“Don’t do that,” I say, quietly.
Alec looks away, his mask cracking. His lips become a thin line and he struggles to hold his resolve.
“What, Dominic?” Relief floods me when the emotion returns to his voice. It scares the hell out of me when he does that.
“I know I screwed us up,” I tell him, honestly. “But I don’t want you to hate me forever. I want us to be friends.” That word tastes like ash on my tongue. Friends is not how I would describe Alec and I.
Heartbreak fills his eyes. That damn mask slithers back into place.
“Sure, Dom,” he says finally, plastering a smile on his face. I can see he’s struggling.
So I break our eye contact to put the ice pack on my face.
Alec turns his back to me, putting things back into the first aid box.
“When you go out, send Jace in.” Alec dismisses me.
Our eyes meet in the mirror and his hands still on the sink. His face is calm and clear of emotion. I study him for a moment before turning and leaving.
Jace is sitting on the floor in the hallway to the bathroom. He hasn’t bothered to wipe the blood from his face. His eyes flick up when I stop in front of him.
“You’re next.” I jerk my head towards the bathroom where Alec is probably cursing me out.
I hold my hand out and hoist him up.
“Sorry ‘bout your ribs.” Jace gestures to them.
“Sorry about your face but I think I fixed it.” I smirk.
Jace cracks a smile but it soon fades.
“You better fix this, bro.” I warn him.
“I will,” he promises. “I love her. She loves me. We’ll sort it out,” he says, looking like his mind is starting to drift away.
With that, I walk away, not without one last look at the bathroom door.
Sometimes love isn’t enough.
I prepare to crumble to the floor the moment I’m alone in my room but the angel curled up on my bed has me resisting.
She’s wrapped herself up in a ball, hugging my pillow like it's a lifeline. I smile softly, discarding the icepack on the floor and shutting my bedroom door.
I pull my shirt off, wincing at the sharp pain of my ribs—fucker got me good. I drop my jeans, kicking them and my shirt into my corner of dirty clothes, leaving me in my boxers.
I crack open the window, just enough for the night’s cool air to enter the room.
When I turn back around, I meet Rory’s sleepy, half-lidded eyes. I must have woken her because she’s rolled to face me. She watches me as I slide under the sheets.
“Come here, Sweetheart,” I murmur. She moves closer, nestling against me. I envelope her into my arms, her face burrowing into my neck.
“What happened to your face?” She questions. Without removing her face from my neck, she lifts a hand, her fingers brushing my cheek and jaw.
“Sparing,” I tell her. She’s quiet again.
“Can I assume Jace looks worse?” She asks. Her fingers trail over the ink on my shoulder.
I don’t respond and she doesn’t ask again.
