all you've got (jj maybank)
Summary: You weren’t supposed to be the one Rafe wanted to make an example of. But standing between him and someone weaker? That’s just who you are. Now, you’re barely standing, barely breathing as you make your way back to the Château—bruised, bloody, and breaking.
JJ sees you first. JJ always sees you first.
"What did they do to you?"His voice is raw, breaking, shaking. His hands hover, torn between rage and gentleness. He wants to go after Rafe, wants to burn everything down, but instead—he stays. He kneels beside you, cleans you up, holds you together when you finally fall apart. based on this request
word count: 5692
trigger warnings: physical violence, bruises, blood, non-consensual restraint (barry holding the reader), trauma response, and emotional distress. Mentions of substance abuse (cocaine use, withdrawal), PTSD-like symptoms, and implied revenge plotting. Reader discretion is advised.
Just another hour and I’d be home, enjoying a Natty Light with the rest of the Pogues. Maybe if I was lucky, we could even take the boat out for a midnight cruise through the marsh. Who was I kidding? JJ would never say no to me, I think to myself as I punch in another drink order for one of the cackling Kooks. The country club was in full swing ahead of the dinner rush and as much as I could really use the money I would get from the wealthy patrons, I couldn’t wait for my shift to end.
Sarah’s brother and ex-boyfriend had moseyed their way over to the bar, rowdy and loudly shouting about a stellar round of golf – barf. Oh Topper, you’ve bested me on the overly saturated green. Oh well, you know I do my best work on ground that could hydrate the Cut for weeks, Rafe. Ahaha, shall we get a round of caviar to celebrate? God, they made me sick. In an act of self-preservation though, I try to stick to my side of the restaurant, a blur of empty wine glasses and appetizers.
Tension had been building between the guys ever since Sarah had started dating my brother. Being his twin, I wasn’t looking to get caught up in the drama just for having the same face. I’d nearly made it out alive, nearly finished with a perfect score.
The sound of glass shattering caught my attention, head snapping up from my POS system. “Are you fucking serious? Do you know who I am?” The voice is menacing, rough. I catch sight of a wired Rafe Cameron with his fingertips wrapped around the collar of a young bus boy, shoving him up against the side panel of the tiki hut bar. The boy’s toes dragged against the pavement, nearly off the ground from the way Rafe held him. The boy looks terrified, feet kicking a little to get his footing. He’s stuttering, glancing around silently begging for life support.
My feet were moving before I could think it over, before I could second guess myself. Inserting yourself into the eldest Cameron’s fights? A death sentence in the making. But we Routledges really loved the thrill of danger. My sneakers squeeze against the wet patio, nearly slipping as I wedged myself between the two boys. Palms splay over the silky texture of Rafe’s golf polo, breaking his icy glare from the small boy.
I drop my hands with wide intention, causing him to release the kid who plops down onto the ground and stumbles into my back. “You’re making a scene,” I grunt. The glass crunches under my feet and I make a mental note to be sure to change them out before leaving, not wanting to get shards of glass anywhere near the chateau.
“Baby Routledge, look who's feeling brave today,” Rafe says, staring down at me. He snarls, a deadly look in his eyes as an aimlessly sick smile paints across his face. He takes a few heavy breaths, too shallow to help him calm down. He breathes out through clenched teeth, “Get out of my way.”
“Walk away from this Rafe,” I shake my head, planting my feet firmly. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, I can feel the bus boy’s fingers tighten against the cheap grit of my uniform.
“The little shit spilt a glass of Pinot on me,” he steps back a little to show off the red stain on his khakis. “He’s gonna have to pay up.”
“Then speak to Jason, alright?” I say, nodding toward the door where I know my manager is inside, doing paperwork. “Don’t start a fight with a kid half your size in front of all these fine people.”
Rafe’s expression shifts, twisting in a way that makes a pit form in my gut. It’s like he’s discovered something you don’t know, like he’s first in line with the grim reaper – learning about what takes you out. It makes me nauseous. . And then I notice it. It’s subtle, the way he sniffs – rubs his nose. I can see the red in his eyes, the rapid nodding. He glances around, laughing a little to himself. Topper, to his right, looks unsure as he laughs along.
Rafe steps forward suddenly, crowding my space as his nose nearly brushes mine. He smells like vodka and sweat, it turns my stomach. “Walk away,” he says, “now.”
“He’s just a kid Rafe,” I say, unshakable as I square my shoulders.
