Page 18 of Yours on the Canvas

“Wake up, dove,” I whisper. “Please wake up.” My chest aches as I look at him, and I squeeze his hand gently, careful not to disturb the IV. “I’m not letting you go, dove.”

As I sit there, I form a plan. First, I’m getting Jack home, and I’m going to make him tell me who did this to him.

And then?

I’ll make sure the fucker screams for mercy before I slit their throat.

5

Jack

The blinding pain ripping through my skull is excruciating.

The pressure behind my eyes hasn’t dulled; not even with the medication they’re pumping into me, and all I can see is a thin sliver of light that forces its way through my swollen eyelids.

I lie there, trying to piece together everything that happened. I remember the fight, Julian, and the heavy, brutal fists and knees he drove into my body. I can even remember the exact second I knew I was screwed, the precise moment it went lights out when he caught me in a chokehold and wrapped his legs tight around me.

What I don’t remember is after that.

There are so many questions, and I know no one will line up to give me answers. How I ended up on the road, who dumped me there, who found me… all of it is blank.

I vaguely remember a woman’s voice and a man telling me to hold on, but beyond that, everything is a blank fog.

When I woke up in the ER, the nurse told me I was brought in a few hours before with a concussion, fractured and bruised ribs, and that the beating I had taken was severe, though I should be grateful it wasn’t life-threatening. She said I was lucky.

I don’t feel lucky. I feel sore, bruised.

And guilty.

I close my eyes, letting my head sink further into the pillow, and I sleep.

I have to be dreaming. The warmth of the hand wrapping around mine shouldn’t be there. But then I feel lips pressed gently against my knuckles, and a voice speaks—one I would know anywhere.

“Wake up, dove. Please wake up.”

Silas? I try to move my head toward him, moving before my brain can catch up and stop the movement.

“Jack?” he says quietly, and I feel his hand shift to my forehead. “Jack. Can you hear me?”

“Sol,” my raw, bruised throat causes his name to come out in a rough croak. I force my eyelids open as far as they will allow, and I see him. His tall frame stands over me, his face near mine, and I watch as he places a tender, lingering kiss on my forehead.

“Baby? I’m here. I’ve got you, I’m right here with you,” he says, his words carrying an underlying current of pure panic.

I nod, but don’t have the energy to speak.

“Is he awake?” a woman’s voice asks, as I hear her move around the bed to check my vitals.

“Well, hello. I’m just going to check your vitals again, Jack,” she says, taking my temperature. I watch as she frowns. “Needs to come up more,” she murmurs to herself.

She’s not wrong.

The warm fluids they’re pumping into me to try and warm my body clearly aren’t working quick enough, because I’m fucking freezing and I can’t stop my body from shivering.

“He’s going to be okay, though, right?” Silas asks her quietly, the tension in his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“We’re trying to bring his temp back up, but it isn’t coming up as quick as we would like. Outside of that, he’ll be fine,” she says, walking out the door.

His hand brushes against my forehead, and I lean into it without thinking. The comfort in that touch is the only thing my body can handle right now.