And it scares the shit out of me because I don’t know exactly what I’m walking into.
Chapter 14
Jackson
The incessant beeping of the heart monitor drags me from the depths of unconsciousness, each high-pitched tone sending a spike of pain through my skull. I try to lift my arm to grab the damn thing and rip it from the wall. But my limbs may as well be made of lead, heavy and uncooperative. The antiseptic smell of the hospital room invades my nostrils, making my stomach churn and my head spin even more.
I crack my eyes open, just a sliver, and the fluorescent lights above stab into my retinas like knives, forcing me to slam them shut again with a groan. I take a few deep breaths, trying to will away the throbbing in my temples before slowly blinking and letting my vision adjust to the harsh brightness.
The ceiling tiles swim into focus above me, their ugly ass generic white pattern blurring and shifting.
Seriously, I need to get out of this depressing room with its stark white walls and beeping machines. It's like being trapped in a fucking sci-fi movie.
Someone's holding my hand tightly, their warmth seeping into my skin. I assume it's my mother until I turn my head toward the figure slumping in the uncomfortable-looking chair beside my bed.
Killian.
His golden blonde hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his clothes are rumpled and creased. His jaw is covered in stubble, and his eyes are underlined with dark circles.
He looks wrecked, exhausted, but still so fucking beautiful it makes my heart ache.
“Hey, you,” I rasp, my voice sounding like I've been gargling glass. My throat is raw and scratchy, each word sending a fresh wave of pain through my esophagus.
Killian's eyes flutter open, and he sits up straighter, his grip on my hand tightening until it’s almost painful. “You're up.”
“No, this is all a dream, or a dream within a dream.” I start to laugh, but the movement sends shockwaves of agony through my battered body, and I end up groaning instead.
“Always gotta be an asshole, huh?” Killian's lips twitch into a small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes as he leans closer, his thumb stroking over the back of my hand.
“But you love me anyway.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I freeze, my heart monitor picking up speed as I wait for his response.
Killian just smiles, soft and tender, then brings my hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “Yeah, I do. God help me, but I really fucking do.”
The moment is broken by the slight scrape of a chair against the linoleum floor, and I tear my gaze away from Killian to my dad, who rises from his seat in the corner of the room. A tired smile creases his face, and his normally impeccable suit is wrinkled.
My mother dozes, curled on a small couch near the window.
Yesterday was long, a blur of pain and confusion. I barely remember it, but at some point, detectives came to my room to ask questions. Before they entered, Mom gave me the subtle warning to watch what I say.
In other words, my father was taking care of shit. She also mentioned the Titans were helping him.
No surprise there. My friends always have my back.
Luckily, the detectives didn’t stay long. It helped that between the concussion and all the pain, it was hard for me to recall details.
Dad stands on the other side of my bed, offering me a weak smile and looking ten years older than his actual age. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like shit.” I close my eyes for a second, taking a few shallow breaths. Every inch of my body hurts, from my toes to the roots of my hair. “When can I get the hell out of here?”
“Not for another day or two.” Dad's voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. “And don't even ask me to pull strings. Your mother put her foot down about it.”
In other words, Mom will kick his ass if he defies her. Neither of my parents is truly the head of the household. They share the responsibility unless it's a topic super important to one of them.
Then all bets are off.
“Son, I’m so sorry for getting the bastard the job. I should’ve been more thorough looking into him.” My dad shakes his head, pain erupting in his exhausted features. “This is my fault. I let my guilt overrun common sense.”
“There’s no need to apologize. It’s not your fault.”
