I follow her without question as she leads me through a staff corridor and into the locker room. It’s empty at this hour, fluorescent lights humming overhead. She crosses to one of the shower stalls and turns the water on full-blast; steam immediately begins to curl into the air.
I strip off my blood-stained shirt, tossing it toward a garbage can nearby. After removing my boots and pants, I step under the spray. The water sluices over me, swirling redthen pink as it swirls down the drain, while Blake stands at the opening of the partially drawn curtain. She looks absolutely wrecked, like she’s holding it together by a thread.
“You’re a good doctor.” I speak over the heavy splashing of the water. “You did everything you could. She’s going to be okay.”
The sound she makes in response isn’t words. It’s a broken and violent sob that rips through the room, tearing straight through my heart. I yank the curtain aside and wrap my arms around her, catching her before she falls. She folds into me immediately, her body collapsing like she’s been waiting for permission to give up. I pull her into the shower with me, clothes and all. Water pours over us, soaking her scrubs and plastering the fabric to her skin. She sobs into my chest, her fists balled against me.
I lift her without thinking. Her legs wrap around my waist as her arms lock around my neck, clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing left in the world.In her world.I hold her, chest to chest, letting her fall apart against me. “You’re okay,” I murmur over and over. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Daddy’s got you.”
She cries hard, the sound muffled against the crook of my neck, where she has buried her face. It’s the kind of crying that empties you out, dragging emotions with it you didn’t even know you were holding on to. The kind that leaves nothing untouched. I don’t shush her. With one hand firm on her back and the other cradling her head, I just hold her.
All the anger I’ve been harboring coils tighter in my chest. Not at her, but at the men who thought they could breakher. The monsters who thought hurting someone she loves would make her fold.
They don’t know her.They don’t know the fucking tenacity she’s made of.
“Let me help you,” I whisper quietly into her wet hair. “Please. Let me help you.”
The water is a warm, relentless cascade against my back, but all I can feel is the solid wall of Jagger’s chest and the strength in his arms holding me to him. My soaked scrubs stick to me like a cold second skin. A stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. The fabric is heavy, saturated, and weighing me down, just like the memory of the operating room. The sterile smell of antiseptic still clings to me, mixing with the steam and the clean scent of Jagger’s skin.
My face is buried in the crook of his neck, and my tears fall hot and endless against his skin. They’re not quiet tears anymore. They are ragged, tearing sobs that rip from my chest with a violence that scares me. Each cry is a replay of the moment the monitors faltered, the moment my hands—steady for a decade—trembled inside my friend’s abdomen. I saved Zahra. I know I did. I brought her back. But the cost… the guilt of seeing the light go out of her eyes because of a decision I made… feeling that stillness beneath my fingers… It has left me feeling so empty it hurts.
He just holds me tight, one hand a firm anchor on the small of my back and the other stroking my wet hair, his fingers tenderly tracing the shape of my skull. The water cascades over us as my limbs tremble with an uncontrollable shivering that has nothing to do with being cold. It’s a shock reaction. My body is trying to process what my mind refuses to accept. I close my eyes, but all I see is the gleam of steel under the surgical lights, the crimson stark against white drapes, the faces of the nurses, masked and impassive, as I scream internally.
“Please. Let me help you.” His voice is a low rumble, vibrating through his chest and into mine. It’s not a demand, but an offering. I want to take it, desperately, but I can’t form the words. Instead, I sob harder, a fresh wave of agony breaking over me. I let it all go, the fear, the anger at myself, the bone-deep exhaustion of keeping this secret. I sob until my lungs burn, my throat is raw, and my heaving shudders subside into small shrugs. There’s nothing left. I’m completely spent, a rag doll in Jagger’s arms, limp and broken.
Rogue tears track paths down my cheeks, mixing with the shower spray. I’m so tired of this feeling. This hollow, aching void where my heart used to be. I’m tired of the pain.I need…I don’t know what I need. Something else.Anything else.
Slowly, I raise my head. The movement feels immense, as if I’m lifting a lead weight. My face is inches from his. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, are fixed on mine and full of a concern so deep it’s almost painful to witness. He sees everything. He always does. He sees the broken pieces ofme, scattered on the tiled floor of this shower. Without thinking, I lean in and press my lips to his.
