The door down the hall bursts open, and I hear footsteps darting towards me. “Oh shit,” JJ curses as I tremble. “Ivy.”
He drops to his knees beside me, and I make the mistake of turning to look at him because, for whatever reason, he’s shirtless. I squeeze my eyes shut and take in a large gulp of air, giving myself a second to recover.
“Are you okay?”
“No,” I murmur.
I might as well have fallen fifty feet from the roof; this feels no different.
JJ places a hand on my shoulder. “Here. Sit up.”
I attempt to nod as he slides his hand under my back and pushes me into a sitting position. My head spins aggressively, and a wave of nausea hits me. He positions his knee behind me so I can rest my shattered back against it. His other hand is now gently rubbing my shoulders.
Am I dreaming? This must be a dream of torment.
“What were you doing?”
I huff out a breath. “I have a memory box somewhere,” I grunt. “I think my dad put it in the loft. I underestimated the reach for the light switch. Socks were a stupid idea.”
JJ sighs harshly. “Maybe write a note to yourself that you shouldn’t go up there alone. Someone is meant to hold the ladder.”
My eyes snap open to meet his dark blues. “Right,” I croak.
He drops his gaze and looks down at my bloody arm, and when he winces at the sight, I know it isn’t good. “We need to clean this up,” he says, inspecting the wound. “You’ve cut yourself open, Ivy.”
“I don’t know if I can stand,” I admit. “Not right now.”
“It’s okay.” JJ shuffles impossibly closer to me. This time, I rest all of my weight on his knee. “Give yourself a minute.”
I inhale deeply and close my eyes, trying my hardest not to throw up everywhere. Holy hell, I am so stupid. Why did I think I could do it by myself?
A few minutes tick by, enough to get my thoughts in gear and to stabilise my mind. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Alright,” he says and helps me up off the floor. I stumble into the side of his body, my head hitting his hard shoulder. “Don’t fall on me again, otherwise you’re really making a habit of it.”
I whimper at his words. “Please, no jokes. It’s the last thing I need.”
JJ stifles a soft laugh. “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“We have a first aid kit downstairs,” I say as he wraps an arm around my lower waist.
He practically carries me downstairs with one arm as I almost fall limp in his grip.
When we make it to the kitchen, JJ takes my waist in his hands and hoists me up onto the counter with ease.Far too much ease.I don’t miss the way his fingers linger for a few more seconds than necessary. But his warmth gives me an unexpected comfort.
“Where is it?”
“Cupboard.” I attempt to point with my good arm.
He’s gone in a flash and comes back with the kit. I look down for a brief second and study the dried blood that has clung to my thigh and the droplets that rest on the white counter. I suck in a breath and squeeze my eyes shut.
“JJ—” I moan as he rummages through the kit.
My stomach acid crashes into my sternum, making the nausea rise in my throat.
Oh god. Blood. Blood. Even more blood. The coppery smell. It’s invading my nose.
“JJ,” I whimper again.
