Free Falling

The Only Exception

For the second day in a row, Denitra woke up feeling like shit. Her head ached slightly, but it was nothing compared to her all over body ache, her stiff shoulder. She felt like she'd gone ten rounds with a sumo wrestler and all he'd done was sit on her. She took her time getting to the bathroom and attempted to freshen up to feel better, but it did little to help. She decided breakfast would help. It wasn't long before she'd put together eggs, bacon, and toast. The smell of breakfast filled the penthouse. She split the food into two servings and waited to hear Jamien wake up. When ten minutes had passed and she didn't hear movement, she started a pot of coffee. When it was nearly done and she still hadn't heard anything, she went to check and make sure he was okay.

He was well and truly fast asleep. She almost let him sleep, but remembered that he wasn't a big fan of reheating his food. She shook him gently. "Jamien? Breakfast is-"

His hand grabbed her wrist and in one fluid motion, he yanked her down onto the soft, downy bed beside him. She gasped as pain shot through her stiff shoulder, and before she could protest, his arm fell limp and heavy onto her waist as his head found her other shoulder, and he snored softly. Unable to help herself, she maneuvered herself so she could touch his hair. She noticed a butterfly bandage on his forehead. She didn't notice it when she got up. Had she not looked at him? She couldn't really remember. She looked down at him and realized that he didn't have a shirt on, showcasing the Saints tattoo across his chest and Fleur-de-Lis tattoo on his shoulder. She couldn't remember if he'd ever told her he had tattoos, or if she'd ever seen them.

His stomach was completely wrapped in a bandage as well as his shoulder. She had almost forgotten what could have caused that kind of damage to him. However, the last thing she remembered was falling into the river, leaving him behind on the bridge to face a few dozen armed enemies. She pushed her fingers through his hair, finding his scalp and massaging it lightly. He groaned deeply and snuggled her. Her lips curved slightly, pleased with his unconscious reaction. She moved her free arm slowly until she could touch his dry, cracked lips.

"You're awake." He mumbled against her finger.

She frowned. "You sound surprised. I shouldn't be?"

His eyes remained closed, so she wasn't entirely sure he was aware he was even having a conversation. "The doctor said you hit the water hard enough to get a concussion. We tried everything we could think of to bring you around, but you wouldn't wake up." He peeked at her through a veil of eyelashes. "At that point, he told us to prepare for the worse. The odds were you would slip into a coma overnight."

"Damn."

"Yeah." He exhaled sharply and licked his lips. "Before anyone can come running to you with horror stories about how I reacted, I'll tell you myself I didn't take it well."

She looked at him. "Really?"

He nodded as his hand sought hers and she gave it to him. "I haven't been that pissed off in a while. It got so bad that I started throwing shit and the next thing I know, I ripped open the stitches in my gut and shoulder. It was a fucking madhouse. Pierce's freaking out because of all the blood. Shaundi's screaming at me to sit the fuck down so the doctor could fix me. They tried to restrain me and I kept pushing them off of me. Out of nowhere, Oleg - this really big motherfucker, by the way - catches me with a right hook. This is the first time I've been awake since then."

"Jay!"

"I know, right?" He rubbed his jaw. "I admit, I may have overreacted a little bit by tearing up the place. But still, we were in a fucking hospital. If they really wanted to sedate me, they have anesthesia for that shit! Hell, if they were too afraid to approach me, they could have loaded a needle up in a milkshake straw and shot the bitch at me. Anything but have him damn near break my fucking jaw." He pouted and rubbed his jaw some more.

"What happened after I fell off of the bridge?" She asked, realizing that she was wearing one of his tall t-shirts. She hoped like hell whoever had dressed her had been respectable.

"It was chaos. I don't know what their orders were, but when you went over, there were a good number of them that were more than prepared to go over after you. I shot them and then the brutes came. I didn't pay attention to too much other than that. Backup arrived, and it was a war on that bridge."

Her eyes drifted down to his torso. "How did you get hurt?"

"What?" He followed her line of sight. "Oh, these. Typical me. You know, shoot first, shoot some more, and when everybody's dead, try to ask a question. You were too busy freaking out about going swimming to notice that they didn't give a fuck whether or not they hit you. So... I took a few bullets for you."

The tears fell before she even realized they were coming. "Jay..."

He looked at her and gave her a small, sad smile. "Silly woman, you don't have to cry about it. The car's okay. It's downstairs in the garage, fully repaired."

She sat up and stared at him, conflicted. She didn't know what bothered her more: him thinking it upset her they had damaged the car, or him believing that she cared more about the car than his welfare. He sat up slowly and looked into her eyes. She didn't know what he was looking for, but she hoped like hell he'd find it. Without a second thought, she pulled him into a tight embrace, trying desperately to stop the waterworks.

"You fucking moron." She whispered in between sniffles. "I don't care about the damn car. I care about you."

He took a minute to process her words then held her in return. "You can't care about a gang banging stranger." He teased, rubbing her back.

"You're not a stranger." She rested her cheek against his neck, allowing herself to relax and enjoy the wonderful feel of his arms around her, in this way. "Not anymore."

"I'm a gang banger. Even worse, I'm the leader of the Saints. What would Layla say?"

So that was it. That was the reason she'd held herself away from him? Losing Layla had been the hardest thing she'd ever faced. If she wanted to be with Jamien, she'd have to forgive those responsible for Layla's death and move on with her life. Was she ready to do that just yet? It felt wrong to even consider it. She'd held onto the pain for so long she couldn't remember what it had been like when Layla was alive.

Could she easily forgive the Saint he knew was responsible? Was she supposed to hold Jamien accountable, since he had been and still was their leader? She inhaled deeply, savoring his scent.

Just this once, she could make an exception to the rules she used to govern her life. Just this once, she'd be selfish and try to be happy again.