I carry Mum to her room and place her on the bed far more carefully than I’d like to. After I’m sure she’s settled and not about to fall off, possibly just to spite me, I retreat, taking a few large steps away.
“You going to be alright?” I ask her. “Do you want some water or something?”
Mum ignores me, shuffling under the covers and turning her back on me very pointedly.
“Right, got it.” I sigh, knowing better than to argue with her when she gets into one of these moods. “I’ll come check on you later, okay?”
Not expecting an answer, I leave my mum’s room and go back downstairs.
I find Jack sitting on the larger, crème-coloured sofa with King laid out in his lap, having the time of his life getting petted by his new favourite assassin. I stop at the doorway, watching Jack gently smooth his hand down King’s back and scritch at his big Dumbo ears. Jack looks oddly relaxed, possibly more so than I’ve seen him since we met.
There’s an openness to him, his well-protected vulnerability rising to the surface. He must feel somewhat safe here, in this house with me and my dog. I’m not sure what I’ve really done to earn his trust, but I’m glad he can feel comfortable somewhere.
Jack glances up at me, those pale-green eyes so unique, reminding me of that white tiger again, when it was laid down, playing in the grass, rolling around like a proper house cat. His mouth twitches up on the left side, offering me a lopsided smile, his smattering of freckles seeming to spread across his face. He looks almost boyish, not in terms of actual age, but in spirit, innocent and carefree.
An unwarranted amount of fondness blooms inside my chest, taking up space and digging in roots.
It doesn’t help that he’s ridiculously attractive. Beautiful, but in an overtly masculine way, like a rare and dangerous animal, or a statue hewn from rough stone.
“Hey.” I lean against the doorframe and loosely cross my arms, trying to hide what I’m feeling from showing on my face. I don’t want to take that comfort away from Jack by making things weird between us.
It would be awful if Jack thought I was developing feelings for him, feelings he couldn’t or wouldn’t reciprocate. People have demanded too much from him in his life. I really hate the idea of him feeling some obligation towards me just because I’ve been kind to him. He doesn’t owe me shit for anything I’ve said or done since we met.
If anything, I owe him for coming with me today and helping with my mum. It was still horrible, like it always is, but having Jack there made it less so. If only because I knew he’d have my back and maybe punch Teddy for me if I asked. Not that I would ask, because Teddy is the very definition of Not Worth It, but still. It’s kind of fucked up of me, but I like that Jack would take my side without even having to know what it is he’s signing up to defend.
“Hey,” Jack replies quietly, still petting King like it’s his new career choice.
“You want something to eat?” I ask, mostly for a coherent thing to say. “I know what your lot are like with food.”
Liquid Onyx survivors burn calories like professional athletes; they need to consume plenty of food on a regular basis to stay functioning at full speed.
“Nah.” Jack gives his head a little shake, gaze skittering away and down to focus on King instead. “You’re alright.”
“Seriously,” I push, desperate for a course of action I can easily predict the outcome of. I need him to work with me here. “I was going to make something for myself anyway.”
Framing it like that seems to be the right choice because Jack looks back up at me again, his face pulled into a thoughtful frown.
“If you’re sure?”
I bop my head in a nod, which I know comes across too enthusiastic given the topic of our conversation.
“Yeah, ’course. Stop spoiling my dog and come into the kitchen with me. I think I have some steaks in the fridge. We can grill ’em real quick.”
I shove off the doorway and go into the kitchen, stripping off my jacket on the way and throwing it over the banister. Jack follows after me, King trotting dutifully at his side, having finally been relegated to the floor again. He stays close to Jack, brushing up against his leg, ever hopeful for any additional love to be thrown his way.
Jack stops at the kitchen island and leans his forearms on it, bending over it slightly, watching me as I open the over-sized fridge and take out the pack of steaks I bought recently.
I studiously ignore how Jack’s large biceps strain the short sleeves of his black FISA T-shirt. The T-shirt is too small for him, and I’m suspicious about the fact that whoever gave it to him would have known that. We really shouldn’t be objectifying the ex-OI assassin. Even if he is ridiculously ripped and gorgeous. There have to be lines, people.
“You want help?” Jack asks. The question sounds genuine.
Putting the pack of steaks on the kitchen counter next to the fridge, I go back inside to grab a few other things to make a salad and a bag of new potatoes.
I nudge the fridge door closed and turn around to face Jack, putting the salad stuff and potatoes down on the kitchen island.
“Yeah, thanks. Divide and conquer.” I throw him an exaggerated grin, and Jack flips me off in return. That only makes me grin harder.
We both take turns washing our hands in the kitchen sink. I let Jack make the salad and chuck some new potatoes into a pan as I prepare the steaks with a meat hammer and some spices.
