CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

“You can’t leave!” Jarel says, following me into the living room.

“I have to,” I say, as tears continue to stream down my cheeks.

“Listen to me,” he says, striding toward the door. “You are not stable enough to be alone.”

I step into my shoes. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If you’re too embarrassed to be around me, if the guilt has screwed you up that much, use the guest bedroom. Nap, or scream, or whatever. I’ll stay out of your way until you’re ready to talk.”

“No,” I say with a trembling voice. “It’s more than that.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Then let me call Angelo to come get you, take you home.”

“No, I can’t be around him either. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“No, you won’t,” he says, blocking the door.

“Get out of my way, Jarel.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Val, but I can’t let you leave. If you start walking home looking like that, you’ll get mugged for sure.” He swallows. “Or worse. I can’t let that happen.”

“I’m not yours to save anymore!”

“What?” he asks, squinting and furrowing his brow. “This is you trying to break up with me? Is that what’s fucking happening right now?”

“I’m not trying,” I say with emphasis. “I am breaking up with you. With all three of you. I’m done.”

“The hell you are,” he says. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because you got fucking shot!”

“So what?”

“So I’m not going to be the reason that you get shot, or Angelo barely dodges a ricocheted bullet, or Matt has to defend stabbing someone!”

“That’s what this is?! You think it’s your fault that Vic pulled that fucking trigger?!”

“It is! It is my fault!”

“My god,” he whispers sorrowfully, incredulously. “Are you really that fucking damaged?”

Something painful twists in my soul. Those words are worse coming from him–from any of my guys–than they would be from anyone else.

I take a shaky breath. “Did you not know that?”

He stares at me for a long time. “We are all responsible for our own choices, Val. Vic made the choice to come into the restaurant with the gun. I made the choice to redirect his attention. Angelo made the choice to cover you, and Matt made the choice to defend us.

“You’ve guilt-tripped yourself into believing that a mistake you made, however many years ago, is the choice you made in this.

“It’s not.

“You made the choice to try to protect us–to protect everyone. That’s why you sent Matt outside before any of us even realized there was a threat. That’s why you planted yourself in front of us. And that’s why you signed something you knew could send you to prison. That’s the truth about the choices you made.”

He removes his sling and pulls his shirt over his head.

The waistband of his boxers peeks above his scrubs, and he looks like my normal Jarel.

Except for the snow white bandage and surgical tape.

They’ve shaved part of his chest to properly secure the bandage, and it wraps to cover both the entrance and exit wounds.

He slowly walks toward me, and when he stands in front of me, he takes my hand and places it flat against his bandage. “This is not your fault, Valentina.”

“Isn’t it?” I choke out.

“No.”

I place my other hand against his chest and lightly stroke the bandage. “I’ve caused you so much pain since we met.”

He places his finger under my chin and looks into my eyes. “You’ve also brought me immense joy. I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything.” He kisses me softly. “I love you, Valentina.”

I involuntarily whimper.

“I love you,” he repeats against my lips.

I step away and take the sling from the back of the couch. I slip off my shoes and stand on the cushion to close our height gap. Then I gently slip the sling over his arm and help him secure it.

“I love you too, Jarel.”

“I know you do, baby.” He kisses my cheek. “So we’re done with all this breakup malarkey?”

I nod.

“Good.” He wraps his right arm around my waist, picks me up, and sets me back on the floor.

“My god, you’re strong.”

He takes my hand and leads me back to his bedroom. After pulling back the sheet, he climbs into bed and pats the space next to him.

But I need more.

Maintaining eye contact, I unbutton my blouse and let it fall to the floor. I unbutton and unzip my slacks and step out of them.

His eyes sweep over my body, stopping on my pink, lacy bra and matching cheeky panties.

He bites his bottom lip as he watches me unclasp my bra and slip the straps off my shoulders. When I kneel on the bed, he rolls onto his back, and I straddle him. I lower my chest against his, careful to avoid his bandage. He wraps his right arm around me, and the fingertips of his left hand graze my back. My long curls cover us, and his warm skin pressing against mine makes me sigh.

After listening to his heartbeat for a few minutes, I lean up and kiss him.

I don’t think we’ve ever shared a kiss this gentle, certainly not this slow, and I wait for him to take the next step.

He parts his lips, and when I follow his lead, his tongue caresses mine.

The kiss never reaches our typical intensity, but as it deepens, I feel him come to attention.

I smile into the kiss.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he whispers.

“Doesn’t it?”

I lower his pants and boxers and pull my panties to the side enough to rub him against me, and although I could easily welcome him, I don’t. Between his wound and my fragile emotional state, there’s no way that ends well.

But I have another idea.

“Val,” he says. “You don’t–”

“Shush,” I whisper gently. “Let me take care of you.”

I lie next to him and wrap my hand around him. I lean up enough to kiss him, and for the next few minutes, I stroke him and enjoy watching and feeling his expressions change. I kiss his cheek, nibble his earlobe, and return my lips to his.

The kiss remains slow and gentle, and when quiet moans emerge, his muscles tense.

“I love you, Jarel.”

He wraps his arm around my back and squeezes my shoulder as he moans against my lips. His breath catches, and I slow my movements.

When his muscles relax, I kiss his cheek. “Wait here.”

His eyes are shining when I return a minute later, carrying a warm, damp towel; a glass of water; and his bottle of painkillers.

My motions are methodical and gentle, and he sits up enough to swallow the pill.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says as I snuggle next to him.

“I wanted to,” I tell him, playing with his chest hair.

He strokes my shoulder and kisses my forehead. “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” I look up. “How did it feel not to be the dominating one?”

He smirks, but it grows into a genuine smile. His voice is huskier than it has been the rest of the night. “It was great, but don’t get used to it.”

I guffaw. “Noted.”

He closes his eyes and rubs my shoulder. “Go to sleep, baby. Dream of a bright future filled with love.”

And I’ll try to believe it isn’t just a dream.