Chapter 5 #3
His curled fists shake at his sides. “You had no right!” He yells.
But Nyx doesn’t flinch, his eyes trace slowly across the floor until they land onto mine. “She didn’t need you.” He says calmly. His mouth curves, not into a smile. Something sharper. “Did you?”
I feel it then. The way he takes me in like I’m something earned instead of survived.
Desire flickers in his eyes, stealing a cobwebbed breath from my lungs.
It crawls under my skin and I hate that part of me notices.
Jasper notices too. His jaw tightens, his eyes tracing along the mess on the floor before reluctantly lifting them to mine.
Relief tangled with anger swirls like a battle inside them.
He shoves past Nyx, pushing out of the door.
My chest tightens, the fight high draining out of me in one brutal rush.
I don’t look to anyone else as I follow him. Outside, the air is sharp and clean, the breeze no longer flowing. Jasper leaps off the steps, hands buried in his hair like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“Jasper.” I call. He stops but doesn’t turn. “I’m sorry—” I say quietly. “I wasn’t thinking.”
He whirls around, eyes panicked. “That’s the problem. You never think when it comes to yourself. You just and then you just—” He gestures helplessly. “—you disappear into that thing.”
I don’t deny it. “I had it,” I state. “You know I did.”
He kicks the gravel. “I know!” Jasper pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply. “And I hate that I know.”
I carefully take a small step forward but his eyes flicker down, and that’s when he sees it.
“Don’t,” I snap, but my voice is barely a sound. Blood is sliding down the side of my palm, dropping onto the gravel from the jagged slice where the beer bottled shattered.
His expression changes instantly, all anger forgotten. “Florence.”
I shake my head, hiding my palm behind my back. “It’s nothing.” I turn toward the tavern, but he steps in front of me, blocking my path.
I nearly run into him. “Move.”
“No.”
I glare up at him. “Jasper.”
He reaches for my wrist. The sudden movement has me bracing like a feral cat. “My first aid kit is in the car.”
“I don’t need?—“
“Florence.” The way he says my name halts me. “I’m not allowing you to walk around with glass in your hand.”
He guides me to his car, pulling the small white box from the passenger floorboard. The warmth of his fingers against my skin sends a strange ripple up my arm. I shudder, shrugging it away. “Jasper?—”
His eyes narrow, focusing solely on the wound. “Five minutes,” he says, ignoring me. “You can yell at me after.”
I exhale roughly through my nose. “Unbelievable.” He smirks faintly as he opens the kit. He cleans the cut slowly, his thumb steady beneath my palm as he wipes away the blood.
I suck in a sharp breath and release it as my heartrate slows, the sting of the antiseptic calming my nerves.
“Sorry,” he murmurs.
“You’re not.”
“No,” he admits quietly. “But I am sorry it hurts.” He leans closer to view the cut better.
Too close. The bloodied men in the bar instantly flash in my head, but the warmth of his breath against my hand washes the images of them away.
My chest tightens, the gravel rolling beneath my feet as I lean away.
“You’re lucky,” he says softly. “Another inch and this could’ve needed stitches. ”
“I told you it was fine.”
He huffs. “You told me it was nothing.” His eyes flick up to mine. “It’s not nothing if you’re hurt.” He wraps the gauze around my palm with slow, careful movements. “You’re fidgeting again,” he murmurs.
“I’m not.” I snap, looking to the dark sky above. But I am, and it’s not from the pain.
I try not to notice the way his fingers linger a second longer than necessary when he finishes tying the bandage. “There,” he says. But he doesn’t let go of me right away. His thumb rests lightly against my wrist.
It feels different having a man try to care for me again.
I’m not sure I like it. I feel weak. And not in the swooning way you see in the movies when the damsel is finally recused, no, it’s the kind of weak where your morals suddenly disappear and you ignorantly pay for it in the end.
But the way Jasper’s thumb delicately circles my knuckles makes me want to risk it anyway.
When I look back, he’s already watching me. Close enough that if either of us leaned forward…
I pull my hand away.
“Okay,” I breathe, taking a step back. “I’m going to clean up now.” I move quickly, leaving him in the dust as I trudge toward the doors of the tavern.
I swing the door open, Bear and Cici stand huddling tightly over something at the bar.
Billy is sitting in the booth with the victims, each holding a piece of frozen deer meat to their injuries.
“What’re you two up to?” I ask, pulling Bear backward.
He’s holding a Sharpie cap between his teeth, sprawling his hands out to reveal his artwork.
“ANGRY BONES” is written boldly in all capital letters beneath the wedged-in broken bottle.
“Your very own stool!” Cici squeals.