The Wrong Kind of Love

I take a drag, glancing at Tor’s dyed brown hair through the back windshield. It’s not hard to ignore, it’s impossible. But roses don’t belong in shit.

“Little word of advice. If you really care about her, send her far away from here. She ain’t cut out for this kind of life–hell sometimes I’m not even cut out for it. And the last thing you want is another loss…” He places a firm hand on my shoulder, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it under his boot before he heads to the driver’s side of the truck.

The old man’s right. Letting her stick around until Tom is dead is stupid is hell. I have to get her out of here. And I fucking hate it.

***

We take Caleb and Tor home, then dump the bodies at the funeral home. I watch the woods whizz past the window, trying to figure out what to do with Tor. Every day she’s with me makes it harder to imagine her leaving. She said she wanted her old life back–and that will never happen. She said she wanted to stay until Tom was dead, but it’s not safe, and as much as I hate to admit it, there’s no guarantee I’ll kill him.

Marney drops me off at the house, and I go up the steps still confused as hell. The front door closes behind me and Caleb shifts on the couch, holding his bandaged shoulder. “Why the hell is the cartel after us, Jude?” He sounds exhausted, and I get it. “I thought you and Gabe were friends?”

“It wasn’t Gabe’s guys. It was Domingo’s.”

Caleb’s head drops back on a groan. “This shit never ends.”

That’s the damn truth. “You need anything?” I ask.

“Pussy…” He grabs the remote and starts channel surfing. It’s not the first time Caleb’s been shot. Probably won’t be the last.

I grab a bottle of Tylenol from the pantry and chuck it at him, telling him to take two before he goes to bed. Then I go to my room to check on Tor, because while Caleb may be used to this crap, she’s definitely not.

The bathroom door is wide open, the shower is running, and Tor’s sitting on the edge of the tub with her head hung. Her gaze is trained on the hem of her bloodied shirt.

I know that look. I saw it the first time Caleb pulled a trigger on someone. It’s guilt. But unlike him, she didn’t pull the trigger in cold blood. She did it to protect herself. She did it to protect my brother even though he helped keep her here when all she did was beg to leave.

How much more shit can this girl go through…

I step into the bathroom and crouch in front of her, lifting her chin. “Tor…”

“I shot a man who I would have done everything to save if he’d come into the ER.” Tears roll down her cheek and I catch them with my thumbs. I’m not sure whether she’s having a moment because she killed him, or because she knows she wouldn’t have tried to save him in that ER had she known what kind of person he was.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” she whispers.

And the concept of knowing who you are is a load of shit. People change. Situations change people. Who we are isn’t static. Life swings on a volatile pendulum day in and day out. But she doesn’t understand that. Most people don’t. I sweep a hand over her back. “Whoever he was, he would have killed you, Tor. You protecting yourself–protecting Caleb, it doesn’t change who you are.”

She grips a handful of my shirt and drops her forehead to mine. I pull her against me, holding her while steam fills the bathroom. Nothing about this is fair to her. Nothing about it ever has been. She pulls back from me and stares down at the blood covering her chest. She didn’t want to be Sarah Jones, but she sure as hell doesn’t want to be this…

“Stop thinking about it.” I plug the tub.

“I can’t.”

“Don’t tell me you can’t, Tor.” I grab the hem of her shirt, pull it over her head, and toss it to the tile.

“Jude…”

“Do you want to keep blood all over you or what?” I unfasten her jeans and work them down her legs.

“No.”

I take the sides of her lace underwear and pull them down her thighs. Nothing about this is sexual, it’s… Fuck. It’s me realizing I have to let her go. I sweep hair from her face and press a soft kiss to her lips. I’ve never wanted a woman–needed one the way I do her.

Marney’s earlier words play through my head as Tor sinks beneath the rising bath water. Everyday she stays here, she’s going to lose a little bit more of who she is. And if she stays until Tom’s dead, she really will be lost.