I-55

“Are y’all sure this is, y’know, safe?” probed Roxie, her eyes shifting from left to right as the group crossed a street. “This ain’t no Texas town. Hell, this ain’t even Birmin’ham, Alabama! People are dangerous.”

Much to her dismay, the genuineness of her question was only met with laughter.

“This might be the safest you’ve ever been in Chicago,” laughed Andrew Shaw. “There’s at least ten of us, Rox, and not one person here would let anything happen to you. You’re as safe as could be.”

“I dunno,” chimed Crawford, and Jonathan could tell just by his voice that he wasn’t going to appreciate the next statement that fell from the keepers mouth. “Tazer here is pretty big on security. I think his apartment may just be the safest place in the whole damn city.”

Holy subtlety, Crawford.

Roxie laughed and the conversation fizzled out upon arrival at The Globe, another local bar. Jonathan led the way towards their usual back corner table, and slid into the booth without a second thought, slinging his left arm around the back of the booth.

“After you, m’lady,” said Kane, ushering Roxie into the booth beside Jon. The two men locked eyes, and Kane suggestively winked once before sliding in after the girl.

The close proximity between Jonathan and Roxie put Jon’s entire body in a state. Not only was she distractingly beautiful but now, Jon noted, she also smelled absolutely amazing—like peaches and mangos. It took all of his self control to not stretch out his long fingers and brush the hair from her neck, to pull her small body against his side, caress her exposed skin, or to simply stare down at her.

He was proud he could refrain from all of the terribly tempting options laid before him.

Their conversations were all rather easy and enjoyable, but Jonathan was more content to sit back and observe rather than participate. Everything went perfectly, minus her being in his arms, until her cell phone rang. Everything about her changed when she looked down at the screen, flashing a name that Jonathan hadn’t heard her utter once.

With a huff, she shoved it back inside her purse.

“Everything alright?” asked Kane.

“Yea, just… someone I really don’t wanna talk to, ‘specially not now when I’m havin a good time, y’know?” she replied, turning entirely away from Jonathan. Kane nodded, while Shaws eyebrows pulled together. He was sitting a little further down on the table, but leave it to his super-sonic hearing to pick up on the small exchange.

“Who was it?” he asked, hushing the supplementary conversation on his end. Now, everyone was looking expectantly down at the reflectively fragile girl who buckled under their gaze.

“My husband.”

It seemed as though Patrick Sharp was the only man present who wasn’t entirely flattened by her admittance. No, he looked more concerned than anything and that was also his prime emotion caused by a multitude of reasons.

Namely, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that one’s spouse should bring joy to a man or woman. Not pain, not fear, not guilt… nothing of the sort. Her husband should have brought a smile to her face, she should have rushed to answer the phone call and ended it with an, ‘I love you’.
However, Roxie wasn’t the only person who Sharpy was concerned about.

He felt a pang in his heart for Jonathan. He’d seen the look flash across the dark molten irises that his captain so effectively hid his emotions behind, but the mere shock had broken through that barrier for a brief moment. If Sharp hadn’t already of been looking closely at Jonathan, he would have missed it entirely.

“Is…everything alright?”

Roxie glanced up at the older man, pursing her lips for a moment. Her eyes flickered to the white-gold band across his left ring finger and back up again.

“There’s a reason I jus' up 'n left Dallas,” she replied, letting her eyes drop down to fixate on her beer.

“I’ll take that as a no then, yeah?” asked Crawford, resting his chin on a fist.

“Naw, you can take that as a hell no, thangs ain’t alright.”

“What’s his name?” asked Kane gently. “Your husband, that is.”

Jonathan cringed back against the wall at the word, and grit his teeth together. His hands were clenched into tight fists, the skin across his knuckles stretching white.

“Luke,” she sighed, and raked her fingers through her long hair. “Luke Kennedy; professional bull rider. Cattle roper and hog tier extrordinare. You’d thank me ‘n him would go together like two peas in a pod—and we did! For a little while, that is, ‘fore everythang changed.”

“What happened?” asked Saad, popping a piece of buffalo chicken into his mouth.

Roxie fidgeted a little bit, letting her eyes rake over the group of men around and beside her. Lastly, they found Jonathans dark eyes burning into hers. They were blazing, with a fire ignited behind them that made them even more beautiful than usual. She found everything about him intoxicating, though he’d hardly spoken a word to her the entire night. She wanted to forget the conversation about Luke—hell, she wanted to forget Luke in general—and divert her absolute, undivided attention to the mystery man who seemed to always be one step ahead of her, always looking over her shoulder like a protective shadow.

