Page 69 of Yours on the Canvas

“I won’t. I promise.” I move to sit beside him and pull him into my lap, holding him against my chest.

He rests his hand over my heart, and I keep my arms around him, letting him feel the weight of me.

After a long moment, he whispers my name. “Sol.”

“Yeah, dove.”

His voice trembles, and the words tear straight through me. “I don’t want to be a stray dog.”

The agony of his words slices through my ribs like a hot knife. I close my eyes and stare at the ceiling, tears hot in my eyes, and I swallow deep around the urge to hunt Ray and his father down and rip out their throats out.

The tears fall the, and I don’t try to stop them. “Oh, Jack.” The words choke out of me. “You never were their dog. You know why? Because you’re mine, Jack. Mine.” I cup his face again, my thumbs pressing gently into his skin, anchoring him to the present.

“Do you hear me, Jack? Let them try to break you. Let the whole world burn to ash. I will tear the world down brick by brick before I let anyone treat you as anything less than a King. You’re my dove. Always.”

I hear the second Jack’s breath catches, a fragile, desperate sound. His fingers twist into my shirt until his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t speak, but the way he collapses against me, pressing his forehead to my chest like I am the last solid thing left in his world, says everything.

I hold him until his body softens and the tension drains from his shoulders. His breathing settles into something close to sleep.

When he finally drifts off, I lower my mouth to his hair and whisper,

“No one is ever taking you from me. Ever. Sleep my little dove.”

* * *

Jack’s been asleep for a couple of hours, curled against me like he is trying to hide inside my chest. I don’t dare move. Every time he shifts, a soft sound left his throat, something fragile and exhausted.

The house is quiet when I hear the front door open.

Hale’s footsteps are slow. Heavy. Nothing like his usual bounding energy. I hear the backpack drop to the floor, then a sharp inhale like he was bracing himself.

I ease Jack off my chest and lay him gently on the bed. He doesn’t stir, and I step out into the hallway, my feet coming to an abrupt stop at what I see in front of me.

Hale stands there, shoulders hunched, eyes down. His cheek is swollen, a bruise already blooming a bright purple. Another sits on his jaw, and I can see his knuckles are scraped raw.

My stomach tightens at the sight.

“Hale,” I said quietly. “Come here.”

He flinches but walks toward me. He won’t meet my eyes, so I tilt his chin up with two fingers.

“How did you get these?”

He shrugged. “Got into a fight at school. Nothing major.”

Nothing major. The words were too casual, too rehearsed, and Hale doesn’t do casual. And he doesn’t do fights.

Before I could push further, Jack appears in the doorway behind me, hair messy from sleep, eyes still swollen from crying. He freezes when he sees Hale’s face.

“Who hit you?” Jack asked, voice low and sharp.

Hale looks away. “It’s fine.”

Jack steps closer, his gaze locked in on the bruises. I see the moment recognition hits him, hear the moment his breath catches, and his shoulders stiffen.

“Silas,” Jack whispered. “Those are from fists.”

I nodded. “I know.”