She lifts our interconnected hands close to her face — hers, so small and fine-boned, mine a mess of scars. She examines the damage through a haze of gathering tears.
“The truck flipped three times. When it finally stopped, I was hanging upside down by my seatbelt. Shattered glass everywhere. Metal frame crushed like a soda can. I’ve never been in so much pain. Thankfully, I wasn’t conscious for long. The blood loss…” I shrug as lightly as I can manage. “I passed out. When I woke up, I was in an ICU bed.”
In handcuffs.
Charged with my brother’s crimes.
At your parent’s absolute mercy.
I omit those details, for the moment. Jo looks like she’s struggling to process everything I’ve just told her; I hesitate to pile on too much at once.
“God, Archer.” Her voice is shaking. “I can’t even imagine… That must’ve been terrifying. Your parents. The accident. All of it.”
I give a shallow nod. I can barely breathe, let alone speak with her so close to me. Touching me. Her hand in mine. The scent of her hair stirring in the breeze around us. The press of her bare thigh against my damp jeans.
Need surges through me, a molten tidal wave. Need to hold her tight in my arms. To press her back against the wood dock, claim her mouth with mine, and watch her come apart beneath my fingers. To bring us back together — not with words, but with our bodies.
I want to make love to her until I’ve undone all the damage.
Until we both forget the past.
I don’t care how long it takes.
Carefully, like it’s made of glass, she sets my hand down on the dock. Looking up into my face with brimming eyes, her lashes fan across her cheeks as she blinks back tears. “I had no idea any of this happened to you.”
“I know.”
“I wish you’d told me. I wish...” Her head shakes. “A lot of things.”
“Me too, Jo.” I swallow hard. “A lot of things.”
“But what about your parents—”
“They’re okay,” I assure her, hearing the worry in her voice. “The police stormed the place they were being held and arrested the men responsible. Flora and Miguel are just fine, trust me. They’re probably tanning on a beach in Puerto Rico as we speak.”
“And Jaxon?”
“Still on the run. Still with the gang. Wanted for parole violations and a slew of new charges.” I swallow roughly. “If he’s caught… he’s probably going away for life, this time.”
“And… you?”
“I woke up in the hospital with a broken wrist. Three cracked ribs. Some pretty bad bruising. Bit of internal bleeding. Oh, and this souvenir.” I push back the long hair that flops over my forehead to expose the scar that stretches across my temple. I try to smile, but I can tell it’s less than convincing when Jo’s sadness spills over, streaming down her cheeks in a torrent.
“Don’t cry,” I plead, horrified. “Please, Jo, don’t…”
My words evaporate as she leans in to me. I watch tears drip down her face, plummeting from her chin like rainfall. Her face is so close to mine, I can count her freckles, one by one. Her hand shakes as she reaches up to trace the jagged line that extends across my hairline. The scar tissue is extra sensitive, every nerve ending heightened. I hiss out an involuntary breath when her fingers make contact.
Fuck.
In my jeans, my cock is beginning to become a problem — pressing against the zipper with increasing insistence every time she touches me. I shift, trying to lessen the throbbing ache, but it does no good.
“Jo…”
“I can’t believe you almost died!” She snaps furiously, through the flood of tears. “I can’t believe you almost died and I wasn’t there! I don’t care how bad things were between us — you should’ve called me! You should’ve let me be there for you! Why wouldn’t you let me be there for you, you idiot?”
And this is where our story takes a turn.
Where the telling gets tough.