“And I should have trusted that you’d come back,” he acknowledges.
I smile. “We’re not very good at this, are we?”
“No.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, pulling at his split lip. “But we’re trying.”
Mixie returns, tail high as she surveys us before leaping back onto the couch and settling beside Jared’s hip.
The anger drains from my body, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. Jared studies me with patient eyes that see too much, his bruises a stark reminder of everything that I could have lost tonight.
Without speaking, I slip from the coffee table to kneel beside the couch, the area rug rough beneath my knees. “Let me check your ribs.”
I click open the plastic medical kit I left on the side table, revealing gauze, more antiseptic wipes, and tape organized in neat compartments.
Jared studies me for a moment, considering. The silence between us shifts, charged with a mix of caution and unspoken want far more complicated than the earlier tension.
He nods, the small movement causing him towince. His hands move to the blanket, pushing it down to expose the white bandages wrapped around his torso.
The intimacy of this moment strikes me, and I draw a steadying breath and lean forward, my fingers trembling as I find the edge of the tape holding the bandage in place. This isn’t the heated rush we shared in the workshop, but a quieter moment built on trust and vulnerability.
“This might hurt,” I warn, peeling back the first strip of tape.
Jared sucks in a sharp breath but remains still as I work.
The bruising beneath the bandage has darkened since I first wrapped his ribs, spreading like watercolors across his skin. Purple bleeds into blue into green at the edges.
“No new swelling.” My fingers ghost over the discoloration, heat pulsing up from the damaged tissue. “That’s good.”
I work to re-wrap his ribs with clean bandages, my hands moving with practiced efficiency, as my mind wanders through the wreckage of the day. My heart had almost stopped when I spotted Jared injured in Leif’s car through the rain.
I never want to feel like that again.
“I’m sorry,” I say, smoothing the last piece oftape into place. “I keep trying to fix things before they break, and I end up breaking them instead.”
My hands continue their nervous motion, gathering wrappers and arranging supplies back into the kit. The plastic containers click together in the quiet room.
Jared catches my wrist, stilling my fidgeting, and his fingers circle the bone in a calming motion. “Then stop fixing. Just stay.”
The words sink into me, past the defenses I’ve built, past the walls that kept Auren out when I finally realized what he was doing to me. Jared’s touch doesn’t diminish me, it offers support. He never demands, only invites.
I press my forehead against his arm, the skin warm beneath my brow. The smell of rain clings to him, mixed with the antiseptic I used to clean his wounds, and beneath that lingers the pheromone signature I’ve grown used to these past weeks. Salt air and driftwood, steady as the tide.
His free hand comes up to rest on the back of my head, fingers threading through my short hair. We stay like that, breathing together in the quiet.
“I almost lost you tonight,” I whisper.
His chest rises with a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I lift my head. “You should try to sleep. The painkillers will wear off soon.”
“Okay.” Jared shifts to find a more comfortable position on the couch.
I finish packing away the first aid supplies, snapping the lid closed on the medical kit.
When I start to rise, his hand catches mine. “Stay?”
I hesitate, looking toward my bedroom. The distance feels vast, measured not in steps but in choices.
“Please,” he adds, his fingers warm around mine.