Chapter 31 Jonah - Past
thirty-one
Jonah - Past
YOU COULD NEVER HURT ME.
It was late when I finally heard the familiar sound of Dex’s motorcycle roaring down the street and into the driveway.
I felt stupid just waiting around for him to get back.
I wasn’t sure if I should head back to Dad’s or stay here.
If I stayed here, was I supposed to wait up or go to bed? What would he expect me to be doing?
The longer the night dragged on without him returning, the more my anxiety over what I should be doing faded to anxiety over what he was doing.
The phone call had revealed three names: Cupid, Bull, and fucking Bates.
Bates was the more pressing concern. I didn’t know what Dex dealing with him meant—how much danger he’d be putting himself in.
Bull didn’t seem like much of a threat, but Cupid—“my favorite Stray”—I didn’t like him, not one bit.
I knew Dex well enough to know it couldn’t have been Bryce, or Archer, certainly not Toby.
Henrik was Hound, and Raven was… well, Raven.
So who was Cupid? How many more of them were there?
Doesn’t matter, I tried to tell myself. I really did.
But my mind kept circling back. I wasn’t stupid.
I knew Dex had slept with other people before me. Probably a lot of other people.
Every time I thought about it, I was filled with this big ugly feeling that scratched at my insides and made me feel reckless.
Like there was anything I could do to change his past. I knew it shouldn’t have mattered, really I did, but I hated that other people had seen him how I’d seen him. Felt his touch like I’d felt his touch.
It wasn’t rational for me to be mad about him fucking people before he even met me, but I wasn’t rational and he knew that. So this was on him.
So there was that, and there was the increasing worry that something had happened to him and that’s why he hadn’t come home to me.
Hearing his bike alleviated the latter, and I was ready to be unreasonable about the former when he walked in. Only, when I caught sight of him, it all vanished. All thoughts of being intentionally difficult so he could prove yet again why he wanted only me faded. Because he was hurt.
“What the fuck happened?” I asked, on him before the front door was even fully closed. His eyebrow was split, so was his lip, his cheek was puffy and bruised, and there was bruising on his neck.
“I’m fine, Rabbit,” he sighed, but as my hands cupped his face, he melted into the touch. Like my hands alone could soothe away all the hurt.
I held him there, my thumb lightly tracing over his cheek. “You have a first aid kit?”
“I’m fine, reall—”
“Do you have a first aid kit?” I snapped again.
“Bathroom.”
“Okay.” I nodded, reaching for his hand, threading my fingers between his and pulling him upstairs to the bathroom.
“Under the sink,” he sighed, after I’d forced him to sit down on the closed toilet seat and looked at him expectantly.
I opened the cabinet, located it, and pulled it out, placing it on the bathroom counter to go through its contents.
I’d had enough scrapes and cuts when I’d tripped on the running track over the years, which I’d tended to myself in the school’s medical bay.
It wasn’t the same, but I was sure I could make it work.
“Clothes off,” I told him, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I need to see where you’re hurt.”
Dex was quiet. Too quiet. He did what I asked, shedding his clothing piece by piece, revealing more bruises and evidence of what he’d been through. I watched his face when he winced slightly, indicating more soreness beneath the surface.
I started up the shower for him, and he stepped into it, washing off the surface grime and dried blood as I pulled what I wanted out of the first aid kit.
Some things were empty, others mostly used up, and I wondered if he often came home like this and patched himself up.
I hated the thought of anyone else being here to do it for him, but I found the thought of him doing it alone much worse.
My throat tightened, somehow already knowing he had.
He wouldn’t have to anymore. I was here now. I could do it for him.
Dex stepped out, and I handed him a towel. He was still silent as he dried off and sat back down.
I started by applying antiseptic to his split and bruised knuckles, which must have stung the open wounds, but he didn’t react.
Then the antibiotic ointment. Then I wrapped them in gauze bandages.
Next I took care of his lip, with the antiseptic and ointment.
His eyebrow was still bleeding slightly, so after the ointment I pulled the split skin together with a closure strip.
There wasn’t much I could do for the bruising. “Got an ice pack or any ice?”
He shook his head softly.
I cupped the cheek that wasn’t swollen gently in my hand. He turned into it, placing a kiss on my palm.
