I gritted my teeth, doing my best to sound normal. “Nothing has sounded so good.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I know it was a chore for you to spend the day with me, but thank you just the same.”
I should thank her too. I owed her huge for this—for protecting my mother with her lies. For walking me back here. For making me lunch.
But being grateful and showing it were two very different things.
I merely nodded and let my silence fill in the blanks.
With our eyes locked—mine full of threats not to tell Mom and hers full of concern for leaving me alone—she led my mother out of my house and left.
* * * * *
“What do you do when you fall?”
“You get back up.” I chuckled. “Duh.”
“And what do you do if you get hurt?”
“You ask for help and get better.”
“And what do you do if you’re in danger?”
“Be brave and face it head-on.” I grinned, feeling pretty good about myself for having such a great answer.
“Wrong, smartass.” Dad laughed, his dark eyes full of mirth. “You don’t put yourself in danger to begin with.”
“That’s no fun.” I pouted, my eight-year-old hands busy building Legos even while talking to my idol.
“You can have fun if it’s safe.”
“But what if I want to jump Binky, and Mom doesn’t want me to?”
“Then you listen to her.” Dad coughed, his hand covering his mouth, his body wracking.
My ears rang.
My eyes watered.
I couldn’t be there while he had an attack.
Bolting from my bedroom, scattering Legos in my rush, I bowled into Mom carrying freshly folded laundry down the hall. Socks and T-shirts went flying as she grabbed me, yanking me into her arms and holding me as Dad finished coughing in my room. “It’s okay. He’s okay. Everything is okay.”
Her lies were getting less and less believable.
I trembled, peeking out from her embrace as Dad came toward me and leaned down until he was eye level. “Please, Wild One. Don’t be afraid of me.” His calloused fingers tucked my blond mess behind my ear. “It’s just a cough. It can’t hurt you.”
Tears trickled down my cheeks. “But it hurts you.”
Mom flinched, her own trembles matching mine as I hugged her back, desperate for someone to convince me that we would all stick together, no matter what.
Dad ducked to his haunches, opening his arms wide. “Come here. Both of you.”
Mom fell to her knees with me in her hold, dragging me down with her. In a huddle in the hallway, Dad crushed us to him, kissing the tops of our heads, trembling with us. A trio of shaking while we were all punished by love. Dad might’ve been scolding me for back-flipping into the pond and hurting my wrist again, but really, he should scold me for loving him.
Because love…that was the most dangerous thing a person could do.
I didn’t need to be eight or eighty to understand that.
It was engrained on my psyche, forever imprinted on my soul.
“Okay, then.” Dad pulled away, his eyes strained with pain I recognised. “How about we go for a walk, huh? Get some fresh—”
I shot upright as a lacerating knife sliced into my lower back.
My dream—more like a nightmare—shattered, leaving me alone, broken-hearted, and in emotional as well as physical agony.
“Goddammit, ow.” I twisted on my bed, doing my best to seek a position that would stop the unbearable shooting pains. Sweat dampened my sheets, and my breathing sounded raspy and loud in the silence.
Unable to find a better spot, I fell still, staring through one of the four glass walls surrounding my bed. There didn’t seem to be a moon tonight, and the stars were gloomy too. Only the ghostly silhouettes of grey trees against midnight sky could be seen.
Another knife dug into my back, making me groan.
Painkillers.
I need more painkillers.
And of course, the box was on the kitchen counter.
“Ah, shit.” This was the problem of living on your own and not wanting anyone to get close. It left you terribly alone when things went wrong.
Thanks to my dream, Dad felt even closer tonight—as if he hovered around me like some fictitious angel, making sure I recovered from my accident. “You know, if you truly are watching me, make yourself useful and bring me drugs, ‘kay?”
Nothing replied. No breeze. No creak. No shiver.
“Fine.” Digging my fingers into the mattress, I inched to my feet, my back as stiff as concrete, my legs unwilling to swing smoothly to the floor. It took every effort and then some, leaving my heart thundering and sweat decorating my bare chest.
My black boxer-briefs were the only thing I wore as I hesitantly wobbled upright, lost sight for a second or so, then shuffled from my bedroom. One arm stayed outstretched, dragging my fingers along the smooth white walls for balance while the other massaged my lower back, desperate to find some relief.
My living room was the same as when Hope left. Our dishes still on the coffee table, and the TV on standby mode after being paused for so long. After she’d gone, I’d given up pretending that I wasn’t in some serious trouble, popped more drugs, then soaked in the bath hoping that would ease the tweaks before crawling into bed and passing out.
Talking of passing out, I grew tired. So, so tired as I skirted around the dining room table and into the kitchen.
My fingers shook as I grabbed the painkiller box and ripped out a strip of white tablets encased in silver foil.
Relief would be found in about twenty minutes.
All I needed to do was pop these suckers and—
The world was spinning.
The ground was rushing.
The blackness welcomed me back.
* * * * *
“Come on. This is your last chance. If you don’t open your eyes this very second, I’m calling your mother and an ambulance, Jacob Wild.”
Something prodded me.
