This Cruel Love

He tried to smile, but sadness overwhelmed his eyes.

“I’ll always find you, Ryley, whenever you need me. I’ll always be there for you.” He kissed the top of my head. “Do you want me to run you a bath? The warm water might ease the pain. I have some Arnica somewhere in my first aid kit. That might help too.”

He really was my guardian angel, my dark angel, and I was so thankful to have him in my life. It’s insane how everything can change in the blink of an eye. If you’d told me months ago that Jackson Caine would be my saviour, my lifeline, I’d have laughed in your face. Now, I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it.

“You’ve done enough. I can run my own bath.” I sighed, securing the bath towel around me and turning to face him. He reached up to hold my face in both of his hands.

“But I want to. Please let me help.”

“Okay.”

I sat on the edge of the bath as he poured some kind of oils in and ran the water, swirling his hand around to check the temperature every so often. Then he came back over to where I sat and kissed my forehead.

“I’ll leave you to it. Call out if you need me. I’m here for you.”

Then he left. I felt like a part of me left with him as he closed the bathroom door. It was like I’d woken up to this new, deeper connection that was forging between us, binding us together. I wanted to be around him. He felt safe, my dark damaged warrior.

“Jackson?” I called out. The door reopened seconds later and he stood there, an aura of hope, fear, and expectation emanating from him. “Please don’t let what happened last night make you treat me differently.” I didn’t want to be mollycoddled or wrapped in cotton wool. I liked to think of myself as a fighter, after all. I might not have chosen the right weapon to fight with when I found out about Justin, but I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“But you are different,” he replied. “And it’s my responsibility to look after you.”

The old me would’ve called him out on his sexist comment, but I didn’t. I knew he liked to be the powerful, protective type, but his comment went deeper than just protecting me, I could tell. He wanted to feel needed, that I needed him. Maybe I did. I sure as hell wasn’t making a very good job of coping with my life on my own at the moment.

“I meant you don’t have to handle me with kid gloves. I’ll be okay,” I elaborated.

The smile he gave me melted my fragile, fractured heart. “I know you will. You’re the toughest woman I know. Just remember, you’ve got me in your corner too, okay?” He went to walk away before adding, “And I’m not known for being gentle, Ryley, so don’t worry on that score.”

It was surprising how quickly we fell into a comfortable pattern of life together. All the time getting closer, but not quite close enough, like we were dancing around each other. Jackson was the only man I felt safe with after that night. I knew I couldn’t lock myself up in the apartment forever. I had to face up to life. But for those few weeks after the attack, our days spent together were all I could manage. And yet there was something missing, something between us felt off.

The first day, Jackson told me I needed to stop the drinking. I agreed with him. I’d been using alcohol as a way to numb Justin’s betrayal. But that wasn’t working, and it only led me down a darker path.

“It won’t be easy. You’ll probably crave the drink, and hate me for denying you, but I don’t care,” he stated. “I’d rather you hate me than hurt yourself with that poison you were putting into your body.”

He made me clear out all the alcohol I had in my room, including my secret stash at the top of the wardrobe and behind the drawers. Then he gathered every last bottle from the apartment, along with his prized single malt, and poured it all down the sink.

“You didn’t have to get rid of your whiskey. I know you like a glass after a rough day.” I felt guilty that he was going cold turkey with me.

“I have other ways to unwind,” he said, throwing the last empty bottle into the recycling. “Anyway, I want to support you in any way I can. What kind of guy would that make me, if I sat here drinking in front of you?”

He walked over to where I stood by the door, away from the enticing, sickly-sweet alcohol fumes that lingered by the sink. He stroked my face gently with the back of his hand as he spoke. “We’re in this together. You and me.”

I liked the way that sounded. It made some of the delicate cracks in my heart slowly piece back together. Gently, I leant into his touch. The warmth of his hand on my skin made sparks reignite within me. I wanted him to take charge, turn those sparks to flames, but he seemed to be the master of holding himself back. Either that, or he just wasn’t that into me.

“You’re not at all what I thought you’d be when I first met you,” I said, looking up at him, my eyes as wide as saucers, wondering what he’d say next. Willing him to say something that’d give me a clue as to how he felt, and put my fluttering, fragile emotions at ease.

“Nobody ever is, angel.” He sighed, with a stormy sadness behind his eyes.

My lips curled up at his use of a nickname for me.

“Angel? You never use nicknames. I’ve always been Ryley. You don’t even like Cillian calling me blondie or Tink, do you?”

He put his forehead against mine and my mouth opened on a gasp. Was he about to kiss me? Did I want him to? What a stupid question, of course I did.

“No, angel,” he replied on a whispered breath. “I don’t like nicknames. I never have. But for you… angel feels right. You’re my angel.”

I let out a slow breath and closed my eyes, but he didn’t make a move. He just pecked my cheek and then walked away from me. Leaving me feeling all kinds of wound up, emotionally strung out, and yet hopeful there was something there. I hadn’t just dreamt it up in my fucked up state of mind. What was this thing happening between us? How had all this crept up on me so suddenly? I felt butterflies of nerves swoop around my body, yet I couldn’t deny the tingle of excitement. Like a seductive seed that he’d planted months ago without my knowing, and I couldn’t ignore the fact that it was growing out of control now. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to.

Days later, Jackson brought up the topic of counselling. He thought it’d be a good idea for me to speak to someone professionally about my drinking, the