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A humorless laugh escapes under his breath. “I got eyes on him.”
No.
This can’t be happening.
Tears float, threatening to fall. His grip on me tightens. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Unfortunately, he’s still breathing. Sam got eyes on him too. I’m sure Beth’s face looked worse when we picked her up.”
I press my palms to his cheek. He wraps bloodied fingers around mine, trying to ease my tremble.
He’s somewhere else entirely when he lifts his head to the photos in the hall.
“Jake,” I press.
I don’t think he’s in shock. He’s lucid. He knows what he’s doing.
But I’ve lost the man I’m used to.
I underestimated his anger. His need to protect. To avenge.
The man I see isn’t the man I’ve spent weeks with.
He blows out a tortured breath and kisses the top of my head before pulling away and holding me by my arms. I’m grateful for it because I’m afraid my legs will give out on me.
There’s a cut above his brow. He needs ice.
A single tear leaks from the corner of my eye. “You promised me,” I whisper, not trusting my voice.
He shrugs and tips his head toward the pictures. “I promised her too, and look where that got everyone. Looks like I’m breaking a lot of promises tonight, Claire.”
He offers a small smile when he looks down at me, but it doesn’t heat my skin like I’m used to. It leaves nothing but an icy shiver in its wake.
It’s that look again. The one where he’s in on a secret I’m not aware of, but it’s not mischievous or cheeky like I love. It makes my stomach knot with nerves.
“Smile for me, baby,” he breathes. I choke on a sob, but I can’t let it out. I need to bundle up these emotions and deal with them later. “You’re okay. You’re still here.” I’m not sure if he is saying it to me or reminding himself.
But I echo his words anyway because I think he needs it. “I’m okay. I’m still here.”
Careful of his cuts, I take his hand, lead him out of the office and into the kitchen.
“Sit down,” I say, nodding toward the chairs. “Let me get those cuts cleaned up.”
“I’m fine,” he tries to retort, but I slice my palm across the air to stop him. He sighs but doesn’t argue before pulling out a chair to sit.
I grab two glasses and the bottle of whiskey because my body is running on pure adrenaline right now, and when that wears off, I’m going to crash, so being slightly tipsy may lessen the blow. Without saying a word, I bring the bottle and glasses to the table, and Jake fills them as I gather some clean cloths, ice, and antiseptic from the first-aid box. He is already pouring his second drink when I bring the damp cloth to his head. It’s cut, but not deep, and the ice will help with the swelling.
He hisses once I press the antiseptic against the marked skin.
“Don’t be a baby,” I mutter tearfully, dabbing the wipe as I take a drink.
My stomach clenches.
“Was he arrested?” I finally find the courage to ask.
He nods.
It does little to ease the tense knot between my shoulder blades.
Once the cut is clean, I take the ice pack and press it against his forehead. “You could have killed him, Jake. He wasn’t worth you going to prison and leaving Jay-Jay without a father. Let the police deal with him.”
