Break Me

“What?” Jason asks harshly to who I’m not sure.

It’s a fog in my mind as I think I hear his father speak. “Just got off the phone with the press. It seems my son’s a hero.” I hear shoes against the tile floor as Jason’s dad steps closer. “You going to drop your little investigation?”

“You can turn right around and leave.” Jason’s chest rumbles as he speaks.

“I see,” his father says calmly. “I will let you know, the house your little—”

“My girlfriend,” Jason interrupts, and the words bring me a new kind of peace.

“Yes, of course. Well, it sold.”

“No, thank you. I don’t want to owe you shit,” Jason says in a low whisper. Clearly he wants nothing to do with his father; I can’t blame him for not accepting his help.

“It wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with it. Although, I did call to put an offer in to make this all”—he pauses—“go away. But if you insist on pushing forward with your witch hunt against me, I can promise charges against her will be brought—”

“Shit-can the threats, Father. She wanted her family’s killer brought to justice. It happened. This is over.”

“Do I have your word?”

“You self-important, arrogant ass,” Jason grumbles. “Just leave. She needs her rest, and honestly, so do I.”

“I’ve made sure you’ve been approved for an extended leave at the office,” Mayor Stanley says, but Jason doesn’t respond. “If you need anything . . .” He leaves it hanging, and then I hear him walk out the door.

“Jason,” I whisper.

“Sleep, angel,” he whispers back.

It has been two weeks since I left the hospital. Jason has been amazing. He has been patient with me, kind and nurturing. With two broken wrists and casts, he has taken on all my personal hygiene . . . all of it.

At first, I was completely devastated. I even cried, but he didn’t bat an eye. It was like a job to him, and he reminded me that being a nurse, I should be accepting of his help.

I nodded, and he smiled in a very gentle, caring way. Then he told me that he loved me and that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me. I believe him with all my heart, and I feel the same way.

I hang up the phone, thinking I am alone in the room, and I let my emotions overtake me.

When I look up, he is walking in the bedroom, wiping his hand on a towel.

“Talk to me, Lo.”

“My grandparents are coming in for the pretrial. They wanted to stay with me—us. I can’t tell them no.” I have no idea how he can understand what I’m saying since I am a blubbering mess.

He sits down next to me and rubs my legs. “This is your home. Of course they can stay.”

“That’s not it.” I wipe my eyes and flop back on the bed. “They’ll know everything. They’ll know how awful I am, how—”

“If they say that, I’ll be hard-pressed to keep my mouth shut. Where the fuck were they?” He flops down beside me.

“I pushed them away, Jason. I chose to stay. I listened to him. I thought, What’s a couple months? I never expected—”

“Of course you didn’t. No one would have.” He rolls to his side and kisses my tears. “Look at me. There is not one thing we can’t get through. We’ve more than proved that.”

“You promise?”

“I don’t need to promise, Lo. A promise given is one begging to be broken. My word is mine: good, bad, or ugly.”

He spends the entire day cleaning and moving things out of his guest room for my grandparents, stacking everything into the master closet and leaving some boxes by the entryway.

Brock comes to help, though Jason didn’t ask him to. He just showed up and took boxes away.

“Same place?” Brock asks.

“Yeah, that Nest place, I don’t like the Caldwells, but Morrison and his woman did set up something nice for the community. I’ll do my part in support of Tatiana and the family she has found with them,” he grumbles.

Brock gives me a sympathetic glance and a nod before leaving.

“We need to do some shopping,” Jason tells me as he leans against the doorjamb, looking into the bedroom. “How does that online shit work?”

“We can go out, Jason.” Apparently, I’m not as convincing as I thought I was.

“Show me,” he instructs as he walks over and grabs his laptop.

He walks out of the bathroom, wearing khaki pants and a button-down shirt, looking nervous.

I look down at myself in a navy blue dress that hits just below my knees and a matching jacket.

“They’re meeting us at the courthouse. Their plane was delayed,” I tell him.

“I know. You told me, remember?” he says as he walks toward me.

“Right. I forgot.” I shake my head.

“Understandable.” He hesitantly leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek.