Page 98 of Yours on the Canvas

My eyes drift shut again, hot tears slipping quietly into my matted hair as I whisper the only name that has ever mattered into the dark.

Sol…

A few moments later, a sound shatters the quiet above.

A gunshot. Footsteps. Heavy, fast, purposeful footsteps pounding down the concrete stairs. The footsteps rush across the room, and a brilliant, blinding beam of light cuts through the gloom.

These aren’t the heavy, sluggish boots of my father or Ray coming down to deliver another meal or another beating.

These are urgent. Frantic.

A beam of white light casts across the room. Funny, the light is so cold, I thought it would be warmer.

But then, cutting straight through the ringing in my ears, I hear a voice pull me back. A voice that I haven’t heard in three agonising months. A voice that lives in my bones, in my blood, in every piece of my soul.

“Jack!”

Sol. I want to move. I want to turn to him. I want to see him.

But I can’t. My body sits in a heavy fog now, and it hurts too much to drag myself out of it. I hear the clink of keys and I think I hear CJ and Deck.

The cage door creaks open.

A shadow falls over the cot, and strong, shaking hands gently, desperately touch my face, my body. I squint through the glaring light, my brain refusing to process what my eyes are seeing.

It has to be another cruel hallucination, a fevered dream of a dying boy slipping away in the dark.

“Dove…”

The voice breaks, thick with jagged tears, and the face hovering over me comes into sharp focus. The slope of his nose, the familiar dark eyes wide with a devastating, raw terror and overwhelming relief.

Silas.

I stare up at him, my chest heaving, tears spilling hot and fast over my lashes. I am so convinced this is just another phantom of my own broken mind playing tricks on me before I finally let go.

I slowly raise a trembling, bruised hand, my fingers brushing tentatively against his cheek to see if he dissolves into mist.

His skin is warm. Real. Rough with stubble and wet with his own tears. He leans desperately into my palm, pressing a fierce kiss against my knuckles.

“Sol,” I whisper, the words barely escaping my cracked lips as the darkness finally lets go, pulling me safely into his arms.

27

Silas

The air in the basement tastes like old blood, damp stone, and the metallic tang of discharged gunpowder, but I can’t bring myself to care. My hands are still shaking as I kneel beside the narrow cot. The feel of Jack’s skin against my palm was the only anchor keeping me from completely unraveling. Every shallow, rattling breath he draws feels like a physical blow to my own chest.

Before we even start to attempt to move him out of the cellar, I hear heavy footsteps and someone hurrying down the stairs. Looking over, I see Reid hauling a heavy trauma kit, and behind him a young man follows looking like he’s just been ripped out of bed. Reid drops the bag next to me and motions to the young man while looking at me.

“This is Luca. Luca Hayes. He’s an ER doc and a friend.”

I look past Reid, taking the young man in as he hurries into the cage. His eyes fall to Jack, taking him in, in an instant, and he runs over and drops to his knees beside me.

“Move,” he says quietly. His voice is soft and gentle, a complete dichotomy to the situation.

I move back slightly, but keep my hold on Jack, as I cannot bear to release what I have just found again. I watch him touch Jack, and I see him flinch when Luca prods gently on area near his chest.

“Careful,” I growl, my hand gripping Jack’s tighter.