“A girlfriend, a friend with benefits, a Netflix and chill, a situationship, a Tuesday no-strings attached fling?”
“Nope.” He sat up to face her. “I’m your man. Always and forever. That’s what we promised, and that’s what I meant. There’s been no one since you, because there’s been no over you or after you.” He reached out with his good arm, and finger hooked under her jaw, he gently closed her gaping mouth. “There’s only ever been you.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he repeated as his seven-thirty alarm went off on his phone.
“Jay.” She reached over and stabbed her finger against the stop button. “You did not wait seven years just for me.”
“You’re right,” he said, leaning into her space until their lips were inches apart. “You want the truth?”
She executed a rapid nod, her head bobbing up and down multiple times in quick succession.
“Think you can handle it?”
The nodding continued.
“All right, then. Here’s the truth.” He took her hands and pulled them into his lap. “I didn’t wait seven years just for you. I waited for me too. And if I have to wait another seven for you to come to terms with that, I’ll do it gladly.”
Her breath hitched, and he smoothed his thumbs over her knuckles to offer some comfort, but he had to finish. “You need professional help dealing with the past, and I’m here to tell you, there’s no shame in that. No one here will judge you, especially me. We’re family, Bec. And we stick together. No matter what. But sometimes an outsider’s perspective is exactly what we need. So I’d like you to meet with the JTT’s psychologist. Her name’s Nalini Christina. She’s practical, and kind, and down to earth. She’s helped me a lot, and I think you’ll like her.”
“I can’t…I don’t…I mean, it’s too much. We have to stop Dominion and the Imperium Council. I can’t take on more. I’m not ready for more. I…”
Jay could see the panic rising through her, and the wall she slammed into place to keep it at bay. “You don’t have to make any decisions today. Just promise me you’ll consider asking for help when you’re ready, okay?”
She nodded, and pulling her hands free, she swiped her fingers under her eyes, brushing away the last of her tears. She looked so damn frightened, so broken and beautiful, he wanted to fix her, kiss her, love her hard enough and long enough to chase the demons from her past.
He couldn’t. He’d had enough therapy to know she needed to do the work on her own.
“So what now?” she asked, looking around the room like she expected to find the answer to her question hidden in a corner.
“Now we go kick some Imperium ass. You in?”
“Yep. But I’m gonna need a bowl of cereal first.” She scooted off the bed, grabbed the discarded sweatshirt, and threw it on over her head. “Any chance there’s some Captain Crunch in that big kitchen of yours?”
“Always,” he said, standing beside her. “But you know, you’ll break Adam’s heart if you don’t eat his breakfast quiche, right?”
“Quiche smiche,” she replied, handing him his sling. “He’ll live. Now go get dressed. We’ve got work to do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Both eyes open, Grant felt around his cuts and scrapes, fingers probing the swelling. Good news. He could see out of both peepers. Bad news. One was giving him twenty-twenty. The other—blurrier than a shot glass covered in last night’s sins.
Eve had mentioned something about broken orbital bones and a head scan.
Honestly, he hadn’t really been paying attention. His headache raged on, and he hadn’t much cared.
“That’s gross,” Madelyn wheezed. “Stop picking at your face.”
“I’m not picking. I’m poking,” he grumbled, dropping his arm anyway.
“Well, stop,” she ordered, her eyes already closed. “Last thing you need is an infection on top of everything else.”
He snorted. “You’re one to talk.” About as thrilled to be incapacitated by her injury as he was by his, she’d immediately ordered Jamie to remove her chest tube upon waking. He’d refused for what sounded to Grant like valid reasons. Less than twenty-four hours since her surgery, her chest continued to leak air, and her pleural fluid output overnight had been too high.
