“Look,” I say, crouching. “This is going to work. You’re going to recover. You’re going to dance. You’re going to do whatever the hell you want. Soon.”
She stares at me. “You got twenty-nine days to convince me of that,” she says flatly.
I slide an arm under her knees, the other around her back, and lift her. Her arm loops around my neck, her fingers brushing the skin there, and my whole body fucking betrays me. Instantly, I’m hard as a rock. Just from that simple touch.
This is the one person in the world I’m supposed to be protecting, the one I swore I’d never hurt again, and my own dick is acting like a fucking animal. I grit my teeth, a silent, furious promise to myself: never again. I will never lose controlnear her again; I will never risk her safety, even if it means never touching her body again, never fucking her again, never letting myself feel that goddamn peace that comes when she’s under me.
“Shit,” I curse halfway up the stairs.
She grips my shoulder. “You can put me down.”
I look at the steps—cracked, damp, stained with things I don’t want her touching barefoot.
“Fuck it.”
The keys slide from my pocket and snap into the lock like they know perfectly what to do. The door clicks open and I kick it the rest of the way.
She freezes in my arms. “I thought?—”
“I don’t use it,” I say quickly.
“You just?—”
“Can we not talk about it?”
“Jax—”
I carry her straight to the bedroom and lower her onto the bed. Scotch launches himself like a missile, licking her face with zero restraint.
“Scotch, down!” I bark.
She laughs—real, startled—and scratches behind his ears. He thumps his tail and curls up beside her like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.
“Well,” she says, looking around slowly, taking it all in. “I can see why you never let me come upstairs. What happened here?”
I drop the bag by the door and toe off my boots. “I happened.”
She gestures weakly at the clutter—clothes half-folded, empty bottles, a stack of notebooks threatening collapse. “Jax… I know you don’t like using the magic, but cleaning up would take, like, two seconds.”
“No fucking way.” I turn sharply. “It doesn’t work like that. I’ve told you a hundred times. It controls me, not the other way around.”
She rolls her eyes, slow and unconvinced.
I grab an armful of clothes and shove them into an already overstuffed hamper.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t mean to… I can’t sit here and—what am I supposed to do?”
“Rest. Recover. Physical therapy starts in a week, I think. Depends how you’re doing.”
“In a week?” Her brows knit. “That’s too fast. Nobody heals that fast.”
“You will.”
“I appreciate the confidence.” She looks around. “I need?—”
“I’ll get it. Do not move. You need to stay in bed.”
“I’m gonna need crutches.”
