Page 62 of Surrender

In fact, I don’t remember drinking much last night at all.

Thank god for Jack having blackout curtains. At least the morning light isn’t contributing to my throbbing headache. The nausea twisting my stomach is another discomfort, along with the tightness of my cheeks and the gritty feeling in my eyes.

What the hell did I do last night?

I roll to my back, and my arm collides with something hard and warm. My head jerks to the left so quickly I almost sprain something.

I’m in bed with Jack Powell. His bed. Not the floor. Not naked—I lift the covers and check my body.

Nope, not naked.

Although I’m in the same clothes I wore to the bar last night. Gross.

He appears to be asleep. Eyes closed, and pink lips slightly parted. His chest rises and falls with his even breaths. Black sweatpants ride low on his hips, his chest covered by a light gray cotton tee, and it doesn’t escape mynoticethat he’s lying atop the covers beside me.

And like a faucet being flipped on, the night comes rushing back instartling Technicolor.

Devon is alive. And he found me.

He wants the insurance money.

Bree kept my kids overnight because I was drunk? No, distraught.

And somehow, Jack showed up at the bar. Someone called him, one of the other girls, and he came for me. I’m not sure what to make of that through my fuzzy brain, but upon initial inspection, all the feelings related to Jack Powell are good ones.

I vaguely remember asking him to stay last night as I crashed. A warmth spreads through my chest as I take in his position. He’s fully clothed and on top of the covers. He clearly didn’t want to cross any boundaries last night. Just one more thing I can appreciate about him.

I sneak from the bed to use his bathroom. I brush the stale alcohol from my mouth and pop a couple of ibuprofen for the headache. After chugging a glass of cool water, I creep carefully back into the bed.

“My turn,” he grumbles, his voice gritty with sleep. Those two words pulse straight between my legs.

“Morning, Jack,” I murmur, watching him rise from his side of the bed. His hair is a twisted mess that only makes him hotter.

His sleepy gray eyes crinkle at the corners as he gives me a soft smile. “Good morning. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Anything short of a natural disaster won’t move me from this bed until he says it’s okay for me to do so. I watch his ass as he walks out of the room, and the moment he rounds the corner, I tug at the neckline of my shirt to fan myself.

My position is the same when he returns. He walks straight up to my side of the bed to crawl in and drags me over so we face each other in the middle.

His brows dip low over his eyes as he searches my face. “How are you this morning?”

“My kids?” I swallow hard. “I know they’re safe, but have you heard anything?”

He rolls the other way and pulls his phone from the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Bree checked in early this morning. I read the messages and went back to bed.” He opens a message thread and hands me the device.

Bree

Good morning all of you who don’t have children crying at six o’clock! Don’t worry, Jack, you can tell Whitney that Charlotte’s getting this party started. Her children are little angels.

Jude

Why in the hell is this a group chat?

Bree

Because everyone was together last night, so it’s easier to pass information along in a group.

Jack

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