Page 125 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Jackson must have noticed because he crossed the room in two strides and sat beside me on the bed, pulling me carefully into his lap, blanket and all. I tucked one hand into the front of his shirt and kept the other pressed against his chest. He wrapped both arms around me and looked at the doctor over the top of my head.

“You can examine her like this.”

The doctor opened his mouth, took one look at Jackson’s expression, then sighed and closed it again. “Alright.”

I hated unfamiliar men touching me. Hated how vulnerable I felt sitting there injured and exhausted. But Jackson’s heartbeat stayed steady against my back the entire time, so I endured it.

Dr. Reynolds worked fast. He never asked what had happened, which told me Jackson had already handled that conversation at the door. He set my cracked arm in a sling, then spent a long moment studying the bite on my thigh before deciding it would need watching but not stitches. Shifter healing would close it in a few days. When he checked my pupils with a small light he told Jackson I had a concussion and that someone needed to keep eyes on me for the next twelve hours.

Jackson didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be here.”

The doctor nodded and packed his bag. At the door he paused, looking back at Jackson.

“Your mother was a good friend to me. I owe her this much.”

Jackson didn’t answer. He carefully shifted me off his lap, stood, and walked the doctor out.

A minute later he climbed back onto the bed and pulled me into his arms. My face pressed against the front of his shirt while his scent wrapped around me warm and familiar and safe. Woodsmoke. Wolf. Jackson.

For a few seconds he just held me there, one hand moving slowly through my damp hair while the other rested firm against my back, like he needed constant proof I was still solid and breathing under his hands.

Then quietly, “Harper… what the hell happened today?”

I stiffened automatically.

He felt it immediately. His arms tightened around me.

“Don’t try to deny it or lie to me,” he said softly. “I need to know what happened. I need to understand the threat.”

My throat tightened.

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready. But I couldn’t keep it buried anymore. Not after tonight. Not after he had patched me back together with blood still on his hands from helping me survive.

“Okay,” I whispered. “But first, I need your help.”

“With what?”

I stared at the dark fabric of his shirt for a second too long before answering.

“To hide a body.”

When I finally lifted my head and looked back at him, Jackson had gone utterly still.

“Whose body?” he asked at last.

I swallowed. “One bad man’s.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Harper.”

“He found me in the woods,” I said. “He attacked me and I killed him. I need you to help me deal with it before someone stumbles onto him.”

Jackson held my gaze for a long moment, trying to piece something together from the fragments I was giving him. Questions moved visibly behind his eyes. Alarm. Confusion. Anger.

But underneath all of it was something terrifyingly steady.

Decision.

Finally he exhaled slowly and dragged a hand through his hair.