Deviation (A Defined Series Book 1) (21 page)

“Edith!” Jack barrels through the door, three police officers behind him. They pull me from Aiden, and Jack grabs me, hugging so tight, the breath is pushed from my lungs. When I wince in pain, he softens his grip.

“It was Daniel. He did this. He did this to us.”

Jack cups my face in his palms, looking into my eyes. He’s saying something, but the words start to jumble together and everything gets hazy, fuzzy, and dark. I feel myself falling and floating, and Jack’s eyes go wide as I slip from his grasp into the dark abyss that sucks me down farther than ever before.

Jack

I’m furious they don’t let me ride in the ambulance. Once all this shit settles, heads will roll. When Aiden seized for the second time, they intubated him right in my office. His vitals had dropped dramatically and I thought I was losing him, too. The EMTs said Edith fainted from stress and possible internal injuries, but when they asked me if she might be pregnant, I didn’t know what to say to that. My heart pounded and fear made me sweat uncontrollably as I raced to my car.

I follow them to University Hospital, but when I try to enter the ER, I get stopped by two police officers who want me to make a statement. Luckily, Sam was the prosecutor on call because it took two officers and two security guards to keep me from barging into the emergency room. He advised them I could make any needed statements later and I was grateful he gave me that.  

I feel like I’ve been in a car accident. My chest hurts so badly from the stress of walking into my house and seeing… Shit, there was blood everywhere. After the ambulance and I left my house, the police found Daniel Munson in my rose bushes, unconscious from blood loss. I call Shelby, leaving a message and telling her to call me. She needs to be here, but I know why she doesn’t want to be.

My knees bounce up and down with adrenaline as I sit in the most awful plastic chairs designed. Somebody needs to call IKEA and get them in here to design something better. Hospital waiting rooms are the worst.

“Mr. Hamilton?” A nurse in a pair of scrubs peeks through the door. “Come on back.” She ushers me beyond the door, and the two officers I scuffled with nod appreciatively, giving me a wide berth. I shrug and they shake their heads, smiling. I probably need to call Sam and thank him for keeping my ass out of jail tonight. 

“Baby!” I rush to Edith’s bedside. She’s got bandages all over, her hand is in a splint, and she looks a mess.

“Jack, you came.” I grasp her hand, but she winces when I hold too tight.

“Hang on, sweetheart. Let me get a nurse to give you something.”

“No! I don’t want anything for the pain.” She must be trying to avoid it so she doesn’t get addicted on any level.

“They brought Aiden in and are treating him right now. I left a message for Shelby to call me as soon as she gets it.”

“What did he do to him?”

“Poisoned him, but they managed to pump his stomach. He’s stable now. The hospital called his parents since he’s listed as a student resident here. They’re on their way.”

“Wait until you meet them,” Edith mumbles and looks around the room, listless.

I feel so helpless and unsure. “What can I do?”

“Don’t look at me right now. I’m a mess.” She tries hiding her head. I’m stunned that she would even give a crap about that right now.

“But, baby, you’re
my
mess.” I lean over the bed and kiss her lips softly so as to not hurt her.

“All right. Enough of that. I’m Doctor Rajim. I need to look at my patient.” The doctor shakes my hand, then sweeps past me to look over Edith. When he gives me a telling look, I begrudgingly step outside the room to wait.  

After what feels like an eternity, the nurse looks out the door and motions that I can come back in. When I do, Edith looks exhausted. I want nothing more than to wrap her up and take her somewhere safe.

“I’ll write a prescription, but you might have a feisty patient on your hands.” Doctor Rajim makes a few more notes in the chart, as I gingerly sit on the bed.

“I’m not taking the meds.” Her voice wavers and I hold her hand, listening to the doctor’s discharge instructions. She’s to take it easy and check in with her regular doctor in a few days.

When he walks out, I turn to her. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” I’m not worried about her becoming addicted this time because I know the warning signs. Plus, she’s stubborn enough to not take anything.

“I was so scared he was going to kill me.”

“But he didn’t and you got away. God, I should never have left you at the house without me.”

“Stop it, Jack. This wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I was irresponsible. I should have been there.”

“All right. Your guilt’s be assuaged. You’re here now, and I’m going to be okay. A few broken fingers, busted ribs, and some scratches. I’m tougher than that.”

I take a shuddering breath. “I want to sell the house.”

“What? Absolutely not. I love that house. That’s
our
house. If it means redecorating, so be it. The first things that can go are those dumb couches in the living room. I’m sure they’re covered in blood.”

“So you finally tell me what you think of them.” We share a smile and, with my help, she scooches over in the bed so she can lay in my lap. I’d rather she stay put, but if the position makes her feel better, I’ll do whatever she wants. So much for Edith taking it easy.

“You can buy those leather sectionals you wanted.” If I’m not mistaken, my girl is almost purring with couch envy.

“Really? What else can I buy for the house?”

“I’m willing to negotiate.” A cheeky smile cracks her face and I squeeze her, excited with the possibility. She winces. “Ouch. Not so tight.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just get me out of here.”

“Let me go find a nurse and spring you, baby.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Edith

It’s been a few days since the attack. Daniel is currently spending his days making orange look good, and I’m eagerly waiting to testify to prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law. Sam says I won’t have to get on the stand, but when I tell him I actually
want
to, Jack flips out and suggests I see his therapist friend, Fleur, to “process shit”. Honestly, I think Jack needs to process this more than I do. To keep him busy, I give him the task of hiring professional cleaners for the house. The couches are no longer an item of contention. In the meantime, we’re living in his apartment downtown.

“So tell me about your relationship with Jack.”

