I woke up to the sound of muted crying.

Jerking upright on the sofa where I’d been sleeping, I strained to hear where it was coming from. It took me only a second to realize that the whimpering was coming from Clara’s room.

Without thinking, I jumped up and jogged down the hall to her room. I didn’t bother to knock or call out her name before pushing her door, which was slightly ajar, open.

Light spilled in from the hallway, illuminating the dimly lit room.

My gaze locked on Clara, who was lying on the middle of her bed curled into a tight ball. Her eyes were closed but her fair skin was covered in sweat. I moved into the room, trying to gauge if she was having a nightmare or if something else was wrong.

I’d taken only two steps when she clenched her hands into fists and turned to her back. She cried out before jerking her head to the left and gasping for breath. Mumbling incoherently, she cried out again and kicked at the blanket that covered her legs.

I moved.

Crossing the room, I climbed onto the mattress beside her and grasped her shoulders. “Clara,” I said, shaking her slightly. “Wake up.”

She arched her back again and shook her head back and forth. “No,” she cried, clenching the bed sheet tight in her hands. “Please, don’t. Not again.”

The terror in her voice was like a knife straight to my heart.

“Clara”—I shook her harder—“it’s just a nightmare, beautiful girl. Wake up for me.” The only response she gave came in the form of an agonized whimper. “Clara, goddamn it, wake up.” My grip on her tightened. “Baby, come back to me. It’s—”

Her eyes snapped open, and the stark fear swimming in her pupils is something I’ll never forget. The sight of it will haunt me until the day I die. “You were having a—”

Before I could finish my sentence, she struck out.

The heel of her hand connected with my jaw and her nails scraped down my bare chest. She kicked and clawed at my hands which were still anchored to her shoulders. “No!” She shrieked, fighting harder. “I won’t go back!”

I released her shoulders and pushed her back onto the bed. Holding her down with one arm, I flicked on her bedside lamp with my free hand. The yellow light lit up the room. “It’s Brantley, Clara,” I said, grabbing her hands.

She froze.

Her wide eyes focused on me and for a moment the room fell silent.

Releasing one of her hands, I pushed the sweaty strands of hair that were stuck to her face back. “You’re okay, bella dama,” I whispered, running my shaking fingers through her tangled locks. “You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

Her bottom lip trembled as tears fell from her eyes. “Brantley?”

The agony lacing her voice made the knife embedded deep in my heart twist.

I cupped her face and ran my thumbs over her cheeks. “I’m right here, baby.” I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do or not, but I laid down beside her, pressing my back to the mattress. My eyes stayed locked with her terrified ones. “Not going anywhere either.” I slipped an arm under her back and curled my fingers over her shoulder. “Come here”—I pulled her slightly, urging her to come to me—“I can’t stand seeing you upset, beautiful. It guts me.”

My girl didn’t hesitate.

Rolling to her side, she snuggled against me.

I pulled her arm over my stomach, hooked her leg over my thigh, and wrapped both of my arms around her, holding her tight. She buried her face against my side, hiding her eyes from me. Her warm breath ghosted over my skin, and for what felt like the first time since I walked into the room, I took a breath.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I wanted to know what she’d been dreaming about, but I knew I couldn’t push her. There was zero doubt in my mind that it had to do with the fucker from her past. “Or do you just want me to hold you while you fall back asleep?”

I traced my fingers over her arm and down her side.

Her tears wetted my side. “I can’t escape him,” she whispered, digging her nails into my skin. “I can push him away during the day, but at night, he’s always there, taunting me. I relive the things he did to me. The words he said, the punishments he gave.” A single sob escaped her. “I’ll n-never be f-free.”

Punishments?

I gritted my back teeth together, fighting the urge to free the slew of curse words and questions that sat on the tip of my tongue. “He can’t hurt you anymore,” I whispered, doing my best to comfort her.

“I know.” She pulled her face from my side and looked up, meeting my eyes. “Because he’s dead.” She said the last word with force. “Evan killed him.” She paused as more tears fell from her eyes. “Your brother killed him, Brantley. To protect me. To save Maddie.” Another sob, more tears. “Do you know what he did to h-her? To M-Maddie?”

She was crying so hard she could barely speak.

“I do, beautiful girl,” I replied, holding her tighter. “He hurt her.”

Clara shook her head. “He didn’t just hurt her. He tried to kill her.” She ducked her head. The tears falling from her eyes splattered onto my stomach. “And it was all because of me. If I hadn’t been at the Shelter, he wouldn’t have come there. He wouldn’t have found Maddie outside and she wouldn’t have been forced to make the decision to give her life to protect ours. She almost died Brantley.”