“You really wanna do this?” Rafe mutters. He’s close enough that I can see how blown his pupils are. His hands are shaky as they ball up in fists at his sides. He tilts his head, racking over my frame. I can see the way he sizes me up. Even in his presence, the livewire of the privileged Kook Prince – I don’t move. The tension is thick in the air, the world silent around us as everyone watches to see what Rafe does next. To see if I’ll fold.
“Rafe, I think that’s enough,” Topper’s voice cuts through the tension.
Rafe shoves the man away, holding his hands up as if he was disgusted that someone would put their hands on him. “You fuckin’ lowlife Pogues…I’ll get both your asses fired,” he smirks, raising a brow as if it’s a threat that scares me. Topper’s got a hand on his shoulder now, holding him in place momentarily until he steps back once, twice in what he thinks is a victory.
I don’t know what it is; maybe the smug grin on his face, maybe the obnoxious wink he throws my way as if I’m the dirt beneath the giant ass golf course he’d just played a round of nine over. I shouldn’t pick a fight, I should take his backing off as a win. But the entitlement of threatening a job when he’s never even needed to know the worth of a dollar drives me up a mountain and down the other side.
“That’s fine,” I say, nodding as I keep the bus boy behind me. “Go ahead. I’ll be sure to let Daddy know that your allowance is going into powder…it’s a little too warm for snow this time of the year, don’t you think?”
Topper looks over at me with a look of near horror and surprise, definitely not expecting that. The victorious smirk on Rafe’s face falls, his jaw clenching as his eyes narrow. “You’ll regret that, Baby Routledge…you and your brother, never learning who stays on top,” he threatens, wiping his nose instinctively as he turns, walking away.
“Thank you so much,” a small voice comes from behind me, releasing my shirt.
“Shuddup,” I say, turning away from the bus boy. “Clean this up, before we both lose our jobs.” I get back to my POS, trying to ignore the tremble in my hands as I punch in the last of my orders. I end up staying two extra hours after Jason catches wind of the confrontation with Rafe, restocking shelves in the kitchen and cleaning all the glassware by hand before it goes out to the bar. I have just enough time to change out my sneakers for my old Birks, a hand-me-down from Kie when she got a new pair for her birthday.
I grab my bag and close my locker, jumping as my boss appears out of nowhere, a sour look plastered on his face. He normally wears a sour look, but this one looks a little extra sour. I’d already forfeited my heavy stack of ones to him, hoping that offering my tips to pay for the broken glassware would grant me some leniency.
“You can thank the Masons for keeping your job,” he spits. “They vouched for you on the way out. But another conflict with a paying customer and you’re out, do I make myself clear?”
“It won’t happen again, I promise,” I say, shoulders deflated. We’re already struggling to keep the chateau as it is, the last thing I need is to lose my job.
“See you Monday,” he says, crossing his arms and nodding to the door with a stern glare.
“Thank you sir,” I say, leaving quickly before he can change his mind. It’s dark out as I start the long walk home. My calves are screaming from the time ducked under the counter collecting glasses, shoulders sore as my adrenaline wears off from the tension with Rafe earlier. Fuckin’ asshole.
“Spilled Pinot on my 1,000th pair of khakis,” I say to myself mockingly as I cross the dimly lit street of shops on Figure 8. The lights are off, clearly having closed up early to enjoy the beautiful summer evening. Must be nice to afford to close shop early. It’s quiet along the streets and I tug my bag a little tighter over my shoulder, pulling my phone from my pocket and seeing the green lightning bolt on the screen. Dead…damnit. What I would give to see the Twinkie barreling toward me…or the buzz of JJ’s bike ripping up the road. I bet the bastards were already hammered right now, night fishing on the dock without a care in the world. Better have a cold beer waiting for me.
I can see the bridge in the distance, breathing a sigh of relief as the last leg of the walk is in reach. Headlights glare behind me, illuminating the sidewalk. The light washes over me, blinding me as it approaches. The engine revs a little as the tires slow, crawling behind me. I step further on the sidewalk, getting out of the way but no one passes. I can hear the gravel beneath the rubber.
I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath when the light disappears. I only bother to turn around when the car door sounds open. I see his boat shoes before I see his tall frame, stepping in front of the hood of the suped up truck. Even in the dark, I can see the wild, frantic look in his eye.
