I’d already known he’d spent much of the previous day crying and had been plagued by nightmares last night, because I’d heard every single one. The first one had happened shortly after midnight, about twenty minutes after Jonas had dragged himself off the floor and crawled into his bed. I’d set up the laptop next to my bed and had just managed to nod off when I heard the screams come through the computer’s speakers. I’d jolted awake and had already reached for my gun that I kept next to the mattress before I realized what was happening. By the time I’d reached the bathroom and looked through the scope which luckily had night vision on it, Jonas had stopped screaming but his sobs were so loud that I could hear them in the bathroom even though I’d left the laptop in the bedroom. And with every sob, I’d watched his body curl tighter and tighter into a fetal position.
It had taken more than an hour before he’d fallen asleep again but I hadn’t bothered trying to go back to sleep at that point. Less than fifteen minutes later, I listened as Jonas began quietly repeating the word “no” over and over until his screams once again ripped through the apartment. I’d returned to my perch in the bathroom and watched him for a while until he drifted off but didn’t move back to my own bed because I knew there was no point. In the weeks I’d been watching Jonas, I’d watched him sleep on more than one occasion when my own nightmares kept me from enjoying the short-lived peace that I only found when the darkness of sleep claimed me, and I hadn’t once seen any indication that Jonas was plagued with the same affliction. The reason for the sudden change was clear because only one thing had changed in Jonas’s normal routine.
Cole Bridgerton.
“What happened?” Jonas asked as he opened the door wider and automatically reached for my left hand which I was holding lax in my right hand.
“Hammer got away from me,” I said, injecting as much self-deprecation into my tone as I could. “If I could just get some ice, I’ll get out of your hair.”
Jonas’s next move didn’t surprise me at all. It was exactly why I’d deliberately smashed the hammer against the back of my hand in the first place.
“Come in,” he said quickly as he carefully grabbed my arm. His red, puffy eyes skimmed over the injury as he held my hand in his and used his foot to kick the door closed. “Sit,” he said softly as he led me to the same chair he’d had me sit in the first time his need to nurture had kicked in. I wasn’t particularly proud to exploit his instinct, but I’d gotten what I wanted – the chance to see for myself that he was okay, and hopefully, draw him out. It wasn’t something that made sense to me since my job was only to make him pay for the atrocities he’d committed but I’d given up on having that same argument with myself all morning long as I waited for him to come down to the main studio. Even then, just watching him through my scope should have been enough to satisfy me as to his condition, but it wasn’t. Yet another revelation I didn’t want to explore too much.
As Jonas went to his refrigerator to get the ice, I scanned his apartment. It looked exactly like it had the day before when I’d watched him after he’d returned from his meeting with Cole. The same exact dishes that had been piled on the counter next to the sink were still there, which had me wondering if he’d even eaten and a glance over my shoulder at his bed showed the bedding was still messed up. None of his paint supplies looked like they’d been touched, which was unusual in itself because in the entire time I’d been watching Jonas, he always spent at least part of his day painting.
Jonas returned to my side with a plastic baggie full of ice cubes and a towel.
“Thanks,” I said as I started to stand but when I reached for the baggie, he dropped a hand on my arm and gently urged me back down. Just like every other touch he’d bestowed on me, whether intentional or by accident, it burned my skin in a delicious way.
“Can you move your fingers?” Jonas asked as he pulled up the other chair and sat across from me. I had to spread my legs a bit so he could move close enough to examine my hand and I had to fight the urge not to move in such a way that our legs were touching.
I wiggled my fingers slowly and didn’t need to fake my wince. Apparently I’d been a little overenthusiastic with the hammer.