But now he knew.
So this time, he let down all his shields, and he breathed her in. He concentrated on everywhere their bodies touched. On the scent of her shampoo. On the feel of her breast against his forearm. On the curve of her hip beneath his thigh. On the way her foot wrapped around his other calf. On the feel of her fingers wrapped so tightly around his wrist, holding onto him as if she'd never let him go.
He breathed in every sensation. Every single detail he could.
Because this time, he knew he might never hold her like this again.
That this might be his last time. Forever.
Tatum was running, running, running, terrified. Someone was hunting her. She could hear his footsteps behind her, echoing in the empty stadium tunnel. His breath was loud. Close. Getting closer. She screamed for help, but no sound would come. Just silence. He was going to get her. He wanted to hurt her. She could feel his intent pressing down on her. He had a knife. She couldn’t see it, but she knew he did.
"Tatum. Baby. Wake up." Brody's voice drifted faintly, but she couldn't see him.
She spun around, frantically searching for him. She tried to scream Brody's name, but again, her voice had no sound. Just helpless, wordless silence. Footsteps were getting closer. Heavy boots. Running her down. He was coming for her.
"Tatum. Come on. Wake up." Brody's voice was louder now.
Brody! Help! She screamed silently as a hand came down on her shoulder. She screamed and spun around, but it was too late. She couldn’t see his face as he grabbed her and threw her into a wall—
"Tatum!" Brody's voice broke through, jerking her out of the darkness. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw Brody leaning over her, his brow furrowed.
She stared at him, her breath heaving in her chest. Tears were running down her face, and she could feel sweat dripping down her temples.
"It was a dream." He brushed her hair back from her face. "You're okay. You're in my house. You're safe. Do you hear me?"
She nodded, and rolled onto her side, pressing her face into his chest, breathing him in. "I can still hear him. Running after me. He was going to kill me. I know it."
He kept stroking her hair, but she felt his body tense. "Who was chasing you?"
"I don't know. I couldn’t see his face. But in my dream, I knew who it was." She closed her eyes. Her heart was still pounding. "It was just a dream," she said out loud. "Not real."
"Just a dream," Brody agreed, his voice deceptively mild. "How did you break your arm, Tatum?"
She needed to talk about it. She needed to tell him. But she didn't want to give it space in her mind. Or her heart. "I wish it would just go away," she whispered. "All of it. Can I live in your barn with the horses?"
He laughed softly, his fingers still drifting through her hair. "It's a great barn, but I'm not sure that's quite up to your standards."
"My standards are pretty simple right now." She pulled back. He was stretched out on his side, facing her, his head on the same pillow as hers. So close. Close enough to touch.
So, she did.
She reached out and pressed her hand to his chest. "It's been a long time since I've woken up and felt safe like this."
Something flickered in his eyes, and he put his hand over hers, holding it to him. "I need to know what's going on, Tatum. It's not just last night, is it?"
She bit her lip and shook her head. "I try not to think about it. To give him power by thinking about him."
"Him? Who?"
She met his gaze. His dark eyes were fixed on her face, wholly focused on her. There was nothing else on his mind. No one else he was worried about helping. Right now, it was just her. "I'm not sure what's going on. Not exactly. Just…I'm not sure I'm safe. I'm…trapped."
He smiled. "Baby, you need to stop dancing around the topic and just blurt it out. I can't help if I don't know. You're safe right now. Completely safe." He pressed a kiss to her fingertips that were poking out of the end of the cast. "Start with last night. What happened to your wrist?"
Tatum drummed her fingers on his chest. Brody recognized the action. It was what she used to do when she was thinking hard on something important to her. Like, when she was working on a new song. Or trying to figure out how to tell him that she loved him—
Shit. He didn't need to think of that right now. Of that night.
"Tatum, tell me about your injury."
She finally met his gaze. "I was waiting for you backstage."
Something stilled inside him. "Your manager said you didn't want to see me."
She raised her brows. "Really, Brody? After that song, you thought I didn't want to see you?"
He ground his jaw, knowing damn well that he hadn't fully bought it. He'd used it as an excuse to bail. "It was a mistake to leave," he said.
She searched his gaze, her fingers still drumming on his chest. He loved the feel of her fingers tapping against him. "I heard he told you to leave, so I went to find you."
Brody let out his breath. She'd come after him before she'd gotten hurt. Before she'd needed his help. Why had she come after him? Why had she sent the tickets? He had a thousand questions, but he knew not to push her. She held things close and would retreat if pushed.
So, he forced himself to be patient. "And then what?"
"I ran into a stairwell. When I came out in the exit tunnel, I was swarmed by fans. A security guard was there, and he got me into one of the kitchens in the stadium." She shrugged. "And then he got aggressive. He threw me against a table, and that's when my wrist broke."
Brody had to focus on staying calm. "How did you get away?"
She grinned. "I hit him in the head with a pot. Knocked him right out."
He smiled. "Nice."
She stopped drumming her fingers, and he knew she was starting to relax into the story. "I stole someone's Uber ride and had him bring me to the Ritz. I owe the driver a lifetime of front row tickets."
"That seems fair." He studied her face. The short story wasn't complete. He could tell. "What else?"
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "I'm probably imagining things."
"Probably not." He propped himself up on his elbow so he could see her face. "What's up?"
She bit her lip and glanced at him. "My ex-husband, Donny, is also my manager. I signed a contract with him when I was eighteen, and it pretty much trapped me for life. I can't get out of it. I've been trying and it's…pissing him off."
The bastard who had told Brody to leave. Shit. He should have had better instincts. He usually did. But Tatum was hell on his equilibrium. "Has he threatened you?"
She shrugged. "Not exactly, but he's getting increasingly aggressive. I don't feel comfortable around him." She glanced at Brody again. "I also have a stalker. He's been getting in my dressing room at concerts. He got into my tour bus. And the security guard who attacked me made a comment that made me think that he was my stalker. I think—" She stopped. "What do you think?"
He knew what she'd been about to say. "You think Donny is behind the stalker? Trying to coerce you into going back to him for help?"