“Let’s not do this again Rafe,” I say, tugging my crochet bag higher over my shoulder. I look over his clothes, trying to defuse the situation before it gets ugly. I wave a hand in his direction. “I see you’ve got yourself a new pair of shorts so…crisis averted. Club soda and salt are great for getting out wine stains.”
“You were real brave back there,” Rafe says, ignoring the white flag I try to throw his way. He wipes his face, wipes his mouth and breathes out sharply. He steps forward toward me, pointing a sharp finger in my direction. “Thinking you’re so clever.”
I watch the way he starts to pass, the way his tongue fumbles over the words flying too fast out of his mouth. Nothing good comes from fighting with someone on a high and so in an act of self-preservation, I turn and try to head to the bridge to give myself some distance or home court advantage. But I hit something hard as my body turns, stumbling back. I feel the strap of my sandal pop from the momentum.
I catch the glint of a gold tooth, glinting under the flickering lamp post. “Got some’ere to be pretty thin’?” Barry asks, tilting his head at me before glancing over my head.
I close my eyes, sifting my brain for what JJ had taught me one late night on the beach after everyone had stumbled off to sleep under the stars. What was it? Closed fist…thumb tucked over fingers to avoid breaking it…or maybe it was under fingers? Fuck. Damnit JJ and his gorgeous ocean eyes, distracting me from knowing how to defend myself against coked up Kooks.
My feet scuff against the pavement, ditching my lovely and fucked sandals in the hopes that my barefeet will help me escape the situation. It’s no use because Barry’s a brick wall, too wide for his own good and he only needs to step to the left a little faster than I would expect of him. His fingers imprint red into my shoulders with a vice grip, turning my struggling form to face a fuming Rafe. My back presses against his sweaty chest and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I try not to let the man see me sweat though, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of how helpless I feel. Rafe walks up to me, slowly like a lion circling its prey, like he’s playing with his food before going in for the kill.
He stretches a hand out, grabbing my jaw with ringed fingers and squeezing so tightly that I’m sure that alone will bruise. “I told you to walk away,” he says, bending down so that he’s eye level with me.
It’s not a smart move, considering the predicament and my helpless position of two on one. It’s not in my nature as I normally left the fights to my brother and his beautiful best friend but even the smallest creatures fight their way out of entrapment. The spit lands with perfect aim, sliding down his eyelid and settles in his lashes as it slides down his cheek in a glob. He jumps back in surprise and behind me, I can feel Barry shake a little in amusement.
“Well, gotta give it to ya,” Barry mutters, “ya got balls, kid.”
Words fall flat on my tongue as Rafe’s palm finds purchase on my cheek. He swings with a full moment, arm cocking back in a blind rage to slap me. The force is so hard that I worry my head could disconnect from my spine. It’s shocking that the gratitude for a drug dealer holding me up finds its way into my system ahead of the burning sting. My vision feels a little hazy as I shake my head, trying to collect my bearings. Rafe is shaking his hand, holding in front of him and hissing from the pain he’s in. Poor baby.
When his eyes land on me, he waits with anticipation – clearly expecting me to…I don’t know. Break down? Sob out an apology for getting between him and justice over his Ralph Lauren. But the only thing coming out of my mouth is another glob of spit in his direction, this time mixed with the metallic from my tongue and cheek. I must have a death wish…or maybe in the process of trying to remember, I’d summoned the spirit of one Maybank boy. I don’t even recognize the sound of my own voice when I say, “That's all you got, you pussy?”
Everything happens in slow motion after that as I’m ripped from Barry’s grasp. The momentum of tugging me toward him allows the first punch to land with a swift and purposeful crack against my cheekbone. Pain explodes, rattling my teeth. I question if I’ve gone deaf when Rafe’s shouts of fury are replaced with a high pitched ringing. I don’t even register the sound of my screaming when my back hits the door handle of his truck, the back of my head knocking his mirror inwards toward the cab.
“Rafe, enough dog,” Barry’s tugging the psychopath back in a rush, staring at me in horror as I crumble to the ground. My face feels warm and puffy, vision blurry as they stare down at me. I blink a few times and every time I try to understand what just happened, my chest tightens making it harder to breathe. Hands find my cheeks, calloused but softer. I flinch regardless, head tugging back so quickly in defense that I bounce it off the side of the truck leaving a dent in the door.
“Get away from me,” I grunt, trying to stand.
“Whoa, whoa,” Barry calls, letting me go as he raises his hands in defense. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t mean for–,”
“Barry, we gotta get outta here,” Rafe’s voice is sharp as he steps away from me further, putting more distance between himself and his handy work.
