Page 23 of Ours to Keep

“Shouldn't we all stick together?”

Jackson looks down at me. “Together?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, I know it might sound strange. I've not known you for that long, and yet, in some way, I feel like I've always known you,” I reply, my face heating under his stare.

His lips lift into a smile, it's not something he does often. He's usually more stoic, so seeing the softer side of him melts my heart.

“The feeling is mutual, Duchess. We are all in this together, but we need to focus on fixing this and to do that, we need to know you're somewhere safe.”

He strokes my cheek softly with the back of his knuckle. His touch sends a shiver down my spine. “Believe me when I say the last thing I want is to be away from you.”

I want to look away from his piercing gaze, but there's something too hypnotic about the way he's so openly appraising me, revealing the truth in his words.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against my lips. “Duchess,” he murmurs, his tone deep, filled with emotion, “You are everything. Every. Fucking. Thing.”

The words hang in the air, his expression holding a tenderness I'd never have expected from Jackson. He closes the gap between us, his lips a gentle caress against mine.

I'm equally grateful and disappointed he keeps the kiss short. As much as I could quite happily get lost in his embrace, there's so much I'm still trying to process in my mind.

“Knock, knock,” a soft voice says as a nurse, Ida, who I saw earlier this morning, enters the room. “Hi Lily, I'm here to help you bathe and check over your dressings.”

A sigh leaves my lips. Yes, the thought of washing away the grime I feel just being here has me wanting to run straight to the bathroom.

Jackson nods, his mask firmly back in place as he eases me off his lap and moves to the chair, giving me and the nurse some room.

“Are you happy for him to stay, sweetheart?” she asks quietly.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Yeah, it's fine.”

My skin breaks out in goosebumps as my bare feet lower to the cold floor.

I can't say I won't be grateful to Avery for bringing me some more stuff. The guys brought me some basic toiletries and a nightshirt, but that was the extent of it. Not that I can blame them, their priority was getting me here and making sure I was being taken care of.

Once she's confident I'm okay to use the shower seat, Ida leaves me alone to wash. Unfortunately, I will need to wait until I'm out of here to wash my hair. Being careful not to get the stitches on my temple wet, I do my best to make the most of the shower. The smell of my once favourite shower gel fills the air, surrounding me with a mix of nostalgia and melancholy. I could smell it in my bathroom when Richard had me cornered, and that alone was enough to make me want to vomit. But I push it down and focus on soaping up and rinsing off. I don't think showering has ever felt so much like a chore before.

It was not as hot as I would’ve liked, and I wasn’t in there for nearly as long as I would’ve preferred, but when I'm done wrapping myself in a towel, I feel somewhat human… or as human as can be.

But any comfort I take from that slight reprieve is quickly stolen as I glance up at my reflection and finally bring myself to look—really look. My eyes are lacklustre, a dull grey void, and the skin below hangs heavy with dark shadows and light bruising. But the woman staring back at me is one I don't recognise. I lower my focus and open my towel to take in the bruising and lacerations marring my skin. The worst of which is still covered in gauze, something I'll have the pleasure of seeing beneath shortly, and I wonder if any will leave scars, adding to the burn scars on my lower back.

Will there be a permanent reminder of the man who put them there, too?

It was weird when I was in the confines of Jackson's arms. I felt something, but standing here now, I feel alone, cold—almost numb.

A tap at the door has me covering myself with the towel as Ida slips inside.

“Thought you might need a hand. I also brought you a clean shirt and underwear.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, but it's not enough to hide the crack in my voice.

“Everything will be all right, you'll see,” she says reassuringly, trying to keep her tone bright, but I don't miss the look of pity that crosses her face.

Once back in my room, she gets to work changing the gauze, and I do all I can to not look until she gets to the one on my arm.

A defensive wound, I vaguely recall the nurse from yesterday saying when going over my notes.

“Will it scar?” I ask.

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