Page 28 of Yours on the Canvas

“Baby,” I whisper, the name meant for him alone, Deck and Finn instantly forgotten in the quiet. Jacks breath catches, his armour slowly cracking.

“Look at me, Jack.”

Jack finally obeys, his chin lifts and his eyes meet mine.

“Good boy.” My voice soft, but the command is unmistakable. His gaze flicks to Finn, but I snap it back to me.

“Eyes on me, dove.”

His arms drop, and his chest brushes mine in a slow, steady rhythm. I hold his stare, letting him settle under the weight of me.

“You’re safe,” I say quietly.

And Jack breaks, submitting to my voice, to my presence and to the one person that he trusts to hold him together when he’s falling apart.

I lift a hand, placing it gently against his cheek.

“You’re worthy, dove.”

Jacks’ sobs tear out of him, raw and broken. I wrap my hand gently around his throat, holding him there, and I tilt his chin up, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

“You matter. And this fighting…” I shake my head. “Jack, it ends today. I will not have you putting yourself in harm’s way anymore. Do I make myself clear?”

His Adams’ apple bobs beneath my palm, and I rub his neck with my thumb.

“Jack?” I say, my voice dropping into something entirely final.

Jack whispers, “Yes, Sir.”

No. That isn’t enough.

“I didn’t hear you, Jack,.”

His eyes snap open, tears dripping from them, his lashes cling together, and his next words make my heart sing.

“Yes, Sir.” His words firm.

“Good boy,” I murmur, dropping my hand. Jack stumbles forward into my chest, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight, whispering words into his ear; words meant only for him.

“You did so good, baby. Such a good boy for me.”

He clings to me, no hesitation, flinch or panic. he just moves against me, wrapping tight around my waist, fists curling into the back of my shirt as if he’s afraid, I’ll disappear.

Finn and Deck stand quietly beside us, the chaos and anger now gone.

“I’ve got you, baby. Always.” I murmur, low enough that only he hears it.

And right now, in the middle of my living room, with Deck and Finn watching in stunned silence, Jack lets himself be held, lets himself be safe.

Let himself be mine to steady.

7

Jack

It’s been a whole month since I got back from Vancouver, and my body has taken every bit of that time to heal. My ribs still pull when I suck in a deep breath, but the bruising has finally faded to a dull yellow. The deeper ones; the ones along my ribs, are still a stubborn yellow-purple, but most of them have settled into that yellow sickly, fading colour that means they’re almost gone.

Silas has been overbearing as ever. He won’t let me lift anything heavier than a coffee mug. A fucking mug.