Chapter 21

"Wake the fuck up, Eden. It's me."

The back of my hand collides with flesh and bone, jolting me awake. Bleary-eyed, I search my dim room for the potential threat. I scramble to my feet, but both legs get caught in the duvet, making me crash backwards onto the bed. Sweat trickles down my neck, and my heart tries to fight its way out of my chest.

"Jesus, I think you've broken my nose."

I breathe a shaky sigh of relief at the sound of my annoying best friend's voice. Jacob looks up at the ceiling and pinches his nose. A single drop of crimson blood lands on his bleach-white shirt.

I heft myself up, kicking the blanket across the bedroom floor.

"Jacob, what the hell are you doing in my flat?" I call over my shoulder, power walking to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and paper towels.

"You're not answering my fucking calls," he yells.

I glance at myself in the mirror, horrified by how unkempt I look. Dark circles frame my dull eyes, and my skin is paler than usual. To top it off, I think there's food in my beard, grim.

I splash my face with ice-cold water and pull a harsh breath through my nose, trying to gather myself before facing Jacob. If it were anyone else in my house, I'd be embarrassed about how much I've let myself go.

When I return, Jacob's sitting on the edge of my bed with his head tipped back. He's removed his suit jacket and undone the two top buttons of his shirt. The simple dress-down makes him look more human, unlike the flashy, arrogant lawyer the rest of the world knows him as.

I kneel in front of him and spread my supplies on the bed.

"That still doesn't answer my question. Why are you in my flat, and more specifically, why were you watching me sleep?"

Jacob chuckles and drops his head so we're eye to eye. I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, but he shrugs. I tug his hand away and check the damage.

"I'm worried about you," he mumbles.

"Well, you shouldn't be."

Jacob tries to touch his nose again, so I swat his hand away, and he groans like a petulant child. It isn't broken. There's a small cut, but the irritating kind that bleeds a lot, making it seem much worse.

I rip open an alcohol wipe and press it to his nose without warning. Jacob hisses and tries to lean back, but I grab him by the shoulder and yank him forward.

"Stop being such a baby. It's a tiny cut."

He huffs in protest but stops trying to pull away.

"It's a good job that I came over. You're a mess. I have every reason to be worried about you."

"Rude," I mutter.

"What were you dreaming about? You were shouting in your sleep."

I freeze, fragments of my nightmare trickling through. I was in the warehouse. Devlin, Kai and Emiliya had been shot and were bleeding out. Dr Evil was forcing Jeremy and I to mop up their blood. But I kept slipping over in it until I was covered head-to-toe in thick blood. He had his gun pressed against the side of my head, screaming at me, ‘You did this. You killed them. Clean it up.'

"Eden."

I flinch at my name. Jacob's eyes widen, and his hands are now firmly on my shoulders. The pressure of them helps bring me back to the present moment.

"What just happened? Where did you go?"

"Nowhere, I'm fine."

I wiggle my shoulders free and move back, creating some space.

"Hold this against your cut until it stops bleeding," I grumble, passing him a paper towel. "And I'm sorry for walloping you, but you really shouldn't creep around my flat."

"You gave me a key, so technically I wasn't creeping."

I awkwardly climb to my feet, wincing, when a twinge of pain shoots up my spine. My body still hasn't fully recovered from days on that lumpy mattress when we were unable to stretch.

I must not hide my discomfort because Jacob looks at me with gloomy eyes. A look I've seen one too many times, less now that we're older. He's much better at masking his emotions.

I quickly avert my gaze, knowing I'll crumble if he looks at me like that for too long.

"Where are you going?" he calls after me as I wander out of the room.

"To get drunk," I shout back.

By the time Jacob's used the bathroom and joined me at the kitchen island, I'm taking my first sip of the 21-year-old Glengoyne whisky he brought me for my last birthday. I release a satisfied sigh as it glides down my throat and heats my chest, leaving an oaky twist on my taste buds.

"What the fuck, Eden? I thought we were saving that for a special occasion," he complains.

"I almost died. I think I deserve a decent whisky. Plus, it's the only thing I have besides Budweiser, and if you want me to start talking, I'll need the strong stuff."

"Fair enough." Jacob grabs the glass I poured him and takes a hearty sip. "Ooh, that's good."

Nodding in agreement, I take another sip as a heavy silence fills my apartment. I want to open up, but the words feel trapped in my throat. We've never been the kind of guys to shy away from our feelings, so why do I feel like he's here to carefully dissect my brain?

