her tracks. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to be doing, but she hadn’t thought he’d be sitting on his couch, slumped over with his head in his hands.
He didn’t look angry. Didn’t look like he was anxious for her to leave.
He looked utterly broken.
Carly tried to maintain the anger that had blazed through her veins just seconds ago, but it was impossible…despite still wanting to scream at him, tell him what an asshole he was, that he was throwing away the best thing he’d ever had.
She loved Jag, even though he’d just crushed her. She couldn’t simply turn that off. And something was seriously wrong.
“Jag?” she whispered.
He didn’t respond.
Carly realized for the first time that she was still only wearing his oversized T-shirt. It came down to her thighs, but she was still naked underneath. She felt decidedly underdressed for his confrontation, but it was a little late to go back and change now.
She took a step closer to the couch and realized that Jag was shaking. Trembling so hard she could see it from where she was standing. And Carly knew without a doubt that he hadn’t simply rejected her to be cruel.
Swallowing hard, her anger dissipated. She was more worried now. She contemplated going back into the bedroom and grabbing her phone so she could call Mustang, or Midas, or someone. But then Jag spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice anguished.
Jag was her rock. Her pillar of strength. He was supportive and sweet, always complimenting her and pushing her to carry on. But right now, he was completely defeated.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Jag shook his head in his hands. He hadn’t looked up at her. “I can’t do this. I thought I could…but I can’t. It’s impossible.”
Carly’s heart broke a little more at his words, but she refused to leave until she found out why he was acting this way. “Do what?” she asked, her own voice trembling a bit.
“Have a relationship. I want to.God, do I want to. But I’m too fucked up. I can’t do this to you.”
Carly wanted to cry again, but this time not for herself. It was for the man who was obviously agonizing over something deeply troubling. Tentatively, she walked toward him and gingerly sat on the edge of the couch. Three feet separated them, but it might as well have been a chasm. How had they gone from being as close as two people could be, to this?
“You aren’t fucked up,” she said quietly.
He snorted. It was a harsh sound, and when he lifted his head and looked at her, even in the dim light she could see the wetness on his cheeks.
Jagger Bennett was crying?
Carly’s fear spiked. Whatever was wrong, it was big. Huge.
“When we were at Aleck’s wedding, you said something to me. You probably don’t remember, but you said that I have no idea what it’s like to be vulnerable. Do you remember that?”
“Yeah,” Carly said. “You told me that I’d be surprised.” At the time, Carly had blown off his response, thinking there was no way a man like Jag, a decorated Navy SEAL, a man who demanded respect with just a look, could ever feel as vulnerable and exposed as she did.
Jag stared off into space. “Are you leaving?” he asked.
Carly scooted a little closer. “I was,” she said honestly. “I packed my bag and came out here to tell you that I thought you were a jerk.”
He nodded as if he expected that answer. But his shoulders hunched over a little more and he seemed to deflate right in front of her. “You should go,” he agreed. “I’ll call Mustang or someone to pick you up.”
“Talk to me, Jag,” Carly begged.
