Page 55 of Demon

We stay at the home,spending time with Madeline for quite some time. I sit in Jett’s arms, an absolute wreck. I stop crying, then minutes later start up again. Heart-wrenching cries tear from my soul. The absolute horror of what he experienced has shaken me to my core and destroyed me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the level of violence he experienced.

When we get back to the clubhouse, I go upstairs to Jett’s bedroom and close the door. I need time to myself to calm down and try to hide that I’ve been crying because I don’t want Sammy to see me like this and think something is wrong.

I look at the delicate white origami birds on his bedside table. Little sentiments like that and his tattoo of his sister break my heart. It makes me wonder: Did he specifically design himself in such a way to protect and defend himself because of the loss he has already encountered? Is his need for weapons, especially knives, a form of needing to be in control—by hurting people using the same weapon that hurt him?

I understand his obsession with protection because he thinks he wasn’t there for his family, but my heart physically hurts from the thought of him blaming himself. I could see it in his eyes. The survivor’s guilt still haunts him.

Mental illness can be debilitating for both the patient and their family, and I hate that he had to experience the worst of it. Not enough is being done to help patients and families going through a mental health battle. Everything from the lack of doctors, trouble with insurance companies, and lack of resources available to all people within the community.

I lie down and snuggle into his pillow, smelling his cologne, and it settles me somewhat. By telling me the truth, he took his mask off and bared himself to me. Even though hearing what he has gone through has horrified me. I’m grateful, thankful even, that he shared his most intimate past with me.

I knew I was right—he needs love. His past has provided insight into his lack of empathy toward people who wronged the people he cares about and his strong need to protect and care for children. On the other side of all of this, he killed his own father. His father might have had his own demons, but killing him would be a heavy burden to carry. Underneath his gruff exterior is a tortured soul that could be loved into redemption.

Tears are falling, wetting his pillow. “God damn it.” I sit up and decide to go have a shower, to try to make myself more presentable.

Afterward, I go downstairs and search around until I find Sammy at the dining table, drawing next to Jett. The sight of the two of them makes me smile. “What are you two up to?” I ask as I walk toward them and look over Sammy’s shoulder.

“I’m writing my name,” she answers me, proud as punch.

I notice the paper is laminated. “Did you do this?” I ask Jett.

He shakes his head.

Sammy answers, “Uncle Twitch did.”

I clutch my chest.Uncle.It is going to break her heart when all this is over and we have to go back home. Heaviness engulfs me just imagining it. I don’t want to ever leave. I’d like to think Jett and I are serious, but he also likes his solitude, and maybe us being here all the time might be a bit much for him. This is his home, and I don’t intend to put pressure on him.

The rest of the day goes by quickly, and by dinner time we are all outside finishing our meal. A high-pitched cry silences the table. Most people jump to their feet. I immediately recognize the cry—it’s Sammy. My heart stops and I frantically search the backyard before I see Sammy on the ground, holding her arm. My heart pounds. I run, but Jett gets to her first.

I search her body from head to toe. “Are you okay, honey? What happened?”

“I fell.” More tears fall. “I hurt my arm.”

Jett picks her up. Her little arms wrap around his neck. There’s blood on her arm near her elbow and her hand. She’s still crying. I follow them inside, where Jett gently places her on the kitchen table. With gentle hands he feels her arm. “It’s not broken.” He goes to the cupboard by the fridge while I take a look at her bloody hand.

Red eyes and a big frown mar her innocent little face, and I wish I could take her pain from her. Her hand isn’t bad, but it hurts me to see her like this.

Jett’s back. He takes her hand and applies a bandage over her scrape and then her arm, and he hugs her until her tears dry up and she settles down. He’s so doting... so caring. I watch in awe. He got to her before I did, but then I realize most of the MC men were on their feet. Even the women, and apart from Reaper and Ava, they don’t even have children. The sound of a child crying brought out everyone’s protective instinct. My eyes get watery at the amount of love in this clubhouse.

Sammy went to sleep early. I’m lying in bed with her. I’m exhausted after today, but I can’t sleep. I keep tossing and turning, and it’s making Sammy unsettled, so I get up, not wanting to wake her. I gently close the door and consider going to sleep on the couch, but... I take the few steps to Jett’s room and peek inside.

There’s movement in his bed. “Is everything all right?” a deep husky voice asks.

“Ah... I can’t sleep. Do you mind if I stay in here for tonight?” I feel rude asking, but I’d rather stay in here and still be close to Sammy than sleep in the living room.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” He pulls back the blanket.

I hesitantly walk in and get onto the bed, shuffle over, and pull the blanket up over me. The fan above creates a fresh breeze.

Jett spoons me from behind, and his arm folds around me. My lips curve up into a smile. “Are you, Jett Miller... cuddling me?” I try to keep the amusement out of my voice but fail.

He pulls me tighter to him. “I am. You’re my medicine... my peace.”

The softness in his voice makes my heart sing. Being hugged by him, being held this close, feels surreal. “I’ve fallen in love with you.” I need to remind him every day.

“Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

I find comfort in that. His warm hand slips under my pajama top and slides across the skin on my stomach. My breathing speeds up as his hand moves farther down and over the top of my underwear. The pressure and rubbing over my clit make me gasp, then he tugs on the waistband of my pajama pants. His gentle movements are such a contrast to the last time we were intimate.

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