The Son & His Hope (The Ribbon Duet 3)

Another knife dug into my back, making me groan.

Painkillers.

I need more painkillers.

And of course, the box was on the kitchen counter.

“Ah, shit.” This was the problem of living on your own and not wanting anyone to get close. It left you terribly alone when things went wrong.

Thanks to my dream, Dad felt even closer tonight—as if he hovered around me like some fictitious angel, making sure I recovered from my accident. “You know, if you truly are watching me, make yourself useful and bring me drugs, ‘kay?”

Nothing replied. No breeze. No creak. No shiver.

“Fine.” Digging my fingers into the mattress, I inched to my feet, my back as stiff as concrete, my legs unwilling to swing smoothly to the floor. It took every effort and then some, leaving my heart thundering and sweat decorating my bare chest.

My black boxer-briefs were the only thing I wore as I hesitantly wobbled upright, lost sight for a second or so, then shuffled from my bedroom. One arm stayed outstretched, dragging my fingers along the smooth white walls for balance while the other massaged my lower back, desperate to find some relief.

My living room was the same as when Hope left. Our dishes still on the coffee table, and the TV on standby mode after being paused for so long. After she’d gone, I’d given up pretending that I wasn’t in some serious trouble, popped more drugs, then soaked in the bath hoping that would ease the tweaks before crawling into bed and passing out.

Talking of passing out, I grew tired. So, so tired as I skirted around the dining room table and into the kitchen.

My fingers shook as I grabbed the painkiller box and ripped out a strip of white tablets encased in silver foil.

Relief would be found in about twenty minutes.

All I needed to do was pop these suckers and—

The world was spinning.

The ground was rushing.

The blackness welcomed me back.

* * * * *

“Come on. This is your last chance. If you don’t open your eyes this very second, I’m calling your mother and an ambulance, Jacob Wild.”

Something prodded me.

Something soft covered me.

Something warm and gentle stroked my forehead.

“Last warning. One…two…”

I opened my eyes, squinting against the sun streaming through the skylight I’d installed over the sink.

“Oh, thank everything holy.”

I tried to speak, but my throat was dry, and my jaw bruised for some reason. Waggling my mouth left and right, I cringed against yet another ache.

“You hit your chin on the counter, I think. When you fainted.”

Fainted?

I didn’t faint. Men didn’t faint.

I looked up into eyes that were becoming far too familiar in this position. My head was once again on Hope Jacinta Murphy’s lap, only, instead of grass cushioning my body, I was on the cold tiles of my kitchen floor with the comforter from my bed thrown over me.

Her legs were my pillow, soft but unable to stop the sudden drumming in my skull. My hand came up to press against my temple, doing my best to add pressure to the pain and push it out of my mind.

“Don’t do that.” Hope’s fingers lashed around my wrist, pulling my palm away.

Swallowing against the throbbing in my jaw, I croaked, “Why exactly are you in my house?”

“I came to see how you were.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It’s eight a.m., Jacob. See?” She nudged her chin at the pooling golden light everywhere. “Please tell me you can see that. What’s your name? Where are we? How many fingers am I holding up?” She shoved three in my face, her breath minty fresh and hair laced with coffee.

Pushing her hand away, I muttered, “Three. Now, let me up.”

She only pressed my shoulders deeper into her lap. “I’m not letting you up until you promise me something.”

My temper spiked, helping drown out my pains. “Promise me you won’t break into my house uninvited again, and you have a deal.”

“The door wasn’t locked, so I didn’t break in. And besides” —her eyes tightened— “if I hadn’t come to check on you, you’d be a lot worse off. Believe me.” Her hands rubbed my shoulders, tucking the comforter tighter around me. “You were unconscious. Your skin was like ice, and you’ve cut the inside of your lip. God only knows how long you’ve been lying here.”

“I could’ve managed.”

“Yeah, managed by getting hypothermia and dying.”

“It’s summer. It’s not cold enough to get hypothermia.”

“Now is not the time to argue with me. I’m mad at you.” Her eyes glittered, mouth pinched, fire crackled all around her. She was definitely mad. But she had no right to be.

Preparing myself for a bolt of agony, I jack-knifed off her lap.

“Hey!” She scrambled after me.

I groaned, regretting my decision as the room swam, and I very nearly threw up. My body tried to retch, but I flatly refused to be sick in front of Hope. I’d already embarrassed myself enough, thank you very much.