My anger rose, making my hands shake.

“When she wouldn’t turn us over to him, he beat her so bad it cracked her skull open. If Evan hadn’t found them in time, if he hadn’t shot Colin…” Her voice trailed off as she sobbed hysterically. “It’s all my fault and—”

There was no way I would let her finish that sentence.

I jerked upright and wrapped my arms around her waist. Pulling her onto my lap, I cupped her face and forced her to look at me. I wanted her to see me when I spoke the words she needed to hear. “Look at me, Clara.” Her teary-eyed emerald green gaze crashed into mine. “What that son of a bitch did to you, what he did to Maddie… None of that is your fault.” I left out Liam’s name because I didn’t want to throw Shelby under the bus. Clara would tell me when she was ready.

Hopefully, anyway.

Clara tried to shake her head, but my unrelenting hold wouldn’t let her. “Yes it i-is.”

“How?”

Her face twisted in agony. “Because I married a m-monster.”

Five words. That’s all it took to break my goddamn heart.

I needed to say something, but I couldn’t find the words.

My mind reeled, my heart pounded.

While I was married to an ungrateful, gold-digging bitch who didn’t know the first thing about being a good wife and mother, Clara, a woman with a heart bigger than Texas was married to a piece of shit who beat her whenever he felt like it.

Everything about that was wrong.

“Brantley,” Clara whispered my name. “How much do you know?”

Enough, I thought.

“Not a lot,” I replied honestly. “Just enough to make me wish I’d been the one to pull the trigger instead of Evan.”

Clara’s eyes widened.

“What? You think just because I wear a suit and tie to work that I won’t mess somebody up?” I joked, smiling. “You wound me, Firecracker.”

Clara bit her lip to keep from smiling.

It was a beautiful sight.

“Does that mean I don’t have to worry about anybody messing with me since I have you around?”

“Clara,” I said, my tone serious. “If anybody ever raises their hand to you again, they will die by mine.” Her breath hitched. “You understand me?”

Ducking her head, she wiped away her tears. When she looked back up, she appeared calmer. More relaxed. “Careful saying stuff like that, Pretty Boy.”

“Why should I be careful?”

A small smile tipped her lips up. “Because if you keep talking like that I‘ll end up falling for you, and let’s face it, men like you don’t fall for women like me.”

Three words—What. The. Fuck?

“You need to explain that, Clara, because I don’t understand.”

She blew out a breath and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Staring into the mirror that sat on top of her dresser, she whispered, “I’m not the type of woman a man falls for, Brantley. I’m too damaged for love.”

I pinched her chin between two fingers and forced her to face me. Eyes locked, I replied, “My heart disagrees.”

I meant each word.

Whether or not I acknowledged it, the simple fact of the matter was that I’d been falling in love with Clara for the last nine months. It started the moment I saw her smile down at my daughter with nothing but love and affection, and it snowballed from there.

While living in Memphis I’d tried to fight it, tried to bury my feelings in the pit of my gut, but I couldn’t do it any longer. With her so close, there was no denying the truth anymore.

That truth? Clara was mine.

“I know you’re not ready for me, Clara,” I whispered. “But one day you will be, and when you are, I’ll be waiting.”

I expected her to roll her eyes or call me an idiot, but she didn’t. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around my wrist and pulled my hand into her lap. Sliding the tip of her pinky over my palm, she replied, “You may be waiting a while.” Her eyes clenched shut. The words obviously pained her. “I don’t know if I’ll ever… If I’ll ever be ready for that again.” She turned, shifted her weight, and straddled my thighs.

My heart raced.

Looping her arms around my neck, she pressed her forehead to mine, and continued. “But I’d like to get there one day.”

“You will,” I said truthfully. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She blew out a small breath and looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “Will you stay? I don’t want to sleep alone. Not after—”

I pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “Nothing could keep me away.” Wrapping my arms around her tight, I laid back on the bed, bringing her down with me.

Her arms slid from my neck.

Back pressed against the mattress, I helped her reposition her legs so that she was resting comfortably atop me. “You good?”

“M’hm,” she hummed, her cheek pressed against my chest.

I slid my fingers through her hair causing her eyes to slide shut. “Go to sleep, bella dama.”

She pressed a soft kiss to my skin. “Night, Pretty Boy.”

“Night, beautiful.”

Contentment flowed through me.

Soon, we both drifted off to sleep.