And then, they’re gone. Leaving me, slumped against Rafe’s stupid truck, pulled over right before the bridge. My body aches when I finally force myself to stand, wanting nothing more than to get to the comfort of the Chateau and never leave again. My hand presses against the dent in the doorway to steady myself, rising up on shaky legs.
I look down, noting the blood splatters on the rolled cuffs of my work shorts. A wave of dizzying nausea rolls over me, causing me to look up to the sky. I stumble on my feet, hands shaky as I try not to touch my face.
I don’t know how long it takes me to walk the rest of the way home. It’s late enough that there are no cars on the road, no one to question my fragile state or the blood drying on my bottom lip. It’s a little hard to see out of one eye and I try not to think about how bad I must look when the christmas lights of the chateau appear in the distance.
My feet seem to move on pure adrenaline, carrying me to the backyard – carrying me to the voices of my family. I can see the silhouette of Kie’s bun glowing from the bonfire, hearing the soft strum of the ukulele as she calls out to the boys for a beer. She seems to be the only person outside, looking up at the sound of twigs crunching beneath my feet.
When we make eye contact, I try to ignore the way her soul leaves her body at the sight of me. “Oh my god,” she says. Her ukelele falls from her lap as she stands, crossing the yard toward me in concern.
The speed of her pace, sends me stumbling back a little – flinching out of reflex. The action takes her by surprise and then concern, gaze softening as she keeps a safe distance. She turns to the porch, clearly looking for the others. “Jjay, Pope–,” she shouts, causing me to flinch again at the loud noise.
Worry melts into dread, noticing the way my arms are wrapped exhaustedly around my frame like I’m trying to hold myself together. “Oh my god,” she repeats, looking me over. Her eyes gloss over with tears, clearly trying to hold them in for my sake.
My stomach drops at the sound of the screen door squealing, the coils screaming at the speed at which its opened. And when Kie turns again, Pope is walking over to see what all the commotion is.
All I can see is JJ behind him, adjusting his red cap atop his head with a look of curiosity as he glances around his friends. I see the way his eyes focus on my face, see the way his whole body freezes up momentarily at the sight of me. I can’t imagine how bad it is, don’t want to imagine how bad I must look. Swollen, bruised, bleeding and barefoot – it must be bad because JJ is shoving Pope out of the way, nearly taking out a camping chair in the process of getting to my side as fast as humanly possible.
“What the hell?” his voice is strained, panicked as he brushes past Kie. He enters my bubble without asking, hands reaching for me. He stops himself though, showing enough restraint that his hands hang – hovering. I see him swallow, eyes shifting over my face as if he’s trying to assess the damage and calculate where to touch me that won’t hurt.
JJ’s no stranger to bodily damage. But it was a strange reversal of role for the two of us and the tremble in his hands was a reminder of that. I’d nursed him back to full health so many times over the years that I knew every inch of his scars, every terrible reminder of his reckless appetite for violence. He must swallow down his ignorance as he reaches out the rest of the way, fingertips dancing so tenderly over my jaw that if it weren’t for the bruising, I wouldn’t have felt it.
I hate the pity in his eyes as I flinch from his touch.
“What did they do to you?” he says.
I step backwards, running from his warmth. It’s too gentle, too kind and the contrast from the hands that had last claimed my skin is too sudden. It makes me want to vomit. “I’m fine.”
“The hell you are,” JJ says, gasping out. “Who did this? Tell me who did this to you.”
A silence falls over the yard as I look away from his pleading eyes. I’m not sure why I hold the culprit so close to the chest. It’s not that I want to protect Rafe, quite the opposite frankly. JJ Maybank had always been a knight in boardshorts, saving me from the smallest of disasters. Even though my brother had always staked his claim of best friend on JJ – the wild boy had made it clear that I’d always hold his heart in a way my brother simply wasn’t capable of.
While he and John B would steal Playboy magazines from Luke in our pre-pubescent years, he’d also braid wildflowers from the field into my hair. When he and John B would get drunk on the beach after long, sunny days of surfing, he’d still lay with his head in my lap asking me to read him poetry from a new book I’d gotten. And when we were old enough to start going to parties, JJ still found a way to appear by my side the minute I was getting unwanted attention. Pope had once narrated a long and lengthy lecture while John B and JJ were a ways away, wrestling on the lawn, about how it had to do with JJ’s ventromedial prefrontal cortex.