It occurred to me now just how different we were when it came to certain things like pain.
When I was in pain, I was mean. I snapped at anyone who got close to me.
I got loud and demanded attention because the ones who were supposed to take care of me weren’t there.
When Dex was in pain, he was quiet. He made himself smaller, and I had to wonder what that meant about the people who were supposed to have taken care of him.
I ran my thumb over the healed scar on his eyebrow, just next to the new split.
“What’s this from?” I asked softly, wanting to know all of his scars, so that I could know all of him.
“I used to have an eyebrow piercing,” he answered, just as quietly.
“And?”
“And now I don’t.”
I sighed, understanding that he didn’t want to offer any more information about it right now, and I wouldn’t push him for it. Instead, I reached for the hairbrush on the counter, gently pulling the long wet strands of his hair back out of his face before I started to brush them.
His eyes closed, head tilting back as I pulled gently through the locks.
I’d never brushed anyone’s hair before but my own, but it was nice.
I found it soothing, and I hoped he did too.
Except when I looked at his face again, his eyes weren’t closed anymore.
He was staring at me. Pale eyes. Ice that melted.
Pools of emotion that welled until he couldn’t hold it all in anymore and he sobbed as they flowed over. Tears cascaded down his cheeks.
His hands found my waist, and he pulled me in, burying his face in my shirt, letting it soak up his sadness. I hugged him as best I could from my standing position.
“I lost it.” Words muffled by fabric, but still they sounded so broken. Distraught.
“What did you lose, baby?”
He cried harder. I held him, waiting patiently for him to let it out. When he was done, there was a damp patch on the front of my shirt, but I didn’t care.
“I lost my father’s lighter.” His voice was low and rough.
“Lost it where?”
“Bates.”
My fists clenched. “We’ll get it back,” I promised him, and it was a promise. I didn’t know how, but I knew that I’d get it back for him if it was the last thing I did.
He nodded, pulling me closer again.
“Let’s go to bed.”
He sniffed and nodded, getting to his feet and following me to the bedroom.
“Can I use your phone?”
“Where’s yours?” I asked, but I handed it to him anyway.
“He took that too.”
Well, I’d be getting that back as well. Dex opened my browser, typing something in as I got undressed.
At Dad’s I’d just toss my clothes onto the floor, not caring about them until they needed to be washed so I could wear them again, but here I noticed Dex would often clean up after me in the morning before heading to work, so I put my clothes in the hamper instead.
The air in the bedroom was cold, and I wanted to steal as much of his warmth as he’d allow, and whatever else he wanted to give me tonight.
A smile pulled at his lips, and he handed the phone back to me. I glanced at the screen.
Port Skelton Medical Clinic Patient Portal. Patient: Dexter Ian Weller.
Your recent STI panel returned with no abnormalities. No follow-up is required at this time. If you have ongoing symptoms or concerns, please contact your provider.
I felt my cheeks heat.
“Get the lube for me,” he requested.
“You’re hurt.”
“Just… please.”
I switched the screen off, placing my phone down on the nightstand and picking up the bottle of lube as I walked over to Dex and placed it in his hand. He put it on the bed next to him, shuffled back, and patted his thigh.
“Dex. You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
I eyed him doubtfully, even if my cock was immediately on board with this idea. Dex just looked at me expectantly, patting his thigh again, firmer this time as if I hadn’t understood what he wanted when he last did it.
Carefully, I climbed onto the bed, straddling him, watching his face closely to make sure he wasn’t in any pain and trying to keep most of my weight on the bed on either side of him.
Dex was having none of it, his hands finding my ass and yanking me firmly into him until our hard dicks pressed together and I sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of him.
“Kiss me,” he demanded.
“But your lip—”
“Kiss. Me.”
I did, cautious of the split, but he pressed his lips against mine firmly, clearly not having the same concern.
His tongue licked over my lips, pressing inside, coaxing mine out, and I was helpless to deny him.
I melted into him, the taste of him overriding all my thoughts until his hands left my hips and I heard the cap of the lube bottle opening.
I’d finally get to feel him and only him, with nothing else between us.
I relaxed, knowing what was coming next, and his fingers found my hole, probing at the soft muscle. Two slipped inside, and I groaned at the feel of them.