Page 125 of The Ashes of Summer

I move closer. "Jacob⁠—"

"No." His eyes lock onto mine. "I'm ending this tonight."

And I stop arguing, because I've heard that voice before and I know exactly what's behind it. Not after his men died. Not after what Jackson did to me.

There's no version of tonight where he stays in this bed.

He manages to stand and drags the rags of his shirt back on with a hiss, then turns toward the door.

"Nurse!"

A second later she reappears cautiously alongside Tamara. Jacob gestures at his shoulder impatiently. "Bandage it tighter."

The nurse crosses to him while Tamara silently pulls on fresh gloves.

No lingering now. No touching that isn't work.

The nurse begins wrapping thick bandages around his shoulder and chest. The second she lifts his arm slightly, a broken sound tears out of his throat.

"Fuck—"

His whole body tenses violently. I grab his hand tighter.

"Sorry," she mutters.

He shakes his head once, breathing hard through his nose. "Just finish it."

She secures the bandages tight around his chest and shoulder, and every pull clearly costs him. His breathing gets heavier with each one—not dramatic, controlled, like he's physically forcing himself not to react worse.

But I can see it. The sweat along his neck. The tremor in his hand. The pain burning behind his eyes.

And still.

Still.

All he wants is to get back to Jackson.

Chapter 39

The Man in The Mountain

Jacob

The nurse looks about two seconds away from restraining me herself.

"You cannot leave."

I stare at her while shrugging my jacket carefully over the uninjured shoulder. "Watch me."

"Sheriff—"

"You were shot less than two hours ago." Tamara cuts across her from the doorway. "You've lost a dangerous amount of blood, your shoulder needs monitoring, and your blood pressure is still unstable."

I don’t give a fuck, because all I can think about is Jackson Moore chained to a fucking chair, waiting for me.

That image alone is enough to hold me upright. The bandages strapped around my chest pull with every movement, my arm's bound against my body to stop me tearing the stitches open, and none of it does a thing for the throbbing underneath. Every heartbeat pushes another pulse of fire through my shoulder and down my ribs.

Still not enough to keep me here.