Cracks in the armour
1841 Words
Alessia
The tension between Jay and me had become a constant undercurrent in my life, a steady hum that I couldn’t seem to shake. It annoyed me, intrigued me, and most of all, confused me. He was supposed to be my bodyguard, nothing more. Yet, over the past few weeks, I’d started to notice the cracks in his armor—the subtle shifts in his expression, the moments when his stoic façade slipped.
It started one evening after another exhausting day at school. I was in the sitting room, curled up on the plush sofa with a book I wasn’t really reading. Jay stood by the window, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. He was always there—silent, watchful, and maddeningly unapproachable.
“Do you ever relax?” I asked, breaking the heavy silence.
His eyes flicked to me, cool and detached. “I’m not paid to relax.”
I rolled my eyes, setting the book down. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
He didn’t respond, but I caught the faintest twitch of his lips. Was that a smile? No, it couldn’t be. Jay Carter didn’t smile.
“Do you at least have hobbies?” I pressed, sitting up straighter. “Or are you some kind of robot who only knows how to fight and brood?”
This time, his lips curved—barely, but it was there. A ghost of a smirk. “I don’t brood.”
“Oh, you definitely brood,” I shot back, a grin tugging at my own lips. “It’s like your default setting.”
He shook his head, but there was no denying the faint amusement in his expression. It was the first time I’d seen him look… human.
---
The next time I saw that flicker of humanity was during a late-night run to the corner store. I’d convinced Jay to let me leave the mansion—after much arguing and a near tantrum—and we ended up in a small, dimly lit convenience store.
I wandered through the aisles, relishing the small taste of freedom, while Jay stood by the door, his arms crossed. His presence was as commanding as ever, but for once, I didn’t mind it.
I grabbed a bag of gummy bears and turned to him with a mischievous smile. “Want some?”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking your bodyguard to eat candy?”
“Why not?” I challenged, tossing the bag toward him. He caught it effortlessly, his reflexes unnervingly quick.
For a moment, he just stared at the bag, like he couldn’t decide if he should humor me or stick to his stoic routine. Then, to my surprise, he opened it and popped a gummy bear into his mouth.
“Happy now?” he asked, his voice tinged with dry humor.
“Ecstatic,” I replied, grinning.
It was such a small moment, but it felt like a breakthrough. For the first time, Jay wasn’t just my bodyguard. He was… Jay.
---
The real turning point came a week later. It was late, and I couldn’t sleep. The weight of my father’s world pressed down on me, suffocating and relentless. I found myself wandering through the mansion, my bare feet padding softly against the cold marble floors.
I ended up in the library, where Jay was sitting in one of the leather armchairs, a book in his hands.
“You read?” I blurted out, startled by the sight.
He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Why is that surprising?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, stepping into the room. “You just don’t seem like the type.”
“What type is that?”
“The… bodyguard type,” I said lamely, realizing how ridiculous it sounded.
To my surprise, he chuckled—a low, quiet sound that sent a strange warmth through me. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Alessia.”
I hesitated for a moment before sitting down across from him. “Then tell me.”
He looked at me, his gaze steady and piercing. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he closed the book and set it aside.
“I grew up in a small town,” he began, his voice softer than usual. “My dad was a sharpshooter—a damn good one. He taught me everything he knew.”
I leaned forward, captivated. “Is that how you ended up in… this line of work?”
“Not exactly.” His eyes darkened, and I sensed there was more to the story than he was letting on. “But it helped.”
There was a long pause, the air between us thick with unspoken words. Finally, he looked at me, his expression serious.
“Why do you care, Alessia?”
The question caught me off guard. Why did I care? He was my bodyguard, not my friend. And yet…
“Because you’re not just some robot sent to protect me,” I said quietly. “You’re a person. And I guess I want to know who that person is.”
For the first time, Jay looked genuinely surprised. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes.
