Path To Redemption (Fighter's Den, #1)

Chapter 32 - Emily

I smooth down a hand over my black formfitting dress, the velvety texture of it providing little comfort. A deep sigh exhales roughly through my teeth and I can't decide if I'm angry or upset. Maybe both. I don't know. I do know that what I'm feeling right now is nothing compared to what Jaxon must be going through. As if he knew I was thinking about him, I suddenly see him appear in the doorway of my room from the reflection of the mirror I'm standing in front of.

"Hey, you." I say softly, not turning around.

He gives me a ghost of a smile, looking so unsure and not at all like his usually cocky self that it breaks me a little. I keep his gaze as he approaches me and wraps his arms around my waist from behind. He rests his chin on my shoulder as I grip his forearms and we watch one another in our reflections.

"How are you feeling?" I ask quietly.

One of his brows goes up and I chuckle.

"Stupid question. Sorry."

He searches my eyes in the mirror and sighs deeply.

"I don't know what I'm feeling." He admits. "I'm kind of numb. I think that's better than feeling something, to be honest."

"Yeah." I turn around in his arms and they stay in place, hands locking against my back and pulling me against him. "Or it's better to feel bit by bit instead of withholding, then bursting all at once."

His jaw ticks like he doesn't agree. Without a word, I slide my hands up his chest and begin fixing his mess of a tie. He was probably too distracted to make it properly. He watches me in silence as I loop and tug one side through, pulling up and bringing him closer to my face with my hand fisted around the cloth.

"If you do burst, you'll have me. You'll always have me."

"I know." He whispers. He tilts his head the slightest and lowers his head, capturing my lips in the softest kiss that I return with closed eyes. He doesn't try anything more and neither do I but it's okay because this kiss is for comfort and we both know it.

"Let's go?" I ask when we pull away.

He nods and tightens his hold on me. He's not ready and I don't think he'll ever be but I take his hand and do my best to be the anchor he so desperately needs.

The car ride is silent and I hold his hand with one hand while driving with the other. I didn't think he was equipped to drive so I insisted on doing it. I knew he wasn't feeling like himself when he instantly agreed without a fight. Every so often, I look at him from the side of my eye and catch him staring outside the window. His face is blank and he never looks away during the entire ride. I don't think he's even looking at anything, just staring off and lost in his thoughts.

At one point I feel his thumb brush over the back of my hand and look down. There's something entirely significant about the image of his large hand encasing my much smaller one, rough and calloused whereas mine as softer and delicate, yet I'm the one lending strength to him. It makes my throat tighten as my heart aches for him and I hastily swallow away the boulder. His eyes are closed now and I'm grateful he doesn't see me getting emotional. He doesn't need this side of me right now.

I stop the car when we arrive and the consistent humming of the car shuts off, encasing us in a loud silence. He doesn't let go of our joined hands and neither do I. I turn my body and lean the side of my head against my seat, watching him. His eyes are pinched shut and he exhales roughly through his nose. I know him well enough to tell that he's trying not to cry. I want to rub my chest so the pain in my heart goes away. He doesn't deserve this. The shaky breath he inhales causes my gut to tighten. My strong man, my fighter, has never looked so weak.