Page 14 of Unmasking You (Hidden Hearts #1)

Chapter 13

Jamie

What was in my mind when I lied to both the police and the hospital?

I should have acted like normal people do and come back at visiting hours, but I couldn’t let go of his hand.

Now I’m avoiding Shane like I would the plague. I’ve spent all my time in my office, coming out only to prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner, or when Shane needs to go to the bathroom, before returning to my office. Every touch we share makes me weaker. Each time I turn away, he looks a little sadder.

I’m scared I’ll forgive him simply because he’s in pain, or because this one time he saved me from it. He didn’t have any problem watching me suffer—or adding to it—back when I couldn’t defend myself.

Three days have already passed, and I’m still far from comfortable having him here. Actually, sleeping is getting harder and harder. I have this gnawing feeling eating at my insides, like something bad is going to happen. It’s the same feeling I had every morning before going to school. The need to run away, but knowing there’s no escape.

I stop in front of the guest room, my heart a roar inside my chest. I glance inside, expecting Shane to still be asleep. Instead, somehow, he has pulled himself up, and he’s now resting with his back on the pillow pushed against the headboard.

He turns his head towards me and smiles, but when I don’t reciprocate, I watch it die on his lips.

Guilt rears its ugly head, but I push it down. He never felt guilty for what he did, did he? A memory of his face full of tears appears in my mind’s eye. No, that can’t be right. He never, not even once, took responsibility for how he and his friends made my life a living hell.

“Breakfast?” I ask, pushing those thoughts away. I can’t think of those bastards, or I’ll lose every bit of progress I’ve made in the last ten years. I take a breath in, hold it for four, and then release it in four, until I’m focused on the present.

“Yes, please.” Shane turns his head away and closes his eyes. He looks tired, but mostly sad.

“Do you feel well enough to have it on the sofa?”

His head whips my way so fast I’m worried he’s going to be sick again. His eyes are as bright as the sun coming through the window, and guilt gnaws at me.

“Can I?”

Why does he look and sound like a kid who’s just received a special gift?

Tenderness fills me, something I never thought I would associate with Shane again. “Give me some time to get everything ready for you. I’ll be back.” And this time, I smile at him. It’s forced, but I don’t give myself time to regret it.

My mum taught me to be kind to people, and even if I would have preferred not to have anything to do with him, we’re in a situation where we have to live together.

And that reminds me, I need to call her before she knocks at my door. How upset would she be if she knew I was taking care of Shane? That’s something I don’t want to see.

“Yeah, okay.”

I smile again because he reminds me of Queen and her eagerness when I pick the leash from the hook next to the front door. I miss her, but with Shane here in need of help to do everything, I couldn’t take care of her properly. In a couple of days, when Shane is more mobile, I’ll ask Ruby to bring her back so they can keep each other company.

He seems lonely.

Ugh. Why the fuck do I care? I’m getting soft… not that I was ever tough.

Am I splitting in two? One half sees Shane as the caring boy I once knew and that he’s been showing me since we met again. And the other half sees Shane as the petty, horrible boy who made my school days nearly impossible to live through, the boy who sent me to hell and never tried to save me.

How can Shane be both?

These vulnerable moments he has, as if he’s never been loved or taken care of, mess with my head. Sure, his dad was strange the only time I met him, but how can the life of someone so rich be anything close to horrible?

It can’t.

I walk back to the living room and quickly create a space for him to rest properly. I push the small table in front of the sofa closer and set a cushion on top so Shane can rest his leg. I place some other cushions against the backrest so he can sit straight, and his shoulder and wrist can rest comfortably on the armrest.

When I re-enter the room, Shane is trying to swing his leg off the bed, but all I can hear are his hisses of pain.

“Stop.” He freezes, and I realise how harsh my tone is, but I don’t want him to injure himself more. Only because if he does, he’ll have to stay here longer, I tell myself.

Liar. I ignore my brain.

“Let me help you.”

He mumbles something I don’t catch.

“What?”

“I know you don’t want to touch me, so I was trying to do it by myself.”

Why are my eyes wet? Why do I feel like a horrible person?

“It can’t be avoided. I don’t want you to injure yourself more.”

I remove the sheet and then help Shane sit straight. Once he’s balanced, I help him move the injured leg to follow the uninjured one.

