Chapter 42
The Wounds
Ian
Jenna’s relief when Killian finally puts the cane away is instantaneous.
She collapses into my arms, going slack in every muscle.
Her chest keeps shaking with the force of her ragged breaths, but that’s just her body still processing.
The way she lets her head loll against my chest and melts into me, as if she wants to crawl into me, tells me all I need to know.
She’s overwhelmed and exhausted but in a sated, peaceful way.
I remove the gag and the cuffs, then, reassured she’s okay, turn my focus to Killian.
He’s hovering above us, his tongue running circles across his lips, eyes burning with an intensity I can’t quite decipher.
He wants something, but I’m not sure what—I’m not sure he even knows.
Or wants to admit it. Because it’s becoming clearer by the day what he needs.
To care for Jenna. Subtle signs have been there all along, but they’re growing clearer.
I noticed how he caught himself when he was about to be soft with her, and I noticed how he did eventually forget himself and caressed her cheek, even inviting her to lean into his touch.
Protecting her is becoming more than instinctive—a buried desire pushing toward the surface.
And maybe that means he’s ready for the next step; he just needs a small push.
Hope growing, I suggest, “Why don’t you hold her?” I gesture to the floor in front of me, the urge to pass Jenna to him greater than the need to hold her. These two people mean everything to me, and seeing them both get what they need would be as good as getting it myself.
“No, I’m good,” he simply says, eyes distant.
“Just for a few minutes?” I try.
“No,” Killian bites out, eyes snapping to me with fury.
And there’s the usual sharp rejection that has been his reflexive response every time I asked.
I suppress a defeated sigh and tighten my grip on Jenna.
Her shoulders have tightened beneath the force of Killian’s rejection, and I see the same tension reflected in his stance as he leaves.
The clicks of Killian’s shoes resound through the space, and the sound seems to linger even after he’s gone, an echo of the loss Jenna and I share. We sit in silence for a while, Jenna huddling against me while I try to soothe away the hurt with caresses and kisses.
She’s the one to break the silence. “Why does Killian hate the idea of holding me so much?”
I release the heavy sigh I suppressed when Killian was here. “It’s not you. That’s just the way he is. He doesn’t want to get close to anyone.”
“Why?”
I rub my forehead. It’s not in my place to tell Jenna about Killian’s issues, but at the same time, she has a right to know—we’re in too deep for her to be denied that information, and I don’t want her to ever think it has something to do with her. So I decide to give her the gist of it.
“Killian’s mother left when he was eight. You probably already know that?”
“I do.”
“You might also remember what happened in the few months after? The… problems he had.” If she doesn’t remember, I won’t tell her. That would be crossing a hard line. Killian shuts down whenever I try to bring it up.
She grips my shirt tight and nods.
I thought so. The two of them were good friends.
Right until the point when he shut in on himself.
“The way he overcame it was by shutting everyone out. For a while, he would barely even talk to me. He’d snap at me or simply give me the cold shoulder.
Eventually, I managed to reach him again through the piano, but he was forever changed.
He’d rarely laugh, and when I took him to the kennel to get him a puppy, he gave me a look as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world and not something he’d begged me for since he could talk. ”
I go quiet, overcome by the memory. The deep regret and the doubt. What if I had just…
Knowing those thoughts won’t do me any good, I snap out of it. But it lingers deep down, a heavy dread of what will happen when I eventually tell Killian the whole truth. I know it’s time―he’s old enough to understand―but I keep postponing, so damn afraid I’ll lose him.
“Drawing in on himself was—is—a defense mechanism,” I continue. “It’s not because he doesn’t care about you; it’s that he doesn’t know how. It’s too dangerous to let himself care.”
“He doesn’t want to risk the hurt,” she says in a voice that holds so much recognition. She knows the exact same feeling.
“Just like you, yet completely unlike you,” I say, knowing where the feeling stems from.
She lifts her head from my chest. “What do you mean?”
“You know that same fear. But you’ve overcome it.”
She draws up her shoulders, her self-doubt surfacing.
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
She gives me a small smile. “I guess.”
“You are. Unlike him, you’re daring to open your heart despite having it trampled on and broken repeatedly by people you should be able to trust.” Me being one of them—the father of the boy who was once her best friend.
Silence descends again. Heavy and somber.
Once again, Jenna is the one to break it, steering the conversation away from her own hurt. “Why did she leave? Your wife?”
A thick knot of guilt lodges in my throat. I swallow it back and tell Jenna a version of the story that’s not a lie, but also not the whole truth. “She felt stuck—staying at home with a child she didn’t want when I was on tour all the time.”
“She didn’t want Killian?” she asks with shock.
“The pregnancy was an accident. She wanted to get an abortion, but I had always wanted a child, and I convinced her to keep it. I guess I can’t blame her for growing bitter and taking to the bottle.”
“She was drinking?”
“Yes.” A heavy weight settles in my stomach as I recall all the times I came home to find her passed out on the couch, a worried frown etched deep between Killian’s brows when he said what’s wrong with Mom?
“I hired a nanny, but it wasn’t enough. Her temper got bad, and she started taking it out on Killian.
” I steel myself with the effort it takes to confess the next thing—something I’ve never admitted to anyone.
“It was a relief when she was gone. It broke my heart that Killian was without his mother, but the relief of not having to worry what she’d do to him…
” I trail off, overcome by the magnitude of it all.
“I know the feeling,” Jenna whispers, nestling closer as if overcome by the same flood of regret and relief I’m feeling.
“My mom drank too. When it finally killed her, it was like a heavy burden lifted. I often miss her, but I don’t miss the way she’d make me feel.
Or all the worry. Or the constant reminder that my mom had chosen a shitty bottle of vodka over me. ”
“I’m so sorry, Jenna.” I press a long, sorrowful kiss to the top of her head, hoping it can ease just a fragment of her hurt. “How about your father?” I ask after a long moment of shared heavy breaths.
She draws a shuddery breath that seems to hold years and years of unresolved hurt. “Long story.”
Sensing she’s not ready to talk about it, I simply say, “I’m so sorry they both hurt you. When you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here.” I capture her head between my hands and say with all the sincerity of my heart. “I won’t ever hurt you like that. I promise.”
A grave expression tightens her features. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
I stare at her for a long moment, stunned and offended by her words.
I want to refute them, say that I mean it with my whole heart, but a sliver of doubt makes me hold back.
Because I can’t choose her over Killian.
I pray to a god I don’t believe in that it won’t ever come to that, but he’s my son. He’ll always come first.