Jet’s arm is a solid line of heat around my back as he pulls me through the cold living room. I need to feel him closer, skin to skin, feel he’s real.
Never thought I’d question my sanity like this.
I don’t realize I’m laughing until Jet grunts. “What are you snickering at?” he mutters. Then his eyes narrow. “Oh fuck, did that motherfucker give you a concussion? Are you dizzy? Are you—?”
“Jet, shut up.” I draw in a long breath. “Please, get me to bed and drag Candy up there, too. I fucking need you both.”
He nods after a moment. “You got us,” he says quietly.
Chapter Eighteen
Jethro
Believe, Mom used to say. Her face is growing fuzzy in my memory, and I can’t remember what she was talking about, but I remember that clear as day.
Believe.
Then she died and I lost my faith. How could I believe after seeing her die?
But I’m learning to believe again. Believe in people. Believe in love.
It’s not easy. But Mom was right.
It’s the only way.
Joel is in a strange mood. Not bad, exactly. He’s not angry, or doesn’t seem to be. Not sad, although he has tear tracks on his cheeks, and that’s fucking with my peace of mind. Can’t remember ever seeing him cry. Maybe he never had many reasons to. Who knows?
Still. He’s sort of… blank. And I don’t fucking like it. Not one bit. Plus, my head hurts from the tension, a hammer beating the back of my eyes.
He’s passive as I seat him down on the edge of the mattress and tug off his shoes and socks, letting me do as I please with him. Yet his eyes are hot on me as I straighten and sit down beside him. There’s something there—a question? an answer?—that I can’t figure out, except I think it looks like a plea for help.
Then again, with his jaw and one eye bruised and swollen, I might be way off.
And it doesn’t help with my own fears. Because sure, he didn’t run off after the confrontation with his parents, which from the looks of it was epically bad, but it’s not as if we gave him a chance. We were right there, outside the door, as soon as he stepped out.
He could still run. Tonight. Tomorrow. Next week.
Dammit. I wish I could shut off my mind.
Then Joel reaches for me and my thoughts stutter to a total halt. His hands frame my face and he looks at me from under wet lashes. “I’m here.”
As if he can see right through my head, read my mind.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “You’re here.”
“Make me feel it.” His hands tighten on my jaw. “Feel you.”
I swallow hard. “What are you asking, J?”
“I need your brand on me, man. In me. I’m fucking serious. I feel like… Like I’m sinking into a black hole, and… it’s cold.”
Shock, I think faintly. He’s in shock. But he’s asking for my help and the fierce protectiveness blasting through me like a hot wind takes me by surprise.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him. “Just breathe. I’ll take care of you.”
He shivers when I slip my arms around him, hauling him against me. Then shivers again. “Damn.”
“Candy!” Where is she? She always manages to calm him down. “Come here, sugar.”