Roxie held his gaze a moment too long, and quickly turned away before she got lost. She knew she’d have to end up telling the guys about Luke at some point, and what happened between them, if only for safety reasons. It was entirely plausible that he would show up in Chicago looking for her, and she wanted no part of that. it wouldn’t be pretty if he found her, and Roxie couldn’t afford a hospital bill with her current salary and expenses.

She wasn’t afraid to tell the guys, nor was she ashamed. She just didn’t want their sympathy, or for them to think she was throwing herself a pity party.

“Rox?” pressed Brent Seabrook, breaking her away from her trance.

“He had a really bad accident at this one rodeo a while back. He was in the hospital for around a month, I believe, and even when he was released he really couldn’t do nothin’. He had nightmares and flashbacks all the time, bless his heart. I did everythin' the doctors and psychiatrists told me I could to help him, support him, comfort him. Nothin’ worked, though. One night, he had been drinkin’ and had some kinda’ awful flashback. When I tried to comfort him, he lashed out at me. Lashed out like I was the damn bull, myself. It just escalated from there, really. It got to a point where he started drinkin’ the minute after he took his mornin’ piss, and when I came home from work he’d already be so far gone it’d take the whole coast guard to find him in that sea he was drownin’ in…” she paused then, mostly to gauge the reactions of all the men around her again. They were each paying her the utmost attention, taking in every word that left her plush lips. So, she continued.

“I blamed it on the alcohol for a long time when he started having his… episodes. I did everything I could to hide the bruises and cuts, but after a couple months my coworker noticed one. She woulda called the boys in blue if I hadn’t of stopped her… One night, he was actually sober when I came home. I was excited and got dressed in a real nice dress, did my hair the way he liked… everythin'. I thought we was gonna maybe get to go on a date, but instead... well, instead of goin’ to a nice dinner, I ended up here—if that tells you anything about how that night went down. I haven’t talked to ‘em in a couple days. He doesn’t know where I am, neither. I’m tryin’ to get a divorce, but with me bein’ up here, things are takin' extra long.”

There was a long span of silence, and she let each of them fully digest the information she just laid out before them. Roxie didn’t dare look at any of them, though.

“Wait—so, you’re telling us… your husband, also known as the person whose supposed to take care of you, abused you?” asked Bryan Bickell, speaking slowly and enunciating each word perfectly. His eyes were narrowed, and his head was tilted to the side slightly as if he was hoping to hear her better with one ear turned entirely to her. Like he was hoping he heard her wrong.

“Reckon’ so, darlin’,” sighed Roxie, and Kane pushed out a breath of air. He raked his hand through his short curls, looking over Roxie to meet Jonathan's eyes.

“It’s alright, Roxie,” Jonathan said softly, speaking up for the first time that evening. Everyone turned to him in shock, but he took no notice. He only had eyes for her, he was speaking only to her- though loud enough for everyone to hear. She looked up at him, dark hair falling across her shoulder with the small movement it took to meet Jonathans gaze. He offered her a reassuring smile, and let the arm resting against the back of the booth slip to wrap around her small shoulders. “We’ve got you. He won't hurt you ever again; I can promise you that.”

The majority of the group uttered their support of his statement, reaffirming and stabilizing the promise. But Roxie couldn’t look away from Jonathan, not yet. She couldn’t understand him, she couldn’t decipher him. She was positive any guesses she dared to make would be derailed before they really even formed, and that intrigued her.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” he murmured, dropping his voice so it was clear she was the only one who needed to hear. She blushed ever so slightly and nodded her head; she believed him, as strange as it felt too her, but she did. Maybe it was the intensity of his eyes, or the determination set in his jaw, or maybe she simply could find no reason to not believe him. He squeezed her shoulders gently, wishing he could pull her into his chest and simply protect her from all the evils that plagued her.

Jonathan made a decision then. He promised himself he would be there for her from that point on. He would be whatever she needed him to be—a brother, a confident, a best friend, a protector, a distraction, an escape, a lover. Anything.

---

Their trek back across town to Roxies apartment was the most she’d ever heard Jonathan speak at one time. She asked him questions, and he answered them all. Never once did she ask his job, nor the Blackhawks. It was the first conversation held in years that he could recall was entirely void of any hockey.

To say it was a breath of fresh air would have been the ultimate understatement of the year.

Jonathan typically didn’t like opening up about his private life, but with Roxie he did it without even realizing it. Talking with her was as easy as breathing, and he had all the confidence in the world that she wouldn’t go running to any kind of media to tell them anything he said. In fact, he was almost positive she hadn’t the slightest clue who he truly was or that ‘the guys’ were really ‘the team’.