The morning after our late-night talk, I noticed Jay seemed… different. He wasn’t as cold, his usual distance replaced by something softer, almost reluctant. I wondered if I had imagined it, if I was seeing what I wanted to see instead of reality.
But no—there was something.
The shift was subtle but unmistakable. He no longer stood as far away when we walked to the car. His replies to my sarcastic remarks were edged with dry wit instead of exasperation. He wasn’t just tolerating my presence anymore; he was engaging, even if only in small doses.
It wasn’t enough to satisfy my curiosity, though.
One evening, a week after our conversation in the library, I decided to test the waters again. Jay was in the garden, his back turned to me as he scanned the perimeter. His posture was rigid, as always, but I caught a glimpse of something in his stance—a heaviness that made my chest ache.
“You look like you could use a break,” I said, stepping out into the cool night air.
He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “I don’t take breaks.”
“Maybe you should start,” I replied, crossing my arms as I leaned against the stone railing. “Even bodyguards need to breathe, you know.”
Jay sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “What do you want, Alessia?”
“To talk,” I admitted. “You’re always so serious. Don’t you ever get tired of being… on all the time?”
His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Being ‘on’ is what keeps you alive.”
“That’s not an answer,” I said, tilting my head. “Do you even remember what it’s like to be off-duty?”
He hesitated, and for a moment, I thought he might ignore the question entirely. But then he turned to face me, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it.
“Once,” he said quietly. “A long time ago.”
The vulnerability in his voice caught me off guard. It was rare to see this side of him, and it made my heart ache in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Jay looked away, his jaw tightening. “Life happened.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but the weight behind it was enough to silence me. I wanted to ask more, to dig deeper into the guarded man standing before me, but I knew better than to push too hard.
Instead, I reached out, placing a hand on his arm. The contact was brief, fleeting, but it was enough to make him look at me again.
“You don’t have to tell me everything,” I said softly. “But you don’t have to carry it alone, either.”
Jay’s eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. The tension between us crackled like a live wire, and I could feel the unspoken words hanging in the air.
“Alessia…” His voice was low, almost a warning, but there was something else in it, too. Something I couldn’t quite name.
Before I could respond, the distant sound of a phone ringing shattered the moment. Jay stepped back, the wall between us slamming back into place.
“I need to take this,” he said, his voice back to its usual clipped tone.
I watched as he walked away, my heart sinking. The distance between us felt unbearable, but I knew I couldn’t force him to let me in.
All I could do was wait—and hope that one day, he’d let his guard down completely.
---
The days that followed were filled with stolen moments and lingering glances. I caught Jay watching me when he thought I wasn’t looking, his gaze filled with something that made my chest tighten. And every time he did, I felt myself falling further into the dangerous territory I’d sworn to avoid.
It wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper, something neither of us wanted to name.
One afternoon, I found myself sitting on the floor of the library, surrounded by piles of books I had no intention of reading. Jay stood nearby, his usual watchful presence comforting in a way I didn’t want to admit.
“Do you ever read for fun?” I asked, glancing up at him.
“Not much time for that,” he replied, his gaze flicking to the books scattered around me. “But I used to.”
“Used to?” I pressed, intrigued.
He hesitated, then crouched down to pick up one of the books. “My mom loved to read,” he said quietly. “She used to take me to the library every week when I was a kid.”
The image of a young Jay, wide-eyed and curious, made my heart ache. “What happened to her?” I asked gently.
Jay’s expression darkened, and I immediately regretted the question. “She passed away when I was fourteen,” he said, his voice tight.
“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching out to touch his hand.
He didn’t pull away this time. Instead, he looked at me, his eyes searching mine as if trying to find something he couldn’t name.
“Don’t be,” he said finally. “It was a long time ago.”
But the pain in his voice told me it wasn’t. Not really.
---
That night, as I lay in bed replaying the moment in my mind, I realized something.
I wasn’t just curious about Jay anymore. I cared about him—deeply, dangerously.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
---
- Writer