I ignore the flicker of awareness that his touch provokes in me. We end up facing each other, and I look at him for the first time. His face is open, letting me see everything he feels inside: guilt, need, and hope.

It makes my heart gallop, but at the same time, it sends shivers of fear through me. I don’t want to be pulled in again. What if nothing has changed and he’s still the same person? Would he throw me away again, turn his back on me?

What I really want is to walk away, push all these feelings down, purge them from my system, and only then could I be in his presence again. But his downcast face and his meek demeanour are things I never associated with Shane. They tug at my heart, so against my better judgement, I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him up against me.

He’s heavy, and I stumble a bit, and his arm goes round my shoulders as if to keep me standing.

Our faces are so close that his breath washes over me, and his lips look as inviting as a plate full of sweets I can’t say no to.

Ignoring all these feelings, I concentrate on the task ahead, recovering quickly and manoeuvring us until we’re side by side. I should let go and let him walk with the crutch that I left next to the chair for him yesterday. Instead, intoxicated by his touch, I take a step forward. Then, one slow step after the other, we make it to the living room.

I gently turn around so I’m facing him again and help him slide down until he’s sitting on the sofa. Then I fuss around him to make him comfortable and give myself time to get my heart back to a normal rate.

Once again, I ask myself, why does it have to be Shane ?

I’m glad he doesn’t speak, because otherwise I would’ve run away and hid in my room for the rest of the day like I did for the first three days he was here, only coming out to give him food and his pills. Or when he asked me to help him to the bathroom.

Once I’m done, I walk to the kitchen and prepare two plates with some eggs and bread with butter.

We eat in silence, albeit an awkward one, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. He seems to read my mood correctly because he doesn’t even look at me. I’m acting like a bully, one moment acting as if I care about what happened to him, and the next ready to throw him out because I can’t stand him. I should know better.

I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my mind and body. I can live with him for another couple of weeks, then he’ll be well enough to go back to his own place, and he won’t be my problem any longer.

I ignore the tug on my heart at the thought and instead concentrate on the memories he left me with.

Even sitting this far from him, I get a sniff of body odour and the faint tang of hospital. Oh boy, he does smell. Before I can think better of it, my mouth does what it wants. “You really need a shower.”

He blushes, probably aware of how much he smells, and again I’m hit by guilt.

I should tell my mother off for raising me well enough that I take pity on the person who never stood up for me when I was in trouble, but actually, sometimes, led them forward.

Again, my rage fires up, but a vision of him with Queeny in his arms keeps my mouth shut.

“I’m dying to have one. But it’ll be difficult in this situation,” he says, pointing at his leg and then his wrist.

If it wasn’t for his shoulder, I would have covered the casts with plastic bags, but in this situation…

Fuck! I’ll have to wash him.

Panic settles in at the thought of touching him over and over while cleaning him. I don’t want to do it, but can I leave him like this?

“I don’t want to be a problem,” he says, when I keep looking at my empty plate, trying to bring myself back from the edge of a panic attack.

“Stay here,” I say while turning the TV on and placing the remote in his hand. “I’ll get rid of these plates and clean the kitchen, and then I’ll help you get washed up.”

The way to the bathroom was a long one, with me supporting most of his weight because, once again, he refused the wheelchair. But now, ten minutes later, Shane is sitting on a chair in the bathroom, the warmest room. I’ve also turned the heating on in here just to make sure he’s comfortable. Sitting on the closed toilet seat, I have a bowl filled with hot water, along with soap and a cloth. I have a towel on my shoulder so I can dry him as soon as I’ve washed him.

He’s not wearing a shirt, and I know I should be doing something, but my gaze is fixated on the bruises covering most of his torso and back. I look up, but he’s not looking at me, probably afraid of setting me off and being abandoned in here.

Fuck! I thought I was different from them. But here I am, using the power I have to make him feel bad.

“I’ll try to be as gentle as possible.” I pick up the cloth, wet it, and squeeze it out before using it to clean his back. I can’t face him right now.

He shivers at the first touch, his skin raising goose pimples as the hair on his arms stands on end. I watch, fascinated and horrified at the same time. His body is bigger and has filled out more than when we were adolescents, and every time he shifts, the definition of his muscles is like art… beautiful.

