Chapter Twenty-Two
JENSEN
THEN—TWO YEARS AGO
SEPTEMBER
The door clicks shut behind me, and I make a beeline for the kitchen.
My knee’s been killing me all day. We’ve been back from our honeymoon for two weeks, and it’s been giving me hell ever since that hike.
I took the last ibuprofen I had in my car this morning, and the throbbing’s been shooting up my leg like a damn lightning bolt ever since.
I yank open the medicine cabinet and start rummaging through the bottles. Ibuprofen, Advil, Aleve—hell, I’ll take a Tylenol, even if it’s only going to scratch the surface. I finally find one of those regular strength Tylenol bottles, twist off the lid, and stare inside.
One.
“Shit,” I mutter, huffing out a breath.
That’s not going to touch the pain.
I take it anyway, chasing it with a swig from the faucet. Then I grab an ice pack from the freezer and limp into the living room. Dropping onto the couch, I kick back against the arm and stretch my leg out, balancing the pack on my knee.
I point the remote at the TV and flip on whatever game’s on. College football—don’t even care who’s playing. I just need something to distract me from the dull, relentless ache that’s been dragging me down for three goddamn weeks.
Thirty minutes later, between the ice and the Tylenol, the pain’s manageable, but barely.
I pick up my phone, swipe up, and type out a quick text.
Hey babe, can you grab some ibuprofen before you head out tonight?
Alley’s working till eight, and the hospital pharmacy’s right downstairs. I set my phone aside, knowing I probably won’t hear from her until her shift ends.
By six p.m. the ice pack’s lukewarm. I’ve already done two rounds—twenty minutes on, ten minutes off, but the relief didn’t last.
Groaning, I push myself off the couch and hobble to the kitchen, ice pack in hand. My knee barks with every step of the twenty-foot trek. I toss the pack back in the freezer and open the liquor cabinet, reaching for the tequila. Maybe that’ll take the edge off.
I pour a shot neat and take a slow sip, exhaling as the burn coils down my throat. God, I needed that. But then it hits me—I took a Tylenol an hour ago, and you’re not supposed to mix that shit.
I let out another groan. “Ah, fuck.”
My hands rake through my hair and stay there, fingers gripping tight. I tug at the strands, frustrated, completely at a loss. I hate bitching about this, especially to Alley. She keeps telling me to go in, but for what? So they can tell me I need another surgery? Prescribe pain pills?
No fucking thank you.
I’ve got a life. A job. A wife. I can’t be popping pain meds like candy. I need to function. That shit never really fixes anything anyway. I just need to manage the pain and give it time. Rest. That’s all.
It took a few weeks after the ski trip, but it eased up. This’ll pass too. It has to.
I turn to put the tequila back, but the twist in my knee sends white-hot pain shooting straight to my brain.
“Agh, God!” I shout, wincing, eyes squeezing shut as my hands fly to my knee.
The bottle slips from my grip, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
“Dammit!”
The bottle rolls across the floor—unbroken, thank God. I grip my knee hard, like pressure alone might fix it. Slowly, I push myself up, breathing deep as white and black stars flicker across my vision. I blink them away, leaning on the counter until the haze clears.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I didn’t even do anything, just stepped wrong.
I limp back to the medicine cabinet. There has to be more Tylenol—anything. I can’t wait three more hours for Alley to get home. I start tearing through bottles: supplements, activated charcoal, Zyrtec, Senna Plus—yeah, definitely don’t need help shitting. None of it’s useful.
Two prescription bottles are shoved way in the back. Jesus, how old are these? I don’t even remember the last time one of us had a prescription. I grab them both to throw away. I hold the first one up—Azithromycin, whatever the hell that was for. I toss it in the trash.
I pause, holding the second one over the bin.
Oxycodone.
Oh, shit. This is from my surgery. I didn’t even use half of them. I rotated Tylenol and ibuprofen after the first few days. I remember taking one or two the following week when the pain spiked. They worked—really well.
I shake the bottle, eyes scanning the label. They expired six months ago. But painkillers don’t actually expire, do they? They just put that shit on the label to cover their asses. It’s not like they go bad.
Twisting the cap, I tip the bottle until a single pill drops into my palm.
I stare at it.
I know how this shit works. I know it can be addicting. But I’ve taken it before, and I was fine. Right now I’m in pain. It’s not like I’m chasing a high. I just want to not feel like I’m being stabbed every time I move.
My knee pulses hard, like it’s reminding me that this isn’t optional. I sigh, open the silverware drawer, and grab a knife. I’ll cut it in half. It’s safer that way. Not a big deal.
I line the blade up to the score and rock it back and forth. Powder crumbles, but it cuts clean enough. I pick up one half between my thumb and finger, hesitant, staring again. It’s just a little white pill—small, harmless.
Just half. Just for the pain.
Placing it on my tongue, I take a sip of water and swallow. Please work, I pray. I’d kill for a good nights sleep tonight.
I limp back to the couch and sink into it, resuming my position—legs kicked up. I grab a few throw pillows, and tuck them behind me, settling in for the next few hours until my gorgeous wife comes home.
Twenty minutes pass, and I’m thoroughly enjoying the game when my phone dings.
I glance down. It’s Matt.
Matt
Hey bro, you and Al still planning on tomorrow?