“It’s really that he recognizes how much you are a safe space and you calm his amygdala which triggers his–,”
“Pope, it’s love,” Kie groans, shaking her head at the boy. “He’s in love with you, god.” JJ had looked over in that moment, struggling in a headlock but still finding the ability to grin in my direction and send me a wink. I’d always hoped one of us had acted on it by this point, found the strength to bypass my brother’s cockblocking and heavy stares as he looked us over on nights where he felt we were too close, too handsy for his liking.
I think that’s why I avoided giving up the information now as JJ demanded names. Even though he wasn’t entirely mine, I couldn’t lose him further. He’d kill Rafe without hesitation. He’d go to jail for trying. So I shake my head, lips tight as I refuse to let anything slip. His touch is cool against my cheek and I find myself leaning in, warming up to the gentle touch. JJ huffs, not in annoyance but in desperation.
“Please,” he whispers, stepping closer and licking his bottom lip in desperation. I can feel his breath on my lips, lost and swimming in the ocean of his eyes. “Let me fix this.”
I press my lips together tightly, afraid I’ll spill on a pure technicality from distraction of how beautiful he is. But the action causes the dried blood to crack on my lip, splitting open. My cheeks flush in embarrassment as I feel a dribble of blood seep out and run along my skin. “Fuck,” I grunt, stepping away from lip to cover my mouth and whip gingerly at it.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, collecting me into his side and helping me inside the house. It’s stifling inside, the AC in the living room broken. I’m annoyed at myself suddenly, remembering that my tips were meant to go toward replacing it. Pope rushes past us to the bathroom and I can hear him rummaging around for the first aid kit. JJ’s hands slide along my hips, lifting me with ease onto the counter. He cups my face again, moving it around slowly to examine the damage better in the light of the kitchen. He opens his mouth to say something else when the door squeaks open again.
I can’t help but jump as the screen door slams against the frame, shaking slightly. I wanted to bury my face into JJ’s neck until I healed, hide from the world and never leave his side. Because there was only potentially one thing worse than JJ’s face when he saw me and that was my brother’s.
Sarah sees me first, a loud gasp escaping her as she stops in the doorway. My neck starts to hurt again as my brother takes in how close JJ is, tucked between my legs with a hand on my face. It looks compromising. It is compromising and because of that, it takes a minute to register what’s happened.
His face drops, fists clench. “Who?”
It’s silent for too long, only broken by Pope’s nearly cheerful “found it” and his footsteps trotting back into the kitchen. I turn away from my brother, only to be burned by the intensity of JJ’s gaze in front of me. The lack of escape feels less stifling, less suffocating this time.
My voice is smaller than I want it to be when I finally say what they want to hear. “Ra–,” I have to clear my throat, his name dying on my tongue. I can see the veins in his arms, the blacks of his pupils, my blood on his forearm. “Rafe.”
And the second it leaves my mouth, JJ’s hands go with it. He’s leaving my form, peeling himself off of me in a matter of seconds. His focus turns to my brother, matching looks of revenge and deep seeded hatred. “We’re going, right now,” JJ grunts, walking over to the kitchen table and reaching for something I can’t see. The click gives me a good idea, panic settling in my bones at the fear of losing either of them to a Kook…to Rafe.
John B says nothing, only nodding stiffly and letting go of Sarah’s hand.
My body hurts as I slide from the countertop, feet sore as they slap along the tile to follow after them. I muster up enough strength to duck beneath JJ’s arm, weave around Sarah and John B in the doorway just enough to block their way. “You can’t.”
The two look at me, conflicted as I hold myself up in the doorway. They breath out my name, glancing at each other. I can see the heat radiating from their pores, unable to stop the tension from settling into their muscles like an itch they have to scratch.
It’s John B who tries to persuade me but I can’t look at anyone but JJ who's looking anywhere but at me. He knows, we both know, that the minute he looks at me – it’s all over. That I can plead, beg with one semi-serious pout and he’s putty in my hands. That’s how I know how serious he is about using that gun, avoiding my gaze like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do on this Earth because he doesn’t want to be stopped. He wants to put his hands on someone, wants to make sure to make an example of the man who thought he could get away with hurting me.
“Move,” JJ finally says, grinding his teeth. The word cuts through John B’s reasoning, stopping him in his tracks.