I stop when I encounter a bruise that covers most of his lower back and twists around to cover part of his abdomen. My stomach revolts at the thought of what could have happened. He could have died that day.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my body overflowing with remorse. My eyes fill with tears, and my touch becomes even gentler. I find my hand lingering in those spots where he’s suffering the most, just to move along as soon as what I’m doing becomes clear.

“I am sorry,” he says, and I shake my head. I’m not ready to have this conversation yet. He seems to understand because he doesn’t say more.

I move my hand away and throw the cloth into the bowl, then use the towel to dry his skin.

I move to the front, and I awkwardly stay there for a long moment, not sure of what to do. I take the cloth again, and once it’s ready, I go on my knees in between his legs, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I clean his neck first, sliding along his collarbone until I reach his shoulder, then back up, and do the same on the other side. I do this a couple of times, and then rinse the cloth out and move to his chest. His nipples are standing out, and I admire them for a moment, wondering how good they would taste if I leaned in to kiss them.

I catch myself immediately because it’s not good behaviour. He’s not an object I can take pleasure from.

We don’t talk. Shane’s breath hitches a few times, making me uncomfortable, almost as if I’m doing something I shouldn’t be. Feeling like a sick voyeur, I make quick work of cleaning him and drying his wet skin.

I help him put on one of my bigger zipped hoodies, keeping his cast arm inside. Then I help him get rid of his trousers and make quick work of cleaning his legs and feet.

“I’m stepping outside so you can finish cleaning yourself.” I’m not getting near his family jewels. “Here’s a pair of boxers; they should fit. If they don’t, just wear the shorts I left next to them. Call me if you have any problem. I’ll be just outside.”

“Thank you.”

Am I imagining things, or does his voice sound hoarse?

I change the sheets while Shane’s finishing, and when he calls me back in, I’ve found my balance again.

“Come on, I’ll take you back to bed, and you can rest,” I say, when he yawns, and his eyes close.

I have some thinking to do.

I hide in my room, needing to be surrounded by familiar things. My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket. I let out a sigh of relief when Ruby’s name is on the screen. She always knows when I need her.

“Hey, babe, how are the living arrangements going?”

“I just gave him a sponge bath.”

“Oh, lucky you. From what I saw online, he’s a fine specimen of man.”

“He’s also the boy who broke my heart and my soul. Should I just forget everything he did?”

“Babe, of course not. However, you can’t live with this weight all your life. Talk to him, curse him, kick him in the balls if you have to, but don’t let the past ruin your future.”

“I want a future.” Visions of a house with a garden and a couple of dogs come to mind. “But how can I let anyone touch me?”

“Babe, don’t get mad, but you know you like him. Even in your lowest moments, what you couldn’t let go of was him. The boy you first met, the boy who offered you his friendship without asking for anything back.”

“Mmm,” I murmur, because I can’t deny it.

“This could be your chance to ask why, to understand his actions, and maybe to let go for good.”

“You’re right,” I whisper. But why does my heart hurt at the thought of letting him go completely?

I hear a bark through the phone, so I ask about Queen, and I laugh when Ruby puts her on the phone and she whines, making my heart soar at being needed by someone.

“You’ll be home soon, baby girl,” I tell her and then make plans with Ruby.

Once I end the call, I feel a bit better. I’m just setting my phone down when it pings again.

Alexi

Hey, mate. How are you holding up?

Jamie

All goo—

But then I think better of it and delete the message and instead press the call button.

“Hey,” I say as soon as the call engages.

“Hey.” His chirpy voice greets me.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you remember the guy we met at the club?”

“Shaz?”

“Yep, him. He’s Shane…” I let my words die, waiting for his reaction.

“Shane? That Shane?”

“Yep.”

“That fucker. I’m going to kick his arse.”

“He’s here.”

“What do you mean?” Then, as if realising what that means, he shouts, “Are you in danger? I’m coming over!”

“He saved Queen. He saved her from being run over, and he’s injured. I had to agree to take care of him.” I’m not sure why my eyes fill with tears and my voice breaks.

“That’s okay, J,” Alexi says to soothe me. “He did good, and you did good.”

“I have all these feelings inside me, and I don’t know what to do with them.” A long pause follows my words, and I’m afraid I’ve disappointed him.

“J, you don’t have to do anything. Take your time, talk everything through, and once you think you can deal with it, you do it.”

