Page 22 of These Jagged Edges

"What the hell are you doing?" I yell at him as he rolls to the fetal position before pushing himself up on his knees.

"Making sure I don’t piss my pants."

"No, why are you sitting here in the dark like a creep!" I shriek at him.

"Well, it seems I didn't piss myself. Thank God." He takes a few deep breaths. "Can you put the claws away for a second hellcat? You just pumped me with enough electricity to run half the God damn street.” He wipes at the blood seeping from the gash and smears it across his face.

Look at this fucking mess!As he tries to wipe it again, I grab his hand and stop him.Clean this shit up, Posey!

"Come in so I can clean that." I don't offer him help up; I stand and go into my house to the bathroom in search of the first aid kit. I find it shoved under the dirty laundry hamper. I grab it and a clean bath rag and wet it.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I expect to see the pale, frightened woman I've always been, but staring back at me is a woman more pissed off than scared—a woman with more backbone. A woman ready to throttle the man in her living room for scaring her half to death. The thought resonates deep within me because if I am ready to throttle a man twice my size, then perhaps I really can keep my boys safe.

I wring the rag out and head into the living room, where I find Maddox observing pictures of the boys at various stages of life that adorn one side of the living room. The look of longing that reflects on his face as he looks at the pictures of my babies wipesall traces of anger away. Well, almost all traces of anger away. Maddox runs a finger along the sight of the boys and me asleep on Joe's couch after Christmas a few years back.

Christmas at Joe's was my favorite day of the year. Surrounded by my favorite people in pajamas, singing Bing Crosby, and eating more than we all should. I couldn't help but feel anything but love. Some of my deepest scars were soothed by their love. A love that reaches down deeper than any scars every could.

That year the boys and I wore matching pajamas with Vic, and we passed out after eating a pan of Sophie's cinnamon rolls and exchanging presents. Bash had wrapped himself around my leg, and Charlie snuggled close with a small hand tangled in my hair. We were sleeping so peacefully in our own little bubble. It was my favorite picture. I clear my throat before nodding Maddox toward the couch. "Sit."

If you look at this man's build, you might think there are temples dedicated to him. All hard lines and taut muscles, making my couch look like a futon. As I remove his glasses, I brush my hand through his thick hair to push it out of his face. His eyes widen with surprise, but he stays still. I find the rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball. "This will sting a bit."

I dab at the gash and gently blow at the sting of the alcohol. Chewing my bottom lip, I try to determine if he's going to need stitches or not.

"Evie."

"Maddox," I say in a clipped tone.

"You fucking tased me," Maddox says, half amused.

"You scared me half to death!"

"No shit! My balls are still tingling, and my teeth feel like they are doing an Irish jig in my skull."

"I'm not apologizing." I tell him defiantly.

"Didn't want one." He stares at me intently in that way of his that unnerves me. "I'm sorry I frightened you tonight," he says softly. "Damn proud of you for defending yourself though."

"Thanks?" I smear antibiotic ointment across the gash deciding he won't need stitches.

"I was an asshole the other day.”

Well, there it was. Can always count on Maddox to get right to the point. I still my hands, and he swallows nervously, leaning forward slightly. Focusing on the scar on his lips, I'm unable to meet his eye.

"Evie, look at me, please." The gentle way he whispers it sends a chill down my spine. A man has never spoken to me so tenderly. I swallow and bring my eyes to meet his. Those full lips that had me all worked up the other day are now turned down in a slightly sad smile.

"Seeing you like that the other day, begging me not to hit you with a damn belt"—he pauses, his eyes full of emotion—"Knowing I was the reason for it, makes me fucking sick." Leaning forward, he presses his forehead to mine. "I am so sorry, Pretty Girl, so fucking sorry."

Not a single person in my life has ever been so apologetic or sincere. I sit down next to him needing a second to gather myself. "Maddox, you have nothing to be sorry for. None of that was your fault."

Maddox tilts his head, looking down at me. "It wasn't yours either."

I didn't miss the weighted way he said that. I rest my head against his shoulder and decide not to argue with him and instead be present in this moment with him. I swore I’d never let myself be vulnerable with another man again, yet Maddox Wilder is revealing himself to be so much more than just a man.

We’re both comforted by the silence that settles around us. With Maddox, I never feel the need to fill the silence. He’s genuine in what he says, good or bad, and that’s what I appreciate most about him. His words always speak volumes because I know how rarely he shares them; it’s a comfort to me that I don’t need to fill the silence with idle chatter. Maybe that's why I always findmyself wanting to talk to him the more I am around him. I begin tracing the back of his strong hands, taking note of the thin white scars that cover his knuckles.

"It was the clinking," I whisper.

"Clinking?" His brows furrow in confusion.

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