Ah, shit. I totally forgot. One of Matt’s clients is throwing some gala for a charity. He told me the name of it, but I couldn’t tell you what the hell it’s for.
Yeah. You wanna drive together?
Matt
Yeah. I’m bringing a date. We can pick her up on the way?
Works for me.
Matt
K, I’ll meet you downstairs at 7:30. How’s the knee?
Fucking killing me today.
Matt’s one of the few people I can bitch to about my knee. He was there the first time I fucked it up in high school—a drunken stunt gone bad. Then, of course, he helped nurse me back to health after my surgery, back when I met Alley.
Matt
Damn. Have you made an appt yet?
Nah. What are they gonna do? Tell me to take more ibuprofen?
Matt
True.
Found an old pain pill in the cabinet. Took half. It’s finally starting to numb the pain.
Matt
Oh shit, nice. So, it’s working?
I glance down at my knee. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing does, actually—for the first time in weeks. God, I’m finally fucking comfortable.
Yeah, I think so.
Matt
That’s good. Maybe you’ll get some good sleep tonight.
Sleep. That sounds great.
I blink, my eyes growing heavy.
Hopefully.
I drop my phone to my side, my arm following. Stretching out on the couch, I let the tension melt from my body. My knee? I don’t feel it. I barely feel anything at all, just warmth and comfort. Like everything is… fine.
My shoulders slump, everything suddenly feeling heavy. The throbbing’s dulled—not gone, but numbed enough to ignore it.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slow, blinking at the TV.
It’s only 6:45, but damn, I’m tired. My body sinks deeper into the cushions, loose and relaxed, like I just had the best deep-tissue massage of my life.
The couch wraps around me like a blanket, and the soft background noise of the football game fades into perfect white noise.
I close my eyes. Just for a second.
A soft touch brushes along my jaw, warm breath skimming my skin. I stir, brows pulling together as I inhale deep, a yawn stretching through my chest. The weight of sleep clings for half a second, thick and heavy. My fingers twitch against the couch cushions.
“Hey, babe.”
Alley’s soft voice drifts through the quiet. I blink my eyes open to find her sitting beside me, grinning as she leans in and presses a kiss to my neck. Her hand glides across my chest.
I grunt, lifting one arm in a deep stretch before letting it fall to her thigh. “Shit. I fell asleep. How was work?”
“It was fine.” She yawns, and the sound pulls another one from me. With a soft laugh, she shifts, moving to straddle my lap.
I cock a brow. “You planning to wake me up?”
“You bet I am.” Both hands slide up my chest as she grinds against me, her hips rolling just enough to make my dick jerk in response before stilling. “In a minute… How was your day?”
I push myself up a few inches, then slide my hands up her thighs, my thumbs tracing along the fabric of her scrubs.
“It was good.” My voice is low, still thick with sleep. “Busy. Passed the fuck out apparently.”
“Well, that’s good. You obviously needed it.” She pauses before asking, “How’s your knee today?”
“Same ol’ shit, different day.” I huff a laugh. “Took a regular strength Tylenol. It didn’t do shit.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna help.”
“Did you get the ibuprofen?”
She nods. “You want me to grab you one?”
I assess the pain. It’s not terrible, just a dull pulse if I really focus on it. I know why it feels better—but I don’t want to think about that.
“I’ll take one before bed,” I murmur, my hands inching higher. “Right now, I’m more interested in the distraction that’s making me hard as hell.”
My gaze locks on hers as my thumb brushes along the sensitive crease where her thigh meets her pussy.
Yeah. She loves that.
She bites her bottom lip, a grin breaking through. Her eyes drop, then lift again beneath her lashes—dark, alluring.
“Oh, really?” she teases, her hands gliding up my chest. One slips higher, curling around my neck, her thumb brushing my pulse point. “And what distraction is that?”
She hovers over my lips, her breath warm against mine.
I chuckle, low and wicked. My hand slides to her ass, giving it a light slap before gripping the soft curve, firm in my palm. I’m even harder now, pressing up against her. “This hot nurse.”
She kisses me, grazing my bottom lip with her teeth and tugging gently.
“I hear she gives good head, and her pussy’s like a fine wine,” I say, unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips.
She pulls back, locking eyes. “My pussy is not a fine wine. That would mean it’s aged.”
I chuckle again. “You’re right. That wasn’t good.”
She shakes her head, lips pressed together like she’s fighting a grin.
Kissing my jaw, she trails her mouth to my ear, nibbling my lobe.
“No,” she whispers. “It’s young.” She kisses that sweet spot behind my ear—one of my favorites.
“Tight.” She flicks the inside of my ear.
“And wet.” She grinds into me, sliding back just right, rubbing my dick right where it counts.
“Waiting for you and your incredibly hard cock.”
“Jesus, babe.” I can hardly think straight. She’s so hot—knows exactly how to drive me crazy. My arms wrap around her without thinking, pulling her close. I press a kiss to her neck, her skin soft and smooth beneath my lips.
Her mouth finds mine, and I pull her into a heated kiss, one hand cupping her neck, my thumb brushing her cheek.
A low groan rumbles in my chest as her hands slide under my shirt.
Fuck. She’s the best.
Even if my knee were screaming right now, I doubt I’d care. She’s better than any drug I could buy. She makes everything better—every day. Every. Damn. Day.
Can you be addicted to a person?
Because if so, I am.
I’m an addict.
And my drug of choice?
Alley.