“Is healright—?” Jack cuts himself off, forcing himself to calm down before starting over. “Yeah, he’s fine. FISA’s got him ‘in custody.’”
“Have you spoken to him?” I prod earnestly.
Jack’s answer is a cold and flat, “No.” His eyes skitter away from me, like he doesn’t want me to see how much that fact affects him.
“Why?” I ask, indignant on his behalf. “Is Anabelle not letting you—”
“He’s refusing to speak to me,” Jack interrupts, his voice holding a brittle edge, like the rusted blade of a knife. “To anyone, actually.” His jaw clenches into a hard line.
Some might read his response as hostile, but I can see the hurt in the crumpled screw of his mouth, in how his hands tighten on my chest and arm, searching for security and purchase. It’s just like when we first found out that Dan was alive, and Jack was the one led in medical after being beaten half to death by his brother. He needs a tether to keep him steady, something solid to hold onto, which means he’s feeling scared and unbalanced.
“Oh,” I murmur because what else is there to say? No platitude could make this any less difficult for Jack to deal with. Instead of offering empty words, I move my hand to the back of his neck and give it a reassuring squeeze, just letting him know I’m here, that he’s not on his own in all this.
“Yeah.” Jack hangs his head, eyes closing briefly before he blows out a harsh breath and looks back up at me again. “He says he’ll only talk to you.”
I blink at him, confused. “Tome? What the hell?”
“Fuck knows.” Jack laughs bitterly. “After he said that, he shut down and refused to speak again.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing the word out slowly, giving myself a second to wrap my head around the idea before pushing on. “Well, how long have I been out? When will they let me go see him?”
Jack stares at me, like he thinks I might have genuine brain damage. “Leo, you nightmare, they’re not going to let you within twenty feet of him.”
“What, why not?” I push myself up onto my elbows and almost immediately regret all my life choices. Pain radiates through my body in a wash of maniacal fury.
“Why?” Jack’s scowl digs harshly into his face. “Heshot you—"
“I mean, technically, you’re the one who shot me,” I point out, much to the chagrin of my partner, who sends me a venomous look of censure.
“He shot youupwith Liquid Onyx—”
“Arguably,” I interrupt again, sensing a rant coming on, “he’s the one who saved my life after you shot me. That’s why I’m here, right? Because he injected me with LO.”
Jack doesn’t respond at first, his expression closing off, like it does when he’s feeling too many emotions at once and doesn’t want anyone to know how conflicted he is. I let him sort through them without comment, waiting patiently for his next targeted attack.
Jack must come to some kind of decision because he stares at me hard, expression impenetrable, his mouth bullied into an obstinate line. “You can’t seriously want to be alone with him after what he did.”
“Why not?” I push back, equally unwilling to relent. “We know he was never going to shoot me dead, and he stopped me from bleeding out. Those are two big pluses.”
Jack’s responding huff of air is very nearly a laugh. “You’re actually insane, you know that?”
I shrug, ignoring the wince at how the muscles in my back protest the rough movement. “Hey, I told you I wanted to help him. Did you think I only meant if it would be easy?”
There was never a moment when I thought helping Dan Roth would be anything other than painfully difficult, when I thought it wouldn’t be a long and rigorous battle to save him. I understand why Jack is upset, but there’s not a chance in hell I’d give up on anyone, let alone Dan, after one bad day.
Jack takes his hand off my chest and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively as he struggles to absorb what I’m saying. “How can you be like this? He fucking ruined you, just like OI did to us when we were kids.”
It’s a testament to just how fucked up Jack must be feeling that he would let something that honest and heart-wrenching fall out of his mouth without any barbed commentary to bracket it.
I push myself up into a seated position, gritting my teeth through the discomfort it causes, and settle back against the bed frame to give my partner a mildly chastening look. “He didn’t ruin me. None of us are ruined. Don’t get me wrong, he and I will be having a very serious discussion about consent at some point; I mean, it’s like I told you when we met, you can’t just go aroundstabbing peoplewith things, but—”
“Leo, please.” Jack sighs tiredly, running a hand over his face, rubbing at his sleep-deprived eyes. “Please don’t pretend this is okay. You’re not okay.”
“No, I’m not,” I allow. “But neither is your brother. He needs people to be on his side right now. No one else is going to fight for him except us.”
Anabelle might try to use him, just like she did Jack, but I won’t let that happen again. Jack shouldn’t have been put in a position where his only options were to serve a country that did him no favours or spend the rest of his life locked up in a cage.
Jack snorts, giving me a dubious look. “Don’t go thinking you’re some gritty action hero now just because of that squid ink slugging around your system.”
