Chapter 23 Jace #2
“Nope.” He bends his head down so he can look out the windshield at the dorm looming over us. “Has Jax killed people too?”
“Yes.”
He snickers. “I was worried about killer bunnies in the woods, but it was just one of the killer twins. Nothing to see here.” He lets out a loud giggle that turns into a snort, then slaps his hand over his mouth with a horrified look.
Laughing, I shove open the door so I can get out of the car.
I know he’s three sheets to the wind and probably has no idea what’s going on, but the fact that his reaction to giggle-snorting in front of me was so much more extreme than when I told him I’ve killed so many people that I’ve lost count is endearing in a weird and twisted way.
Shane has managed to get his door open by the time I walk around the car to his side, but he keeps getting his foot caught against the edge of the car every time he tries to get out.
Kneeling next to him, I gently pull his feet and legs out of the car, then help him shift in his seat so I can get him out of the vehicle and close the door behind him.
His knees buckle just as I’m looping his arm over my shoulders to hold him up, but I have a tight grip on his waist and keep him against me so I’m holding most of his weight.
“Gravity sucks,” he grumbles.
We’ve only moved a few feet when he groans weakly and goes limp in my arms.
“Shane?” I give him a little shake.
His skin is ghostly white now, and his eyes are barely open as his head hangs on his neck, his chin on his chest.
His blood pressure is bottoming out, and he’s at risk of completely passing out on me.
“Not invested, hmmm?”
I’m not surprised by Jax’s voice or when he seems to melt out of the shadows like some sort of specter in front of me.
“Are you going to gloat, or help?”
Wordlessly, he ducks under Shane’s other arm so we can support him between us as we drag him to the back door.
We don’t run into anyone as we get him into the elevator and then up to the second floor.
We pass a couple of freshmen while we’re bringing him to his room, but they know better than to say anything and flatten themselves against the wall so we can pass before rushing down the hall in their haste to get out of our way.
Once we’re at his door, I feel around in his pockets for his card.
I find it in his front pocket, but his jeans are tight around his hips, and it takes some work to get it out.
When his door is finally unlocked, Jax helps me get Shane into his room.
“Are you going to admit that there’s something going on?” he asks, giving me a pointed look as we lay Shane on his bed. “Or are we just going to keep pretending like this is totally normal and you’re not emotionally invested?”
“No one’s pretending,” I tell him. “Not anymore.”
He nods. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I give him an upnod and turn my attention back to Shane as Jax leaves the room.
He’s in rough shape, but some of his color seems to be coming back now that he’s lying down.
Gently, I press my fingers against his pulse point. It’s slow and weak, but it’s steady, and his breathing is better.
There’s still a chance he could take a turn for the worse and even OD, but right now he’s stable. Another weird sensation washes over me as the tension I’ve been carrying since he texted lessens and a sense of calm replaces the restlessness from before.
“Jace?” he whispers, his glassy eyes only half open as he fixes his stare on me.
“It’s me,” I tell him.
He lets out a little sigh, and the corners of his lips tip up in a barely there smile that makes my stomach clench in a way I’ve never felt before.
Shaking off whatever the fuck that was, I put one knee on the bed and brace myself as I lean over so I can take his clothes off and get him under the covers.
He might be stable, but he’s going to have a hell of a time regulating his body temperature as the pills wear off, and he’ll get better rest if he’s comfortable.
He watches me with heavy eyes as I tug off his shoes and socks, then undo his pants. He’s not able to help at all, and it’s slow going as I peel his jeans down his legs and pull them off.
After some struggling, I end up straddling him and hauling him up so he’s sitting and leaning against me while I get his shirt and sweater off. Once he’s lying back down again, I tug his sheets out from under him and cover him up.
He visibly relaxes and mumbles something I can’t make out. I can see that he’s fighting sleep as his eyelids flutter and he struggles to keep focused on me.
“Go to sleep,” I tell him. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
He rolls onto his side and curls up in the fetal position. A few seconds later, his breathing evens out as he falls asleep.
Pulling my hoodie off, I go over to his desk so I can wheel his chair over to the side of his bed. When it’s in position, I settle in it so I can keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t take a turn for the worse while he’s sleeping.
A rustling from Shane’s bed pulls my attention away from the article I’m reading, and I look up from my phone.
He hasn’t moved much since he fell asleep, and I watch as he rolls onto his back, then flops back onto his side. Instead of the calm, peaceful expression he’s had for the past few hours, his face is scrunched up, and his breathing has gone from steady and deep to shallow and ragged.
I turn off my phone screen and tuck it in my pocket. Is he having a bad dream?
A soft moan filters through the room, then a whimper, followed by a loud sniff.
Leaning forward, I look closer at him.
His cheeks are wet.
He’s crying in his sleep, but it’s not the type of crying that comes with violent sobs. This is the quiet kind people do when they’re used to hiding their tears.