It’s not a kiss of passion or desire. It’s a kiss of desperation. My lips are soft, trembling, and salty with my tears. He’s still, his mouth hesitant against mine before he pulls back just enough to break the connection. He cups the back of my head a little more firmly to keep us apart.
“Blake, no.” His voice is rough and strained. Jagger thinks he’s protecting me. He thinks I’m not in my right mind, and that I’m acting out of grief. He’s right. But he’s also wrong.
“Please…” I whisper the broken plea. I hold his stare, letting him see the raw need in my eyes. “I need to feel something else. Not this. I can’t feel this anymore. This hurts too much.” The words are a confession. I can’t bear the weight of my own sorrow for another second. I need him to replace it. I need him to make meforget.
His expression softens, the concern melting into a profound, aching tenderness. His thumb brushes a stray tear from my cheekbone. “Oh, Doc…”
“Please,Daddy…” That lone word changes everything. I see it in his eyes, the shift from concerned lover to something more. A deep, primal need to take care of me.
He searches my face, looking for any hesitation or flicker of uncertainty. “Are you sure?”
I don’t have the words. I can only manage a nod. A single, sharp dip of my chin.
Carefully, he lowers my feet to the floor. My legs are shaky, and I lean against him for support. His hands moveto the hem of my scrub top, the fabric heavily clinging to me. He peels it over my head in one slow, deliberate motion. After dropping the soaked top into a wet heap in the corner of the shower, kneels before me, a powerful man made subservient in his need to care for me. He unties the drawstring of my pants and slides them, along with my underwear, down my legs. When they reach my ankles, he removes my sodden sneakers and socks. Every piece of my uniform—a physical reminder of Zahra’s surgery—is stripped away and discarded in that wet pile.
When he stands, he lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing. My bare skin presses against his, slick and warm. He holds me tightly, one arm around my waist and the other cupping the back of my head to guide my lips to his. This time, when our lips touch, I’m not met with rejection. It’s acceptance. It’s a slow, silent promise that he’s going to take care of me.
As he kisses me, he aligns the thick head of his cock against my entrance. He eases himself inside, filling the emptiness I’ve been drowning in. The stretch is overwhelming, crowding out every other thought. “I’d do anything for you, Doc.” He kisses the words against my lips in a low, possessive growl.
He kisses me thoroughly as he lowers me over his length, letting my body adjust, burying himself until I’m completely impaled.Completely his.I can feel every inch of him, a hot, hard presence anchoring me to him and keeping me safe from the horrors of the past couple of hours.
When he begins to move, his thrusts are tender and deliberate, a gentle rocking that is more about connection than climax. His lips trail from my mouth and over myjawline, leaving a path of fire in their wake. He presses them to my ear, his warm breath sending a shiver through me when he whispers, “Anything… and everything for you.”
He pulls back slightly, then pushes in again. It’s a slow, deep glide that causes my breath to catch and my toes to curl. “I’d walk through fire for you. I’d take on a dozen men to protect you. I’ll burn this whole fucking city to the ground if I have to.” His promises come with tender thrusts, each building the pleasure deep in my stomach. Jagger isn’t fucking me. He’s rewriting me. Erasing my pain with his touch, his voice, and his unwavering devotion.
“No one will ever hurt you like this again,” he continues, his rhythm never faltering. “No one. I won’t let them. I’ll be your shield. I’ll be your safe place.” His hand moves from the back of my head, sliding around to cup my breast. His thumb circles my nipple, sending sparks of pleasure straight to my core. “You’re too precious. Too good. This world doesn’t deserve you, Doc, but you have me. You’ll always have me.”
The pressure inside me builds, a tight coil of heat and emotion winding tighter with every gentle thrust and whispered promise. It’s not just physical pleasure. It’s emotional catharsis. His words are a balm, soothing the raw, gaping wound of my soul. He’s not just filling my body. He’s filling the hollow spaces, driving out the ghosts with his sheer, overwhelming presence. The water beats down on us, a warm, cleansing rain, and I can finally feel it: The heat of his possessive love all around me.I don’t have to be empty.