Fleur is tiny with keen, gentle eyes. A part of me is resentful for having to be here at all. I keep looking at the door, knowing Jack is on the other side. If I don’t stay here for the appointed hour, I wonder if he’d cart me off to some remote location out of his own fears.

“Why don’t you tell me about
your
relationship with Jack?” I don’t hate this woman, but I don’t like her much, either. Even though she’s been nothing but nice, her being Jack’s ex kind of gets to me.

“Edith…,” she chides.

“I only studied the basics of psychology for my business degree. Was he any good?” I deflect because it’s what I’m good at. I don’t want to talk about me.

“Jack is a good man and he cares about you. I’m happy you make him happy but, for the sake of argument, let’s tackle the elephant in the room.”             

“Miss Pink.”

“What?”

“Pink. We call our elephant Miss Pink.”

“All right, Edith. Miss Pink elephant is looming. Let’s dive in right there.”

“That’s like the deep end of the swimming pool. I can’t swim there yet. I don’t really know you well enough for that,” I tell her, picking at an invisible piece of lint on my jeans.

“Fair enough. Supposing we had a swimming tube and we were wading just up to our toes, where would you like to go?”

Fleur is smart. I will give her that. She’s also nice, and is definitely not the broken, complicated mess I am It hurts, but I trust Jack enough to know he wouldn’t have pushed this if it wasn’t important. I don’t go into counseling gently. My personality is defensive by nature, making me a bull in a china shop at times.

I talk about the last year. Meeting Jack. Being with Jack. Learning that Dean Andrews, who found out about us, told him he wouldn’t say anything if Jack didn’t return to teach at the university, and Jack agreeing to it. The guilt. The shame. The attack. My anxiety of getting up on the podium to accept my long-awaited diploma. There’s so much to take in and so much unfinished. Fleur listens. She doesn’t tell me what to do. She doesn’t berate me when I tell her that I still crave the pills I took at my lowest moment, but I don’t have the desire to hurt myself anymore. I can’t believe I had such dark thoughts over an issue that was out of my control and not my fault. She encourages me to join a support group she runs one night a week and, miraculously, I agree. I figure if I’m crazy, let me be crazy with some like-minded people who get where I’m coming from.

It probably helps that when I leave the session, Jack is there to scoop me into his arms. “Missed you.”

“I was in there for fifty-five minutes, Jack.”

He holds my hand and we walk to the car. “Yeah, but an hour without you is an hour my heart hurts.”

“Okay, Professor Sappy. I was kind of hoping it was the dress you were thinking about.” Jack carefully pins me against the car. My ribs still hurt, and my hand is still in a cast to stabilize the broken fingers.

“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the dress, too.”

“Oh, good.” I lean into Jack, licking his ear and whispering, “Because I’m not wearing any underwear right now.” He groans, making me laugh a wicked little chuckle. Jack helps me get inside the car, then he speeds home. 

Inside the apartment, I lead him into the bedroom filled with modern furniture, which is so different from our nice Victorian house. We slip off our shoes, drop all other clothes, and Jack reclines back on the bed, his cock jutting proudly from his hips.

Clucking, I point at it with my good hand, my other one resting against my chest. “Why is it that women have to do all the work?” With some help, I get on top on him and Jack grunts, raising his arms over his head.

“Because if I touch you right now, I’m afraid I might hurt you, sweetheart. It’s been so long that I’m content to wait.”

I pinch his chest, letting him know that his answer is unacceptable. “If I have to wait any longer, I might melt into a puddle on the floor.” I raise myself up and slide over Jack, taking him inch by inch. A few months feels like forever as my body stretches to accommodate him.

He groans. “Such a visual, my love.”

“You’ve kept me primed and horny since January. What’s a girl to do? I can only satisfy myself in the shower so many times before my fingers wear out.”

“Poor baby, and now they’re broken.” Jack takes my hand, tenderly kissing each finger. I won’t have any lingering physical problems from the attack, but my body is still sore, reminding me of it every time I move. 

As he uses his hands to help me, I slowly move up and down, my inner muscles squeezing him. I’m too far gone with desire to try anything coy, our bodies gently rocking together.

“I want to go to Italy after graduation.”

Jack’s hand covers one breast, rubbing the sensitive nipple. “Are we really discussing them right now?” He gyrates, making me squeal when he hits the spot that has missed him so much.

“Yes… Oh, Jack.” My good arm supports me as I try to lean over and take him deeper.

“Baby, I’m going to blow my load.”

“That’s classy, love.” I use muscles I thought dormant, eliciting a guttural sound, and Jack’s cock seems to enlarge. 

“What were you asking?” He rolls his hips again, making me forget. Oh, right. Italy.

“Jack…” He’s thrusting more quickly now. My ribs hurt, but the pleasure outweighs anything else I’ve felt before.

“Let them work it out on their own.” We’re panting and grunting. Finally, I let my release coat his dick, and he shoots deep within me.

“But I love them both, and poor Aiden…” I doubt it helps my case that I say his name on a groan.

“Edith…,” Jack growls.

“Just imagine the sex we could have in Rome…near the Vatican, on a gondola.”

“You don’t even have a passport,” he grunts, thrusting up a final time.

“But you could rush one, couldn’t you? Pretty please?” I lay my head on his chest, careful to not bump my broken fingers too much against my sore ribs. His hand plays with my hair and traces the chain of my necklace. “I love you, Jack Hamilton.”

“I love you, Edith Willows.” When I hear him sigh and he gives me a slight growl, I know he has agreed.

As I drift off into the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in months, I kind of wonder how sex on a gondola will work.