Something soft covered me.
Something warm and gentle stroked my forehead.
“Last warning. One…two…”
I opened my eyes, squinting against the sun streaming through the skylight I’d installed over the sink.
“Oh, thank everything holy.”
I tried to speak, but my throat was dry, and my jaw bruised for some reason. Waggling my mouth left and right, I cringed against yet another ache.
“You hit your chin on the counter, I think. When you fainted.”
Fainted?
I didn’t faint. Men didn’t faint.
I looked up into eyes that were becoming far too familiar in this position. My head was once again on Hope Jacinta Murphy’s lap, only, instead of grass cushioning my body, I was on the cold tiles of my kitchen floor with the comforter from my bed thrown over me.
Her legs were my pillow, soft but unable to stop the sudden drumming in my skull. My hand came up to press against my temple, doing my best to add pressure to the pain and push it out of my mind.
“Don’t do that.” Hope’s fingers lashed around my wrist, pulling my palm away.
Swallowing against the throbbing in my jaw, I croaked, “Why exactly are you in my house?”
“I came to see how you were.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“It’s eight a.m., Jacob. See?” She nudged her chin at the pooling golden light everywhere. “Please tell me you can see that. What’s your name? Where are we? How many fingers am I holding up?” She shoved three in my face, her breath minty fresh and hair laced with coffee.
Pushing her hand away, I muttered, “Three. Now, let me up.”
She only pressed my shoulders deeper into her lap. “I’m not letting you up until you promise me something.”
My temper spiked, helping drown out my pains. “Promise me you won’t break into my house uninvited again, and you have a deal.”
“T
he door wasn’t locked, so I didn’t break in. And besides” —her eyes tightened— “if I hadn’t come to check on you, you’d be a lot worse off. Believe me.” Her hands rubbed my shoulders, tucking the comforter tighter around me. “You were unconscious. Your skin was like ice, and you’ve cut the inside of your lip. God only knows how long you’ve been lying here.”
“I could’ve managed.”
“Yeah, managed by getting hypothermia and dying.”
“It’s summer. It’s not cold enough to get hypothermia.”
“Now is not the time to argue with me. I’m mad at you.” Her eyes glittered, mouth pinched, fire crackled all around her. She was definitely mad. But she had no right to be.
Preparing myself for a bolt of agony, I jack-knifed off her lap.
“Hey!” She scrambled after me.
I groaned, regretting my decision as the room swam, and I very nearly threw up. My body tried to retch, but I flatly refused to be sick in front of Hope. I’d already embarrassed myself enough, thank you very much.
Rocking forward, I tried to clear the thick clouds in my head. The painkillers I’d attempted to take last night lay like little enemies in their packet within grabbing distance.
Snatching them, I managed to pop two before Hope stole the foil, almost slicing my thumb as she yanked it from my hand. “You get two. And only because you can barely move, and you need to move. Right now.”
“I do?” I tossed the pills back, lodging them low in my belly to work their magic. I wished it was instantaneous. “How come?”
Hope stood, brushing off floor crumbs and odd pieces of grass I’d trekked in and hadn’t bothered to sweep up. “Come on.” Leaning down, she opened her arms for me to…what? Hug her? Hold her as she hauled my ass up?
No way.
Waving her back, I growled. “I can get myself up.”
“How? The same way you fell?”
My eyes narrowed to slits. “Your annoyance level has just gone up a thousand percent.”
“I don’t care if I’m annoying if it gets you better.”
“How is driving me crazy going to fix me?”
“Well, for one thing. You have a choice.”
“Oh, great. Another choice. Is this like the deal you tried to offer me? The one where you want to be my friend but expect me not to care when you’re gone?”
She froze.
I froze.
I looked at the stainless steel toaster refracting sunlight around the kitchen. “Look, I—”
“Don’t. It’s fine.” She straightened, standing over me with a sad expression. She paced away for a second, thoughts racing before she selected one and strode back. “I know where I stand with you, Jacob. I know you don’t want a friend, and I know I upset you. But please…let me help you.”
I studied her, searched her face, tasted the loneliness she thought she kept hidden, and understood the drive to find answers to a world she didn’t belong.
We were more alike than I would ever admit.
The only difference being, she could tolerate being hurt by love.
And I could not.
Taking a deep breath, I reached up and clutched the cutlery drawer handle. Using it as a crutch, I slowly, very slowly, hauled myself up.
Pins and needles once again tortured my hand, but I stood without wobbling, my vision clear and full of Hope. “You can help. Today only.”
Her gaze locked on my half-naked form, skimming over my boxers. The scars I’d earned from working the land. The muscles I’d formed from hard labour. Nothing was soft or pretty about me these days, but Hope didn’t look as if my weathered, well-used body offended her.
If anything, the way she stared made my heart chug harder and not from pain.
Everywhere she looked, it felt as if she touched me. She bit her lip, her fingers coming far too close, wanting to trace a particularly nasty slash across my left peck that’d earned twenty stitches when I was eighteen.
