That wasn’t a nice thing to think about.

Movement inside the sedan told me that the driver of the other car was fine too. The door seemed to be jammed from the way the person inside was moving, but by the time I managed to think clearly enough to decide to get out of the car, that driver had managed to get the door opened and thrown a leg out.

The sound of a seat belt clicking had me glancing to my side to see Rip’s hand lingering over that part at my hip. He looked a little pale, and his hand wasn’t what I would call steady as it hovered there. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was thinking as I slid mine over and set it on top of his, everything going up to my elbow not much less shaky than his.

He was watching me, and all I could muster up was a smile that was probably just as wonky and off as the rest of me was.

“Son of a bitch!” a voice outside the truck yelled, and I didn’t need to look out to know that it had to be the driver of the BMW, who I had seen out of my peripheral vision circling his car.

My heart hammered away inside of me. I was shaking a little. My shoulder was starting to ache, but I was okay, and so was the man next to me. That was all that mattered.

“Motherfucker!” the driver outside yelled. I didn’t notice that Rip hadn’t answered me.

But somehow, I managed to focus enough to say, “I’ll—I’ll call the cops, but let’s get out of the truck first.”

Still, he said nothing.

Pulling the seat belt off from around me and letting it fall to the side between the seat and the door, I tried my best to get my arms under control enough so that they would stop trembling. I had goose bumps everywhere too, but I ignored those as well.

That had been close. Too freaking close.

“Luna, get out of the truck,” Rip finally managed to say, his voice soft and… off.

I nodded.

I was fine. My adrenaline was just crashing. I was pumped up, and now I was falling. We were safe. Everything was okay.

Not looking over at the man to my left, I got myself together enough to push open the door to the truck and climb out, only barely managing to remember my purse from where I’d left it right next to my feet. Luckily, I had zipped it, so nothing had fallen out and gotten strewn all over the floor. It only took a moment to fish my phone out and hit 911.

It took all of me to pay attention and answer the dispatcher’s questions, watching as Rip stood at the front of his mangled truck, talking quietly to the owner of the BMW, a man in a heather gray suit who looked around the same age as Rip. The guy in the suit looked pissed, and Rip, he just stood there, a couple inches taller and a lot broader, with his arms crossed over his head, palms cupping the back of his skull. A few cars had pulled over, the drivers getting out to make sure everyone was fine, but a couple lingered, those people saying something back to the man in the suit.

In the background, I could hear the wail of a police siren, but I kept talking to the dispatcher who wanted me to wait until the police got there to hang up. My shoulder didn’t ache worse than it had a few minutes before, but it felt stiff.

Deep breaths. Calm down. Everything was okay.

The driver of the BMW started talking louder, and I heard him say something like “stupid-ass!”

Rip didn’t even bother replying. He took a step to the side and walked away. Even with the sun blasting all over the road, I could see his eyes moving around the wreck, not lingering, but continuing to slide from one direction to the other until he spotted me off to the side, one hand holding the phone to my face but both my arms tucked in close to my sides and chest.

Those long legs ate up the concrete as he headed in my direction, as the other driver kept raising his voice to argue with the three other people who had more than likely seen what happened and were telling him that he was in the wrong.

Because he had been.

I didn’t feel like putting in my own two cents and telling him that I’d seen the entire thing happen and that he was the one who was at fault.

All I could do was stand there, watching as my boss stalked toward me with flashing blue and red and white lights somewhere in the distance, beyond the busy street we were on. When he was maybe ten feet away, I finally gave him a weak smile as I held the phone to my face. When he was five feet away, I noticed the frown that had taken over his features.

It was right then that I noticed the muscles in his arms jumping, the twitching at his wrists, the veins popping at his temple and throat.

Rip was shaking.

Not kind of trembling like I was—and had been—but full on shaking. He was pale. Even his lips had lost their color.

I said something to the person over the phone that I hoped at least included a “thank you,” but I would never know for sure, because the next thing I was aware of was ending the call and shoving my phone into my purse, which was sitting against my hip.

That entire six-foot-four, two-hundred and something pound body was literally shaking.

He looked like he hadn’t just seen a ghost, but a hundred of them.

I didn’t intentionally set out to grab his hand or pull him toward me, but I did. Once, I had shaken the same way he was doing right then, and all I had wanted afterward was someone to hold me.

And for me, there had been no one to do that.

But I could be that person for someone else now.

I led him to the curb I was standing on and watched as he sank onto it, those long legs bent at the knee, his hands loose at his sides, his nostrils flaring with deep, deep breaths that could have passed for pants on anyone else. He scared me. Right then, watching his normally tan face go so freaking white, watching the biggest and most no-nonsense man I had ever known shake, scared the hell out of me.

“You’re okay,” I told him, ignoring everything else around us.

His eyes were straight forward, on me but not on me, and I just barely noticed it.

I squeezed his hand and got nothing but another bone-rattling shake.

“Rip, you’re okay. That guy’s an idiot,” I said softly.

He still just stared straight ahead, right at the top hem of my leggings since it was what was directly in front of him.

Dropping into a crouch, my worry kicked up threefold, and I took his other hand, giving both of the much bigger palms and fingers a squeeze. He still didn’t react.

I let go of one of his hands and raised mine to his face, only letting my fingertips graze his stubbly chin. “Hey, you’re good. Nothing happened.”

Nothing.

Even knowing I had no right and no business to touch him, and that he probably wouldn’t like it, I palmed his cheek, tiny whiskers grazing my skin. He was clammy and too cool. “Rip?”

Nothing.

I let go of his other hand and cupped his face between both of mine, trying to catch his eyes, but they were still straight ahead, unfocused and zoned out.

What was I supposed to do?

I could still hear the sirens coming from a distance, but I knew that other than the cut on his face, he was probably physically fine. The worst he’d have were some bruises and possibly his shoulder hurting just like mine was.

I tried again. “Rip?”

Nothing.

“Hey, you’re okay,” I told him, still holding his cheeks. “I’m okay. Take a deep breath.”

He didn’t. He didn’t do anything.

I tried to think about what I would want if I was in his shoes, and I hesitated. But it only took one glance at his zoned-out face to know I was going to do it even if he pushed me off and cussed me out later.

At least I’d be ready for it.

So before I could talk myself out of it, I swept my hands from his cheeks toward the back of his head, then moving one hand to do the same gesture over the top of it too. When he didn’t flinch, I dropped to my knees, ignoring the shooting pain that the concrete sent through them, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, and I hugged him.

I pressed the side of my cheek against his, and I hugged him even tighter, not letting go.

But it still wasn’t enough. He still shook, these shivers that flowed from the center of his body down toward his fingertips.

“You’re okay. Everything is fine,” I repeated, still hugging him. I swept my hands from the nape of his neck, across his trapezius muscles, over his shoulders and down his arms, applying light pressure. Then I did it again and again, before moving them right above his chest, starting there before going up to continue the route up to the base of his neck, across and down his arms.