Chapter Forty-three
Rosie stares at the white gauze attached to Juni’s shoulder, a little frown pulling on her brows.
“Does it hurt?” Rosie asks, “Did Daddy kiss it better?”
Juni chuckles, “It doesn’t hurt right now. I have some really good painkillers that are helping.”
We’ve been home less than an hour and I’ve been on damn edge watching the woman I love pretend she didn’t get shot in the shoulder.
She came in and immediately tried to pick up Rosie when she ran to her for a cuddle; the only reason she didn’t was because I managed to get my daughter off the floor before she lunged at her.
It’s like she’s forgotten that less than three days ago she had a bullet in her shoulder and needed a blood transfusion.
She could have died, and yet today she’s joking and laughing with Niamh, playing with the kids instead of taking it easy like the doctors told her to.
“What’s that face for?” Juni waves her finger in my face.
“What face?” I grumble.
“That face.” She laughs, “You look like you are ready to go to war. What’s wrong?”
“You’re supposed to be resting,” I frown.
Her face softens, “I am resting.”
“That’s the couch, not the bed.”
“Dad gets really stressed out when we get sick,” Caleb inputs unhelpfully. “He even has a vein in his forehead that throbs because we won’t stay in bed.”
“Son,” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“What?” He answers. “It’s true.”
Juni opens her good arm up for my daughter to snuggle in. “The doctor said to avoid manual labor and no riding. He said nothing about being bedridden, and that’s just until the stitches come out.”
“Six months,” I counter.
“Nope,” Juni lifts her brows. “Six months!? Are you crazy?”
“You got shot,” I lower my voice, but the kids know what happened, or at least that she was shot. We’ve spared them the bigger picture, but they’re smart kids, and they wouldn’t settle until we told them exactly what happened to Juni. Telling them it was just an accident wasn’t sufficient.
“And I’m okay,” she says softly, “I’m here.”
I blow out a breath, “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Silas,” she pins me with her dark stare, firm but gentle, “pain is a part of life; it’s how we handle it that matters. I’m not made of glass.”
I hear everything she doesn’t say.
She survived.
She fought.
She won.
It’s more than surviving Darcy. It was surviving Calvin, too.
My shoulders lower as I admit defeat for now.
“At least eat something,” I push the plate of fruit I’d cut up for both her and the kids to the edge of the counter.
“I can do that,” she agrees, urging Rosie to sit forward so they can both dig in.
I gently close Rosie’s bedroom door now she’s sound asleep and creep away, back toward where Juni is curled up on the couch with a movie playing quietly on the screen.
Her eyes flick to me, and she hits the off button as I lower onto the couch beside her, my hand lowering to her thigh covered by the blanket.
It’s been a heavy few days; I’m running on barely any sleep.
We’ve been updated on Darcy, and it’s likely we will never see her again.
She’s undergoing an evaluation but won’t see freedom or release for a long time.
The cops tore apart her cabin here on the ranch, and even before me and her ex-boyfriend, she had done this to other people too.
People she became obsessed with, maybe not to the same degree, but it had always been there. A part of her.
We’ll be clearing out the cabin now she’s gone and will need to look for a new resident vet to take over what she left behind.
Remy’s pissed.
We’d finally got hold of him after several weeks of silence and after we’d told him all the shit that had gone down, he was ready to leave the season early and come home.
We’d convinced him it was all good; he’d be back in a few months anyway, plus we still had nowhere for Ada to go.
Darcy’s cabin is a no-go, especially since both Juni and she were friends with her—or at least they thought they were.
It’s a mess, but we Knights aren’t inexperienced in these types of messes.
I open my arm up when Juni leans in, tucking her close to my body. The warmth and smell of her is a balm to my soul. She is so far into my bones, it’ll be impossible to ever remove her.
“Did I ever thank you?” She whispers.
“For what?” I turn my head toward her slightly, meeting her tired eyes.
“Everything.” The corners of her mouth lift. “You saw me and you didn’t look away, Silas. You gave me strength, and then you gave me this.” Her hand settles on my chest, over my heart. “And you made me believe in more. In love and happiness. In family.”
“You did that,” I tell her.
“Partly,” she agrees, “But it’s okay to admit when we need help. And to take it when it is offered. You never questioned helping me, Silas. You are a good man. Better than any man I have ever known.”
I reach up and tuck a honey-blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “I love you.”
“I love you,” she replies. “Always.”