I’d picked a fight with a piece of fencing wire. I’d been tightening the spool, cranking too tight, when the metal decided to crack into me, shredding flesh from muscle.
That injury I hadn’t been able to hide from Mom. The torrent of blood and torn T-shirt hinted I wasn’t exactly in great condition.
Hope’s attention dropped lower, lingering on the only piece of clothing I wore, drawing far too much heat and need to that area.
My vision greyed on the edges as things between my legs tightened against my will.
Rocking backward out of her reach, I cleared my throat. “Uh, Hope…”
My voice broke her trance, slamming her back into reality.
“Sorry. Um, today?” She shook her head. “No, I’ll help you for however long you’re injured.”
Her tone was papery, full of the same shivery heartbeats pounding in my chest.
I supposed I should be flattered that she found me attractive. I didn’t need to be skilled in dating and flirting to know the depth in her gaze wasn’t because she’d found me lying on my kitchen floor like an idiot. She looked at me with eyes that said she wanted more than friendship.
A hell of a lot more.
And that could never be permitted.
Turning my back on her, I hid the groan of moving too fast and placed a hand in front of my suddenly uncomfortably tight boxer-briefs.
Hope cleared her throat, sounding more like the opinionated, chatty girl I knew rather than the needy, hungry one.
“I’ll keep helping you until you’re better.”
“I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
“If that’s the case, then okay. I’ll stop bugging you tomorrow.”
I stiffened as another wash of pain rushed down my spine. Even I knew I wouldn’t get over this by tomorrow. That meant I’d have to put up with her for a lot longer than I wanted…than I could handle.
“Now, about that choice.” A rustle sounded as she placed hands on her hips like any strict nurse, eradicating the sexual tension between us. “Choice number one, and the one I want you to take—we call Della, tell her the truth, and let the adults decide how to fix you.”
I held up my hand, turning back to face her. “You already know the answer to that. It’s a hard no.”
She sighed. “In that case, where are your car keys and please tell me you drive an automatic.”
“It’s a stick, and they’re in my jeans pocket, which are on my bedroom floor.”
Hope nodded as if she’d been drafted into battle and didn’t know a damn thing about warfare. “Wait here.”
I didn’t have time to reply as she flew through my living room and disappeared into my bedroom. The sound of drawers and my wardrobe opening and closing made my possessive temper flare.
What the hell is she doing in there?
Finally, she came out with a grey T-shirt, clean pair of jeans, black socks, and my trusty steel caps. Placing everything on the countertop, she forced her eyes to stay on mine and not linger on my half-naked body. “Put those on. We’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” I fisted the T-shirt, throwing it over my head and feeling marginally more comfortable and not so exposed. “Where are we going?”
“To the hospital.”
“Whoa. Yeah, no way in hell we are.”
Hope stepped right into my personal space, popping it, infecting me, hurting me far worse than any trapped nerve in my back. “Listen here, Jacob Wild. You’re hurt. You don’t want your mother to know, and I’m not equipped to deal with this. I can’t drive, but I’m going to learn just so I can take your sorry butt to see a professional who can tell us if this is serious or something time will heal. If you don’t like that, then I can leave. But if I leave, I return with Della, and you can see if you’ll win a fight with her …which I doubt, by the way.”
I glowered.
The bruise on my jaw ached as I clenched my teeth. “You truly are the most annoying person I have ever met.”
“Bite me.”
“Oh, I’d like to do more than t
hat, believe me.”
Her eyes flared, her cheeks pinked, but then her anger was back in force.
She stomped to the door and snapped her fingers as if I was some belligerent pet. “Get in the car. Now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jacob
* * * * * *
“YOU’RE GONNA STALL again—”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just sayin’, feed the gas with your right foot. Otherwise—”
“When I want you to talk to me, you don’t. And when I want you to be quiet, you’re suddenly the most talkative person on the planet.” Hope threw me a glare as she stalled my ancient hand-me-down truck that used to be my dad’s and brushed chocolate hair away from her eyes. “Ugh, this is going to take days to get there.”
I held back my laughter.
Her pout was rather adorable—especially as she’d actually done quite well. Better than I thought she would for a total beginner. It’d helped that my house was on a hill and the roads through Cherry River were on a gentle decline right to the road. She’d struggled to get it into first gear, but after that, her coordination with changing gears and steering wasn’t too bad.
Equestrians usually had good hand-eye coordination and picked up complex tasks quickly, thanks to a hobby of riding creatures that could kill you at any moment.
But now, we were on the main road, and the small town’s only traffic light had broken her momentum and created havoc with her trying to roll forward smoothly rather than bounce in a bunny hop.
“Look, I’ll drive.” Unhooking my seatbelt, I couldn’t hide the hiss of pain as I twisted in my seat to open the door.
“You can’t drive.”
“I can drive better than you.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I can still drive.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Hope.”
She huffed impatiently. “It took you ten minutes to climb into this thing. You’re not getting out of that seat.”
“Yeah, see, this is the point where your worried routine becomes a bossy routine, and I don’t take orders from girls—”
“You don’t take orders from anyone.”
The Son & His Hope Page 19