“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” I ask as I start to shuffle out of bed.

He reaches for the pills on the side of the bed but grabs his leg. “Fuck,” Jackson groans as his hand wraps around his thigh.

“I’ll get you some medicine.” I scramble by the bed trying to find the pills. “I think we should call the doctor. It’s getting worse.” The nightmares and the pain seem to be getting more consistent. Partly because he refuses to listen to a damn word that anyone says. I catch him without the walker trying to maneuver to the bathroom.

“No doctor. I’m fine!” he lashes out through his clenched jaw.

The first week he was home everything was fine. He seemed to understand his limitations and accepted my help freely. Now though, because he feels better, the aggravation overrides any understanding he previously had.

“Right … sorry, I forget you don’t need anyone,” I say with sarcasm. I’m over his crap. I grab the medication and put the pills in his hand.

Such a jackass.

He grabs my arm before I can walk away. I don’t look at him. I’m so pissed and tired of his attitude. It hasn’t quite been two weeks yet and I’m ready to call for a live-in nurse and go home. He gently rubs his thumb against my arm.

“Please look at me,” he pleads.

I look up but I’m pissed off. This isn’t easy for either of us, but there’s only one of us being considerate—and it’s not him.

“You don’t get it. My head is all fucked up.”

“I don’t get it because you won’t talk to me,” I say quietly, trying not to let this escalate into another fight. “Tell me then, what are the dreams of?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Jackson shakes his head.

He keeps telling me they’re nothing or he can’t explain. I hear him though. I hear his screams for Mark and Aaron. When he yells about the shooter or cries out in pain, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re about. I’ve kept that information to myself knowing he doesn’t want to talk about it. He grows more and more frustrated with each dream. More sullen and pushes himself harder to get past this.

“You don’t get to treat me like shit because you’re hurting. I’m tired too. I’m busting my ass working, getting everything in line for the launch. Then I come here and you’re moody and crabby. I know this isn’t easy for you. I know you’re tired and in pain. So don’t tell me I don’t get it. But you’re taking it out on me, babe, and I’m on your side.” I let it all out as I fight back the urge to cry.

“All I remember is the end with extreme pain in my leg or arm. So I’m going to assume it’s the shooting,” he says, surprising me that he even said that much.

“Jackson, you went through a lot in the last month. You lost a friend, and you were shot … It’s a lot.”

“I have you though.” He looks away and swallows the pills.

Standing before him, I take a deep breath and focus on him weighing each word before I say them. “Yes, you do—but I’m getting close to calling Mark—or your mom. You’ve gone through two nurses in a week. That’s not normal and it’s not you,” I say the last part softly.

“When you go to work, I’m stuck here with that annoying nurse hovering over me. Maybe you should stay home all day. Or quit your job and come work for me,” Jackson says smirking.

I laugh while shaking my head at his ridiculousness. “That’s not happening. The launch is in a week. I’ve been inundated with getting things ready.”

Jackson sighs and runs his hand down his face. “This isn’t the way I wanted it to be when we spent more than a night or two together. I didn’t want it to be because you had to help me fucking get a glass of water. I sure as shit never saw you coming home to me because you had to.”

“Jackson,” I say softly. “That’s not fair. I want to be here. I could’ve let the nurse live here, or had you go stay with your family. I need you just as much—”

“Let me finish. This isn’t how I saw this going, Catherine. I’m the guy who takes care of you. Not the other way. Being at the mercy of someone else isn’t something I enjoy. All I can do are conference calls, video chats, and email, but even that’s hard with my one arm still not back to normal. I wanted to shower together for other reasons.” He raises a brow and smirks.

Smiling at him and wishing for the same thing doesn’t change the fact that it’s not how it is. “First, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. I love you, so get that through your thick head. I know you’re going through stuff. I get it. I need you to let me in. I’m trying. You have to lean on me. I want to be here for you, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“It’s on me, baby. All on me.” He pulls me close so I’m standing between his legs.

“Do you need something else?”

“No, I just need you.” He wraps his arm around my waist and places his head on my stomach. My hands tangle in his hair and I tenderly massage his scalp. I take in this moment and try to remember no matter how much of a jackass he can be, he’s alive.

“I’m here, Jackson. I’m not going anywhere.” My voice is soft and yet firm.

Jackson leans back looking into my eyes. “Lie with me.” There’s no request in his words.

I don’t miss the meaning in his words. It’s been weeks since we’ve been intimate, other than a few kisses here and there. “But your leg.”

“I’m not made of glass.”

“No, but you’re in pain …”

He slips his hand slowly up my shirt—well, his shirt. He insists on me wearing his t-shirts and button-downs since I’ve been staying here. I swear he’s marking his territory. I’m not complaining though. Every time I walk around in his shirt, watching his pupils dilate or his breath catch is enough for me.

Jackson’s hand caresses my breast and he rubs his thumb across my nipple. The small touch causes me to tremble.

“It’s been too long,” he groans as he lifts my shirt and presses his lips on my stomach.

He squeezes my nipple and my head falls back as I moan. It feels so good. His hands, his touch. “Jackson, we can’t.” My voice is weak and quivers with need.

“You let me worry about that, baby,” Jackson says as he kisses lower.

The feeling of his breath against my skin causes goose bumps to form everywhere he touches. It’s been so long. Far too long since I’ve had him and even this feels so good I could weep. “Please …” I trail off, unsure of what I’m pleading for.

Suddenly, I’m pulled forward as his hands grip my hips. My fingers instantly thread into his hair as he travels lower and slides my panties down agonizingly slowly. I should stop this, but it feels so good.

“I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you. I need you, Catherine.” Jackson’s voice breaks at the end.

“You have me,” I say as his finger suddenly enters me. The groan that escapes my throat is freeing. His thumb grazes my clit and I begin to shudder, his touch awakening every part of me.

“Always,” he says and I look into his eyes.