Free Breathe Again by Joelle Charming

that it would help the wave of nausea surging through me. I
felt Jackson next to me before he touched me. He started rubbing circles on my
back, leaning down and whispering in my ear.
    I felt my heart slowing, as if it could hear Jackson all on
its own. As soon as I sat up, my breathing back to normal, he had me in his
arms again.
    “I’m so sorry, Mellie,” he said, his lips pressed up against
my ear. He pulled away, looking me over, frowning when he saw my torn sweater.
“Did they get you? Are you hurt?”
    I shook my head, but I still couldn’t find my voice. My ribs
really were sore, but it wasn’t too terrible. It was more my confidence that
was shaken.
    “I’m taking you back to my apartment. I want to make sure
you’re okay,” he said, and then let the driver know where to go.
    I shook my head again. “No, it’s okay, Jackson. I can go
home. I’m fine.” I wasn’t sure that I was ready to go to his apartment. I
didn’t know if I would ever be ready to go there, not after tonight.
    He studied me with his mouth set in a firm line. “Please,
just let me look you over real quick. And we need to talk. I’m so sorry,” he
said, pulling me close to him.
    He didn’t let me go for the rest of the trip back to his
apartment. I felt him kiss my forehead and my hair, but he didn’t look at me.
He just stared out the window silently as we made the twenty-minute trip back
to his complex.
    I didn’t know where he lived. Up until then, he hadn’t
brought it up and I didn’t really feel comfortable asking him. The driver got
off at Wilshire and pulled up to a large, luxurious-looking high-rise. We drove
up to a gate, which opened before we could even stop. The driveway went under
the building, into a parking structure full of BMWs and Land Rovers. There was
no doubt in my mind that Jackson wasn’t the only celebrity living in this
complex.
    We pulled up next to an elevator and Jackson tugged my hand
gently to pull me out of the car. I looked around nervously, afraid that all
those people had somehow followed us here, but the structure was empty. We got
in the elevator, and I stood, biting my lip and twirling a piece of my hair.
Jackson still had my hand, but he wasn’t looking at me.
    We rode the elevator all the way to the twenty-third floor,
where it opened into a large, very white hallway. He pulled me toward one of
the doors near the other end of the hall and led us inside.
    I’m not sure what I expected, but Jackson’s apartment was a
lot warmer than I thought it would be. Maybe I’d just envisioned a cold
bachelor pad, but this was far from it. There weren’t a lot of personal touches
around the place, which made me suspect that either the furniture had been here
when he moved in, or he’d had a designer come in and do it all for him. There
was a lot of dark wood, and the couch looked really comfortable. It wasn’t too
empty, but it wasn’t too full either. It actually felt kind of homey, in a
weird way.
    “Come here,” Jackson said, leading me to the couch. He sat me
down, but then headed to the bar at the other end of the room instead of
sitting next to me. He pulled a bottle of whiskey down from one of the shelves
and turned to me with an empty glass. I nodded, and he brought them back to
where I sat.
    He poured us both glasses of Jack, though his was twice as
full as mine. I watched as he downed almost the whole glass in one gulp before
finally sitting next to me. I sipped mine slowly, letting the burn of the
alcohol fill my nostrils. It was a welcome distraction, to be honest.
    “Are you okay, really?” he asked, his eyes now firmly on me.
I stared down into my glass, watching the liquid swirl, and nodded slightly.
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Mellie,” he said, reaching over and putting his hand
under my chin. He wasn’t rough, but he pulled my face toward him firmly.
    I could feel the moisture pool in my eyes, and once again
blinked back tears before they could fall.
    “I am,” I