More Than Enough (Pelican Bay 4)

"My arm’s fine," I said as I lifted my eyes to meet his.

I fully expected Jett to rip his chair from my grasp, but to my surprise, he didn't move. A shiver of awareness slid up my spine as I thought about how easy it would be to pull him forward so that I'd basically be kneeling before him. It was with great reluctance that I forced myself to release my hold on the chair and returned my attention to my bag. I didn't miss the fact that Jett remained where he was. It felt like a huge victory. I had to remind myself that I didn't like the guy and that even if I was crazy attracted to him, I most certainly couldn't and wouldn't act on it. Not only was I not looking for a relationship, I most definitely didn't need to start something with a guy who clearly had not only a temper but a big-ass chip on his shoulder.

"They told you about me, right?" Jett asked.

I shook my head because as tempted as I'd been to ask Maddox about what had happened to this man, this angry, bitter man, something had held me back. It had felt like an invasion of his privacy and although my first encounter with him hadn't been a good one, I felt like I'd owed him that much at least.

"Just that you’re staying in Pelican Bay for a bit while you get back on your feet."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to call them back. "Shit, Jett, I'm sorry—"

"Don't worry about it," Jett murmured. "I knew what you meant."

Heat crawled up my neck. I wasn't someone who usually got so flustered around others, but something about Jett was throwing me off my game. I pretended to keep busy organizing my bag because I was suddenly reluctant to end the conversation, though that was what I'd been ready to do two minutes ago.

"They think I'm going to kill myself," Jett said softly. His voice was almost emotionless. But I sensed a hint of challenge in it.

"Are you?" I asked. I glanced over my shoulder at him because I suddenly needed to see his eyes. My gut was telling me I'd see the truth in his eyes rather than hear it in his words.

Instead of responding, Jett turned his head so that he was looking at Jerry through the bars of the stall. I was certain I saw at least half a dozen emotions cross his features in the span of a handful of seconds. Anger, grief, frustration, fear… I knew those things. I understood them well.

"Jett," I said gently and then I did what I’d promised myself I wouldn't. I touched him again. This time, I wrapped my fingers around his where they were resting on the arm of his wheelchair. He stiffened and I fully expected him to jerk his hand away but to my surprise, he didn't move it. His skin was warm and soft. But there was strength there too. He didn't look at me, but it didn't matter. I needed him to hear my words. Really hear them. "Don't give up, okay? I know you don't want to be here, but this place…"

I dropped my eyes because I realized I really didn't know how to put into words what I was trying to say. How did I explain that this small group of men could be his salvation like they'd been mine? I shook my head because there was no way to explain it. He'd have to see it for himself.

"Just don't give up," I murmured before reluctantly releasing his hand. He caught me off guard when he suddenly grabbed my fingers and linked them with his. Fire, white-hot fire shot throughout my entire body. I sucked in a breath as my heart began racing. I still couldn't bring myself to look at him. I couldn't make sense of his hold on me… the figurative one. I barely knew the guy but the control he wielded over me without even trying scared the hell out of me. I'd spent the past year trying to escape this very thing and yet here I was, happily on my knees before a man who didn't even like me.

I tried to get control of my emotions but the fear inside me began to build and build. How many times had I cowed before Marcus like this? How many nights had I allowed myself to be locked within the metaphorical prison walls I'd allowed Marcus to build around me? And yet here I was, fully ensnared by a man's touch. I didn't care if Jett was a sinner or saint, I didn't want this.

I didn't.

I couldn't.

I shook my head and tried to tug my hand free, but Jett's fingers tightened just a bit. Sure, I could've yanked my hand free of his, but that wasn't what was holding me in place. It was that little part deep inside me that wanted to believe things could be different. That I could be different. That the pieces of myself that I’d started to find again in the past twelve months were enough to make a whole man.