Leaning back in my chair, I watch as he continues to roll around in near silence. Should I wake him up? He’s obviously having some sort of nightmare, but will waking him make things worse because then he’ll have to think about what he was dreaming about?
The Percs should be wearing off soon, and the booze is working its way out of his system.
Whatever is going on could be from a rough comedown after a bad high, but considering why he got so fucked up in the first place, this might just be his trauma coming back to the surface and haunting him when his defenses are down.
I’m saved from having to decide what to do when he makes a choked sound, then starts thrashing around so violently he gets tangled up in his sheets, which just makes his fight harder as he lets out panicked, gurgling cries.
I’m out of my chair and beside his bed before I’ve even made the decision to move, and I gently grab him by the shoulders to give him a quick shake.
His eyes fly open, but he doesn’t stop fighting as he gasps and cries out, his unseeing eyes fixed on a spot over my shoulder.
“You’re okay,” I tell him. “You’re safe.”
His eyes meet mine, and he stops fighting as a look of relief washes over him.
“Jace?” he croaks.
“It’s me.”
All the energy seems to drain out of him, and he sinks back against his mattress as he blinks up at me, his eyes slowly going from glassy and unseeing to dazed and a little unfocused.
“You’re okay.” I let go of his shoulders and stand back up now that he’s settled again.
He reaches for me with a shaking hand and grabs my wrist, his grip way harder than I expected, considering the state he’s in. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him softly.
“Don’t leave me.” He grips my wrist tighter.
“I won’t.”
He pulls on my arm, and I let him tug me down until I’m sitting on the bed next to him.
“Stay. Please.”
“I will.” I point to the chair I put next to his bed. “I’ll be right there. I promise I won’t leave.”
He shakes his head and tucks my arm against his chest so he can hug it like a teddy bear, forcing me to lean down until I’m almost lying on the bed with him.
“Stay,” he says on a soft sigh and nuzzles my arm with his cheek. “Please. Don’t wanna be alone.”
I could just pry my arm away from him and wait until he falls back asleep, but that feels wrong.
And that’s fucking weird.
I don’t understand the tightness in my chest or the strange sensation in my stomach. It’s familiar, but somehow new and foreign. Almost like being in free fall, but also completely different.
“Please.” He presses his cheek against my palm and blinks his eyes open. They’re red and still wet with tears, but it’s easy to see that he’s not in his right mind, and whatever he was dreaming about is still haunting him.
Gently, I pry my arm free from his grip. He doesn’t grab at me again, but watches with dazed eyes as I stand and pull off my t-shirt.
Moving silently, I toe off my shoes, then undo my jeans and push them down over my hips so I can kick them off. When they’re on the floor, I tug off my socks.
When I’m left in only my underwear, Shane pulls the sheets down, his invitation clear.
Putting one knee on the bed, I climb over him and slide under the covers behind him.
He immediately wiggles back until he’s pressed up against me and pulls my arm around him, holding on like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear.
I let him cuddle my arm and pull the sheets back up over us.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been in bed with someone, but it’s the first time that sex hasn’t been involved.
One of my hard rules is that I don’t share beds with people, ever.
I don’t even fall asleep when other people are around because I don’t trust anyone other than my brother and cousins enough to allow myself to be vulnerable around them.
And since I’m a relatively deep sleeper, especially compared to Jax, I’m damn vulnerable when I sleep.
But my usual flight instincts aren’t kicking in, and instead of counting down the seconds until I can make my escape, I find myself relaxing behind him.
Soft lips press against the back of my hand as Shane gives it a few sleepy kisses and threads one of his legs through mine.
“Stay,” he whispers and presses another kiss against my skin.
“I will.” Not thinking too hard about what I’m doing, I brush a kiss against his shoulder, then another over the side of his neck.
He lets out a happy-sounding sigh and leans back against me.
He feels good in my arms. His warm body and hard muscles are comforting in a way I’ve never felt before, and the steady rise and fall of his back with his breaths is strangely soothing.
I usually feel claustrophobic and antsy when someone is in my personal space like this, but there’s none of that with Shane. I like holding him, and there’s a part of me that really likes how he trusts me to comfort him.
He might be fucked up, but he’s aware enough to know it’s me holding him. He asked me to stay, and for some messed-up reason, that’s a way better feeling than I ever thought it could be.
Shane trusts me. And he’s not just letting me see him when he’s at his most vulnerable; he wants me to stay because I make him feel better.
Is this what Jax was talking about when he said that Myles’s comfort and needs come before his own? Is this what he meant when he said that making Myles happy and knowing he’s taking care of him is just as satisfying as any of the sex they have?
I don’t understand any of what’s going on, but Shane is the only person who’s ever made me feel anything, and after spending the last twenty-one years thinking that wasn’t even possible for me, I’m not letting him go.
He’s mine. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Shane lets out another soft, happy-sounding sigh and hugs my arm even tighter against him.
Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I close my eyes and sink into the warmth surrounding us as I let myself fall asleep.