Beneath the table sits a small trash can, lined with a fresh bag. On the table’s surface, a small brass bell catches the light. I placed it there for another purpose long ago, when I thought Auren might need to call for me in the night. Now it will serve a new, temporary purpose.
“Ring if you need anything.” I tap the bell once, its clear ring filling the room. “I’m a light sleeper.”
“Okay,” Jared says, his attention still caught by the blanket, stroking it with obvious pleasure. “Everything in your house is soft and cozy.” He grins at his own observation. “Sorry, the pills make me silly.”
I pull back the quilt further, exposing the cool sheets beneath. “Time for bed.”
He fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, going cross-eyed as he tries to see them past the bandage on his nose. “Should shower first. Don’t want to dirty your bed.”
His fingers struggle with the second button, clumsy with exhaustion and medication. I leave the room without comment, returning with a pair of pajamas I keep folded in the linen closet. Simple gray cotton, washed to softness.
“Shush,” I say without heat, placing the shirt on the bed. “Arms up.”
Jared blinks at me before he complies with the docility of the heavily medicated. I help him remove his shirt with clinical efficiency, careful not to jar his face or touch anywhere unnecessary. The bruising extends down his neck to his collarbone, following the path of impact from Derek’s fist.Yellow-green at the edges, purple-black at the center.
I help him into the T-shirt and kneel to remove his socks. Necessity filters out the intimacy of the action, putting it at a distance. This isn’t tenderness, it’s practicality. He needs help, and I’m here to provide it.
“I can get my pants,” he mumbles, hands already moving to his belt.
I stand and turn away, giving him privacy to change into the sweatpants laid out on the bed. Fabric rustles behind me, followed by a soft groan of pain.
“Done,” he says after a moment.
When I turn back, he sits on the edge of the bed, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and dried blood still clings to the corners of his nostrils.
I retrieve a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water. His lashes flutter as I wipe his face and neck with careful strokes, removing the day’s grime without disturbing the tape across his nose.
“You can shower tomorrow, if you feel up for it.” I toss the cloth into the hamper by the door. “Sleep is more important now.”
He allows me to guide him onto the pillows. I arrange them to elevate his head, sliding a foldedblanket under his shoulders for support. The quilt comes up to his chest, tucked in at his sides to prevent him from turning in his sleep and crushing his injured nose.
I place a glass of water within reach on the bedside table. “I’ll wake you in six hours with crackers so you can take another round of medicine.”
“I don’t want to be trouble,” he whispers, eyelids drooping.
“Shush.”
“I bet you smell like safety,” he slurs.
My hand freezes on the lamp switch. Jared blinks up at me, his sea-glass eyes shiny with the pain meds. He blinks at me, a goofy smile on his lips.
I clear my throat and switch off the light. “Good night, Jared.”
“Night, Em,” he mumbles, already fading as sleep pulls him under.
I leave the door ajar, a thin strip of light spilling into the guest room from the hallway light. The house settles around us, creaking with familiar night sounds and the unfamiliar pattern of someone else in my home.
Legs trembling, I slide down the wall, sitting with my back against it, listening to Jared’sbreathing. His rhythm changes as he slips deeper into sleep, occasional hitches and murmurs breaking the pattern.
When his breathing stutters, I rise and enter the room without turning on the light. His forehead creases with whatever dream has found him, fingers twitching on the quilt.
I take his hand, and his breathing steadies, the tension in his face easing away.
I tell myself I’ll move when his sleep deepens, but his fingers curl tighter around mine, seeking connection even in sleep, and I don’t have the heart to break it.
So I stay, sitting on the edge of the bed, wondering what morning will bring and how I’ll rebuild the walls he’s begun to breach.
Chapter Ten