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Fairfax men don't cry. He remembered the lash of the cane on his back as his father intoned the words, over and over. There had never been an ounce of affection from either of his parents. If there had, it would never compare to what Anarchy offered. Struggling to breathe, he shook his head. "Anarchy, don't."
She stroked his face gently. "I love you, Jasper."
Fuck, she was killing him. Pressure built in his chest, ready to tear him apart.
"I love you, Jasper. I've loved you all along." Her voice cracked, and was the undoing of him.
He yanked her forward, banding one arm around her back to bind her to him, and sank the fingers of his free hand into her hair. Lost himself in the soft strands, her quiet moan. When her arms mimicked his, holding him tight, he buried his face in her hair and tried to break the constriction strangling him.
Lips brushed his ear. Warm breath caressed the shell. "I love you, Jasper. Stop fighting it."
The sob that shattered his composure was harsh, guttural. It didn't just escape, it tore its way free, destroying years of carefully built defenses. He felt Anarchy's arms tighten in response, heard her soothing murmurs coaxing him to let go. Though he held on by his fingertips, the dam was already open, and the flood waters swept him away.
He cried. Not only because she loved him, but because the words were the key in a rusted lock. He cried for the boy who'd had to die to become the well-trained monster his father demanded he be. He cried for the boy who'd raped a young girl so her family could live, for the boy who'd been duped by the man he was supposed to trust.
He cried for Leigh, for her mother, for all the people he'd been forced to hurt before he'd turned sixteen.
He cried because he couldn't stop.
When the roaring in his ears faded, and there were no more tears to shed, Jasper was empty. There was nothing left but a hollow shell, carved out and exhausted. His fingers were numb from biting into Anarchy's flesh. His head throbbed with the echo of pressure released. "Goddamn it."
"Ssssh," Anarchy murmured, still petting him. "It's okay. It's good."
He eased back, letting his head thunk against the wall as his eyes closed. Christ, he'd not felt this rough in a long time. There was movement on his lap, then Archie's weight left him, and her presence flitted away. He didn't have the energy to open his eyes to see where she'd gone.
A minute later, a small hand cupped the back of his head, lifted it. "Take a few sips, Sir. Slowly."
Metal touched his lip, followed by bubbles. He drank the soda, then ate the cube of chocolate she shoved into his mouth. It didn't take long for his brain to cotton onto the fact his beautiful submissive with the big heart was doing exactly what he would have done for her—she was giving him aftercare.
Warm lips brushed over his. "Just rest, Sir. I'll be back in a second."
Jasper drifted, half aware of his surroundings. He knew he should be doing something, but both body and mind were beyond help. What had been ripped out of him had left a chasm that needed to heal. Anarchy was already pushing the process along.
His head was lifted again and something soft and cool buffered him from the wall. She'd brought him a damn pillow. Familiar weight settled on top of him, curling into him, and her scent filled his senses. He felt her tuck a blanket around them both, then she just lay there, her hand on his heart, and stayed with him.
He didn't think he'd fallen asleep, but when he opened his bleary eyes again, time had obviously continued to move past without his participation. The blanket was arranged around his shoulders, keeping him warm, but his sub wasn't within reach. Groaning, he shifted in the chair and tried to sit up.
Christ, his body insisted he'd gone ten rounds with the champ and been KO'd at the last minute.
"Good afternoon, sleepyhead."
Jasper grunted and tugged the blanket down to his waist. He turned his heavy head toward the voice coming from his right and scowled when Connie grinned at him, gray eyes dancing with delight. Just the waking committee he'd always wanted, he thought. "What time is it?"
"Almost four p.m. You really haven't been taking care of yourself, have you, J?"
He waved her away. "Where's Anarchy?"
Connie gestured to the door. "Att dragged her off to get some fresh air. She's been sitting with you since we left, I presume?" She checked her watch. "They shouldn't be too much longer. Do you want something to drink?"
Fuck, yes. His fatigued system was desperate for a hit of coffee, black and sweet. But he'd be damned if he was content to be served upon, like he was too much of a fucking invalid to stand up and get it himself. "I'll get it myself, thanks." He flipped the blanket away and pushed up to stand, then swayed. "Jesus, did she put something in that soda?"
"Highly doubtful. Releasing a barrage of deep-set emotional pain can impact someone physically, Jasper. Your body is feeling the effect of that release. I'd say you look like shit, but the truth is, I haven't seen you this relaxed before. Tired eyes," she murmured, "but not weighed down with as many shadows. Oh, sit down. You want coffee?"
What the hell had Anarchy told the shrink? He sank down into the chair again and growled. "Black. Two sugars."
"Don't be grumpy. Archie hasn't told me what was said between the two of you while we were gone, but whatever happened, it hit her hard." Rising, she walked over to where some kind soul had brought in a coffee pot. "I have to ask, are you prepared for her to talk to me, if she decides she needs an outlet?"
Surely he wasn't enough of a bastard that Connie thought he'd stop Anarchy from seeking someone to talk to? What he'd told her was...well, yeah, there was no statute of limitations on murder, so he was screwed if that came to light, but he'd taken that risk when he relinquished the secret. "I won't stand in her way if she seeks your help, Con, if that's what you're asking."