I shake my head, refusing. “I–can’t,” I gasp out, hearing the thumping of my heartbeat in my ears as the panic spills over and hot tears start to stream down my face. My shoulders shake as I tuck my head, trying to control my breathing, trying to stay strong so that I can convince them not to leave me. The stress is too much and my legs give out, knees buckling underneath me.
But JJ’s there to catch me, just like he always does. He safely brings me to the ground, scooping me into his arms as loud sobs wrack through me uncontrollably. The emotions, the pain all become too much and the dam breaks. He holds tightly onto me like he’s afraid that if he lets go, I’ll never recover and I can hear his soft cooes over my wailing as he murmurs “I got you, I’m right here.”
I don’t know how long we sit there on the floor of the porch when JJ finally rises to his feet, causing my throat to tighten and a fresh wave of tears to come pouring out. “I’m right here Sweets, I’m not going to kill anyone tonight – I promise,” he says. “I just want to get you cleaned up.”
JJ helps me to my room in the back of the chateau and pushes the door open. A chill passes through the doorway from the only working AC unit running overtime. He scoots me along to the bathroom, sitting me on the toilet seat and sitting along the tub to turn the water on. It's quiet as one of his hands rest on my thigh, circling patterns along the skin while the other dances under the faucet to check the temperature.
When he’s satisfied, he stands for a moment with rosy cheeks. “I can give you some privacy while you –,” he nods to the tub.
“Don’t leave,” I whisper, standing slowly. I turn a little to peel off my work uniform when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I’m horrified at the flash of myself, closing my eyes and squeezing them shut. My hands come up, covering my eyes and rubbing in an attempt to erase the image from my brain. “Oh my god.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” JJ’s hands slide over mine, pulling them away so that I don’t hurt myself. He towers over me, blocking my view to the mirror. “Don’t look, okay? Just…close your eyes, I’ll help.”
I nod, keeping my eyes tightly closed as I imagine his sweet face, caring eyes watching me for any signs of discomfort. My breath hitches a little as he undoes the button to my shorts, sliding them off my hips and helping me step out of both garments. His hands skim along the tender skin on my back, my shoulders as he unhooked my bra. My eyes flutter open, breathing in his gentle nature as he watches my face with intention. I feel like I can’t breathe in his presence.
He helps me into the warm water before turning off the faucet, soaking in the comfortable silence of the moment as I let it soothe my aching body. Exhaustion overtakes me and I can’t help but relax a little, gaze heavy as I lean against the wall. “Hey, I know you’re exhausted – let’s just get you cleaned up and then get you to bed, okay?”
I look up at him, realizing he’s not just saying he knows because he’s being a good friend or that he’s sympathetic to see me covered in blood and bruises as a result of a man’s wrath. JJ knows because JJ’s been me and the thought makes me want to cry again. I can’t do anything, don’t have the energy to do anything but watch as he kneels beside the tub, peeling off his boots and socks and rolls up the sleeves off his shirt before grabbing the wash cloth and dipping it in the water.
He’s cautious as he cleans my face and my shoulders, careful as he wipes the blood from above my knees. The water turns a ting of murky red as he drags the soft cloth along each of my fingertips, using his own nail to gently scratch the remnants of my attack from my cuticles.
The room is quiet while he works to bring me back to myself, bring me back to him. And each time I flinch, he stops and tells me a pointless fun fact about fish in the marsh. He waits until I smile before starting his work again. And when I sniffle, my nose scrunching in pain from a tender spot – he kisses at the spot until I can breathe again. There’s no words, they aren’t needed. Each drag of the washcloth, each brush of the lips is the most tender whisper of love I’ve ever experienced.
When the dirty water goes cold and he’s satisfied with his work, he disappears only for a minute to get the biggest and fluffiest towel – Sarah’s – from the laundry machine. He instructs me to stand and wraps me in the warm, cozy towel to dry me off. He helps me pull on a pair of pajamas, his tee shirt and sweats, letting me steady myself against his shoulder while he pulls on a pair of warm socks.
When we shuffle back into my cool room, I clutch his hand and stare wide-eyed as he pulls the blankets back so that I can crawl in. “Stay?”
“I’m not going anywhere unless you give me the word,” JJ promises, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
I nod, satisfied as I crawl into bed and slide over to make space for him. He peels off his clothes, down to his boxers and climbs in beside me. He flicks off the lamp, encasing us in darkness and turns to pull me against his chest.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he breathes, almost more to himself than to me. I nod, squeezing his hand.
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