“Are you upset?”

“I’m not upset with you. Are you upset?”

“Yes, with myself.”

“Jamie, you don’t have to rush into anything. The fucker is there, and you can talk about what happened. If you don’t like his answers, you can throw him out. But please call me if you do, because I want to have the pleasure of kicking him while he’s down.”

I laugh, but I know Alexi is only half joking. “I love you, A.”

“Love you too, mate.”

My next actions are to ask, listen, and then kick out if I don’t like the answers.

We haven’t talked, but since I helped him clean up a couple of days ago, things have taken an unexpected turn.

I can still feel his smooth skin under my palm and fingers. How hot it was, and how every time I brushed against him, zings of pleasure would travel through my body. Keeping a straight face, my breath even, and my cock in check had been a nightmare.

Why does it have to be him? Why do I have to feel this way about Shane fucking Campbell?

We get into the habit of having meals together and then sitting on the sofa to watch TV or read, just like we’re doing right now.

The first time we sat on the sofa, we were at opposite ends, as far away as I could possibly be from him. Then the lines blurred, and now we’re so close to each other that if I move my leg, I’ll touch his.

Now, after nearly six weeks, he’s able to move around better, and I’m not needed when he has to use the bathroom, which is where he is now.

I watch him coming back, still wobbling around, but his face looks better, and his bruises are finally fading.

Tonight, though, after dinner, I watch in surprise as he’s leaving the bathroom and his crutch slips on the floor, causing him to stumble. I jump up to stop him from falling, but he’s heavier than me, and I fall back, bringing him with me. We hit the sofa with a huff, and for a few moments, we freeze, our faces close and our breaths fast.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, worried about his injuries.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Neither of us makes a move. Instead, our eyes lock. Whatever I felt when I was washing him comes back with a force I’m not prepared to handle. From the way Shane is looking at me, he’s having the same issue.

Am I imagining things because of my own desire? Or is his face getting closer?

While my brain battles with my heart, he moves in, and his lips gently touch mine.

What I felt at the charity event is amplified by the feelings I once had for the boy he was. My thoughts muddle the more our lips stay pressed together, and the lines between what I should be doing and what I’m actually doing blur.

The kiss is a non-demanding one. It’s as if he’s asking for forgiveness or asking permission to deepen it. He pulls back, looking at my face for a second, maybe looking for the rejection I should be giving him. When there is none, he leans in again, and this time it’s not only a press of his mouth.

I should be stopping this, but my body is working against me.

Shane uses the tip of his tongue to caress my lower lip, going right and then left, and my breath hitches at the sensations spreading through my body. My mind is screaming in denial, but my body is captivated by the gentle way he’s kissing me, as if I’m something precious.

I succumb to the demands of my body, and with the next caress on my lower lip, I open up for him, finally taking the kiss I dreamt of when we were sixteen.

His tongue probes gently until it meets mine, and they tangle into a dance that has my senses blossoming.

All the blood that concentrated on my lips at the first touch is now rushing south, and my cock starts filling. I move to make space and rub against his equally hard one.

A cacophony of voices fills my head, and my body reacts to the sounds by going rigid. My limbs are heavy and unable to cooperate, while my mind searches to assess any possible danger. My heartbeat reverberates in my ears, louder with every breath I take, as if I’m getting ready to flee.

Shane is kissing the side of my mouth now, and in a continued assault to my senses, he trails down to my neck.

I use both palms to push him away. “No,” I say out loud, not sure if I’m trying to stop Shane now, or stop what happened in the past.

“Jamie?”

“Let me up.” It sounds so loud in my head, but I can barely hear my voice. “Please, let me up.” I plead with him when he doesn’t move quickly enough.

“Jamie, breathe, please. I’m moving as fast as I can.”

His weight getting lighter on top of me helps me separate reality from the nightmare. I breathe in slowly, like the doctor taught me, and bring myself back from the edge.

When his weight is gone, I jump up, and without looking at him, I walk away.

“Jamie?” It’s his tone that stops me, a mix of worry and pain. He tries to take my hand, but I move away.

“Please, leave me alone.”

I don’t look back.

I wish I could do something to distract myself, as it would help me clear my mind and come to terms with how messy my life is right now. But I can’t show him another part of me. So I go into my office, slamming the door behind me.