I let out a frustrated huff. “Can you stand?”
“Yeah.” Jared braces his hand on the building and attempts to pull himself upright. His legs buckle, sending him back toward the ground.
Without thinking, I slide an arm around his waist, careful to avoid the spot he’s been protecting. His body tenses at the contact, muscles rigid beneath my palm.
“Easy,” I murmur, steadying him as he finds his balance.
His weight settles against me, heavy and solid. He stands several inches taller, forcing me to adjust my stance to support him. Heat radiates from his body despite the cold rain, his breath coming in shallow bursts that tickle my temple.
“The car’s right there,” I tell him, gesturing with my free hand. “Just a few steps.”
We move together in an awkward shuffle, Jared leaning on me more than I suspect he wants to. Each step draws a groan, his teeth clenched with what must be considerable pain.
At the passenger door, I help him inside, careful of his head as he folds his large frame into the seat. The interior light illuminates his injuries with brutal clarity, the bruise on his cheekbone already deepening to purple. His rain-soaked clothes stick to his body, revealing ridges of muscle beneath the fabric.
“Seat belt,” I remind him, earning a grimace as he reaches across his body to comply.
I jog to the driver’s side, sliding in behind the wheel. The key turns in the ignition with a reassuring purr, and warm air blasts from the vents.
“Did you know them?” I ask, adjusting the heater to its highest setting.
Jared stares out the windshield, raindrops casting shadows across his damaged face. “No. They were just drunks who watched the video and decided to get justice.”
The video. I stiffen as I remember I had been one of those believers when I first watched it.
“They recorded it,” he adds, the words coming out flat. “Said this one would go viral, too.”
Anger surges through me, hot and unexpected. “We should report this.”
“To who?” Jared turns toward me, his good eye reflecting the dashboard lights. “The same cops who took one look at the first video and treated me like a criminal? The internet jury that decided I was guilty without a trial?”
The bitterness of pheromones cuts through the warm air filling the car. His hand rises to his split lip, touching it gingerly, and comes away with fresh blood on his fingertips.
“Emily will be worried,” I say, putting the car in drive.
At the mention of her name, Jared tries to straighten, wincing at the movement. “She’s busy with Auren.”
The statement hangs in the air between us, laden with implications.
Not sure how to respond, I say, “You’ll need to give me directions.”
“Take a left at the docks and head into town,” Jared’s words come thick through his swollen lip, his head staying upright with visible effort.
I navigate the car through the empty streets, wipers swishing back and forth, tires hissing on the wet pavement.
“What are you doing out at this time of night, anyway?” Jared asks after a while.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Not a lie, just not the whole truth. “Driving calms me.”
“Sounds like we both had a shitty night,” he murmurs, his head falling back on the headrest, eyes closing briefly.
Worry shoots through me that he might have a concussion. “Don’t fall asleep. You need to stay awake and give me directions.”
Jared groans, but lifts his head, staring out the windshield to reorient himself. “Take a right at the next light.”
On Maple Ridge Road, I turn onto a quiet residential lane. Cottage lights glow through the trees, warm squares of yellow cutting through the rain-soaked darkness.
“It’s on the right side of the road.” He gives me the house number.