He knew he would have to come clean soon and tell her, before the media found them and blew everything out of proportion. That would be the absolute best way for him to ruin any chance he had at protecting her, at befriending her, at becoming someone she goes to for help.

If Jonathan was going to tell her any time tonight, it would have to be soon. But he just couldn’t stomach the thought of stopping her mid-drabble about a horse back in Texas that her father gave her for her 15th birthday—Hunter was his name. Roxie wore a smile as she talked about Texas and her family, a smile that reached every aspect of her face and made her eyes even more captivating than usual. He could listen to her talk in that cute little southern twang for hours.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts and her voice that he didn’t realize they had come to a stop outside a building until she fell silent.

“Well, uh, thanks for walkin' me home, Jonathan,” she said softly, biting the corner of her lip in a way that made his insides flutter about. “Sorry ya had to listen to my ramblin’.”

He flashed her a small smile, shaking his head. “No, it was nothing, really. I actually rather enjoyed your rambling. I’ve never been very far south so it was kinda neat to hear about how different your life was than mine.”

She smiled a little, producing a ring of keys from the depths of her purse almost reluctantly. “I’ll tell ya anythin’ ya wanna know ‘bout the country, sweet pea. Maybe one of these days I can take y’all muddin or ridin’.”

Jonathans heart swelled a little in his chest at what seemed to be a promise of a lasting friendship. “Yeah, I’d love that… whatever muddin’ is.”

Roxie giggled a little, looking up at him through her long lashes. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was shy. “We’ll figure somethin’ out, then. I reckon I should let you get goin’, it’s gettin’ a lil late.”

“I suppose,” he mused, holding her gaze. Neither of them wanted to part, and neither were entirely sure how to separate. Surely a kiss was out of the question, but should they hug? Maybe a high five or fist bump would be more suitable—or a handshake.

Before Jonathan could decide, he found the younger woman’s arms around his middle. He was so shocked that he was frozen, like he didn’t know how to properly return a hug.

Roxie flushed a dark scarlet, and began to withdraw from him—wanting to hide inside her tiny apartment, avoid the embarrassment. He wasn’t overly talkative, and he really hadn’t show any kind of affection to anyone that she had been aware of—so why, she questioned, did she think he would react well to her hugging him? After all, she’d given him her number a week prior and hadn’t heard a peep from him.

Just as she began to detach herself, his thickly muscled arms came to rest around her. One around her lower back, and the other clasped around her shoulders.

Roxie sighed in relief, resting her head against his hard chest. They both melted into the embrace, holding tightly to the other without a supplementary thought.

His body was so warm, literally radiating heat in the cool Chicago night, and kept her comfortably warm. Roxie had known he was fit – all the guys were, that was blatantly obvious – but she had no idea the actual extent until she felt his muscles ripple and constrict with each breath he took, or so it seemed. Maybe she was just hyper-sensitive for the time, unaccustomed to being held so carefully. To being held so protectively. It was something she hadn’t experienced outside of family in at least two years, but this was different still.

Jonathan was holding her tightly against him—not crushing her, but if he squeezed her any more he just might be teetering closer to that end of the spectrum. His thumb was soothingly rubbing along her shoulder, as if the action had been done a thousand times before. He couldn’t believe how perfectly Roxie fit in his arms or how easily they each got lost in the other. Jon’s chin rested on the crown of her head, and he fought the urge to press a soft kiss into her hair, or her temple, or maybe even the tip of her bunny-like nose.

After what seemed like ages, but entirely too soon, she gingerly pulled away from him with a sigh. His hands trailed from her shoulders and waist down each of her arms until he held each of her hands within his own. They both stared for a moment at their hands, before meeting the others gaze. By all rationalities, it should have been awkward. But it wasn’t, and there was a certain beauty in not finding a tangible explanation for why it was so comfortable and felt entirely right—though neither would admit that to themselves.

“I should go inside,” she mumbled, daring to break the silence. Jonathan nodded slightly, dropping her hands as he took a step back.

“And I should go home,” he replied, his voice only as loud as hers had been. “Goodnight, Roxie. I’ll uh—I’ll text you in the morning?”

Roxie nodded eagerly, biting down on her lip to contain the smile. “Yeah, I’d like that… g'night, Jonathan.”

---

Just as Roxie slid on her pajamas after the shower, she heard her phone vibrate against the hard wood of the bedside table.

From: Unknown Number
Goodnight, beautiful.

To: Jonathan
Aw, goodnight handsome.

Jonathan stared at the illuminated screen of his black iPhone with a smile before locking the phone and setting it beside his alarm. He would sleep well tonight.