Jacob starts rustling through my cupboards like he owns the place. It warms my chest to see how comfortable he is in my home, making some of the tension slip from my shoulders and neck. He pulls out a sharing packet of crisps and plonks onto a bar stool, munching loudly and staring me out until I speak.

"Stop trying to psychoanalyse me. I'm fine."

"Heos-soli," Jacob mumbles in Korean around a mouthful of crisps.

"I know what that means, dickhead."

"No, you don't. What did I say?"

"Bullshit," I answer with a bit of uncertainty.

"Close enough. It means nonsense."

At six years old, Jacob was adopted by a British family and moved to the UK. He told me he felt disconnected from his culture during our early teens. So, I suggested we learn some Korean, but as teenagers we decided to focus on the rude words, and these are the ones that have apparently stuck.

After a few more moments of silence, the tension makes my lips come loose. "Fine, I'm struggling," I mutter.

Jacob wipes his crumby hands on his fancy dress trousers and reaches across the island, placing a hand on top of mine. I consider pulling away because his kindness might make me crack, but I force myself to push on.

"Being trapped there, with no control over when I piss or eat was like being back in prison, but ten times worse because our abductors were more than willing to kill us if we didn't follow suit. I just never imagined I'd be in such a fucked up situation again."

"It's ok, Eden. You're allowed to be messed up about this. You went through something horrendous. I'm so sorry this has brought up memories you wanted to forget."

The space behind my nose starts to tickle, but I manage to close my eyes as the first teardrop escapes. Pulling my hand away from Jacob's, I swipe my face with my palm, feeling as vulnerable as a small child.

"Fuck, I'm sick of feeling like this," I groan.

"Eden, it's been just over a week since you escaped, not to mention you spent 24 hours of that being questioned by the police."

"I know, but I need to get it together."

"Eden, no one expects you to have it together."

Flecks of orange glimmer in his brown eyes, a sure sign that he has tears brewing, too.

"I need to get my head together for Kai."

"What are you talking about? You don't need to do anything for him. You've done enough. You took the blame for almost killing someone, for fuck's sake."

Uncomfortable silence takes over the room. There's an unfamiliar energy between us, like he has more to say. I could tell when he visited me at the police station that he was pissed at me for taking the blame, but he couldn't actually say that out loud at the time, cause we didn't know who was listening.

"Where is Kai anyway? I thought you'd be together now."

My hackles rise at his question. I grab the bottle of whisky and swig straight from the bottle, biding myself some time.

"You are actually together, right?" Jacob flings the packet of crisps onto the kitchen island and crosses his arms.

"It's complicated," I murmur.

"Complicated." He scoffs. "You went to the end of the earth for this guy, and now you're not even together. Got what he needed, then left you in the dirt."

I lunge across the island, grabbing him by the collar, completely possessed.

"Don't you dare speak about him like that!"

My nostrils flare, and my chest heaves.

Jacob's face flattens, and he calmly responds, "You have three seconds to let go of my shirt. In over 20 years of friendship, we've never once got physical with each other, and we're not about to start today."

My furious haze disintegrates, and I release his collar.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, but you need to tell me what's really going on."

I slump back onto a bar stool, pour another drink, and relay everything that happened between Kai and me during our captivity and everything that followed. As I explain, his face softens, and our early altercation is quickly forgotten.

"So, have you started therapy, too?"

"I have. Obviously, it's early days, but based on the nightmares and some other symptoms I've had since we escaped, my therapist thinks I have PTSD."

"Shit, man, I'm really sorry."

I shrug, running my hand through my scruffy beard.

"It's ok, but you see now why we need to take this time to heal ourselves. Jumping into a relationship when we're bound by trauma isn't healthy. Being apart from Kai is killing me, but I do think this is the right thing to do. We're still in contact."

"Alright, I get it. I'm sorry for assuming the worst."

"It's cool."

Jacob sips his whisky, and a cheeky look crosses his face, his lips tipping up into a tiny smirk.

"What are you smiling at?"

"He's a pretty little thing, isn't he?"

A hot wave of possessiveness runs through me, which must be evident on my face.

"Oh, calm down, Hulk. I'm not going to steal your man."

Uproarious laughter escapes me at the nickname Kai's called me several times. I guess the name's sticking.

We spend the rest of the evening playing cards, eating takeaway, and catching up. A lightness settles over me. I promise myself that I'll book more therapy sessions, get back to work, and remember to take regular showers. I need to get my shit together if I want to create a life with Kai, and it starts by taking care of myself.