#soft!jj

After a long moment of silence—an embarrassed, shameful flush is crawling up your cheeks—John B clears his throat and picks up his story. “So anyway, I try to reel it in, but I can’t. So then—”

“Are you serious right now?” JJ interrupts him, pushing himself off the wall and stepping forward into the group in one swift motion. “She shows up looking like that and we’re seriously just not gonna talk about it?”

“Oh please. It’s not like we all sit around having a group therapy session when it’s you with your dad,” you bite back immediately, his frustration prodding you to life.

“This is different!”

“Why? Let me guess. Because I’m a girl?” you retort sarcastically.

“No, because you’re—because you’re you!”

All eyes turn to JJ, who looks very much like he’s regretting this outburst. He groans and paces in a quick circle, taking his hat off so he can run a hand through his hair. “Look, just—can I talk to you for a minute?”

“I’d rather not,” you mumble, sliding down further into the flimsy lawn chair. Your brief moment of energizing fury is gone.

“Hey,” Kiara says softly, reaching out to touch your arm. Reluctantly, you lift your gaze to meet her eyes. You see your own pain reflected back at you, and that’s when it hits you—your friends are seriously worried about you. The same way you all brainstorm how to pull Pope out of his obsessive spirals about school, or show up for Kie when she’s mad at her parents, or worry behind JJ’s back about his recklessness and buried pain—your friends are having those feelings for you now, too.

And if they’re going to make you talk to anyone about it, you know JJ would understand best.

“Fine. Whatever,” you bite out. You stand up, wincing, and head to the large, low-limbed tree that overlooks the water without waiting for JJ. You don’t want to see the looks the others are probably giving each other behind your back.

JJ follows you, but you can tell he’s uncomfortable by the way he keeps picking up his hat and resettling it on his head. Well, his feelings aren’t your problem. He was the one who wanted to talk. You lean your back against the tree and cross your arms. JJ is stubborn as hell, but you are, too.

“You wanted to talk. So talk,” you finally force out after a long moment of silence.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like it. I don’t fucking like it,” he spits out. “First it was just a few bruises here and there and you said you could take care of yourself. And I know you can. But now he keeps getting worse. Does he even have a job right now? Is he just always around? That’s not good. We need to figure something out. This isn’t gonna work anymore.”

You tip your head back against the rough bark of the tree and stare up at the sunlight filtering through the branches, letting JJ ramble on, his words washing over you as he paces back and forth.

“If I can think of a way to get my dad out of the picture, you can move in with me. I mean, not like that. Not unless you want to. I—I just mean—”

You don’t know what makes you do what you do next, but you’re growing impatient with his rambling. You don’t necessarily want a solution right now (why do men always want to fix everything?); you just want someone to see.

You reach down, grab the hem of your T-shirt, and pull it over your head. JJ stops short and sucks in a quick breath.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You don’t want to look, but you know your entire left side is covered in red and purple welts and bruising—relics from your father’s boot. You haven’t been able to take a deep breath all morning (physically or metaphorically) and even the band of your loosest sports bra hurts because of the pressure on your skin.

JJ reaches out a hand toward your abdomen. Instinctively, you flinch away.

“S’okay,” he murmurs, more gently than you expect. You’d thought that by this time, he would’ve been feral, already on his way to comb Kildare County until he found your father and made him pay, because this time he’d gone further than he ever had before. But this unexpectedly soft JJ is breaking down your barriers quicker than you expected. His calloused fingertips trail across the bruising on your skin, somehow feeling feathery light, and you bite your lip and stare out at the water so you don’t do something stupid like cry.

If you start, you’ll never stop.

“C’mere,” JJ rasps, his gaze flicking back up to yours. He pulls his hand back and jerks his chin toward the Chateau. “I’ve had broken ribs once or twice. I know what’ll help.” He strides back up to the house and you follow him, not bothering to put your shirt back on. You can feel the gazes of the others on your back. You’re pretty sure you hear Sarah whispering something to Kie. Uncomfortable, you hurry your pace to catch up with J.

In the kitchen, he pats the counter by the sink and you do your best to clamber up to sit on it, wincing as you favor your left side.

“First things first,” JJ says, opening the fridge. He’s all business as he tosses you a bag of frozen peas. “Wrap this in that towel and put it on your eye.”

You do as he says. You’re too emotionally exhausted right now to tease him about Nurse JJ mode. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before, and to be honest, you’re not mad about it. You just wish it wasn’t happening under these circumstances.

JJ keeps up a steady stream of nonsensical chatter as he moves around the kitchen, pouring you a cup of water, looking for a clean towel. “Gonna make an ice pack for your ribs, too. Help with the pain. Bet Heyward has some Tylenol or somethin’. If that ain’t enough, I’ll get something stronger from Barry. You know I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you need.”

Everyone knows your father is a big guy, and when he gets angry, he’s not above pushing people around. You’ve shown up with bruises before. But never anything like this. Never anything as bad as what Luke gives JJ. You know JJ knows this is because of your father. But he hasn’t asked exactly what happened.

Somehow that makes you want to tell him even more. You just can’t seem to find the words. You’ve felt numb, hollowed out, ever since everything that happened at home last night. You didn’t sleep; you’d just laid on your bed with the door locked tight, feeling empty, until the first streaks of dawn began to curl around the edges of the horizon.

Your breathing hitches slightly as JJ edges in between your knees. He reaches up to pull your hand with the peas away from your eye.

“Yep, that’s gonna be a big one,” he murmurs, gaze tracing the bruise around your eye socket without actually making eye contact. You can feel his warm breath on your face.

“Here. Let’s get some ice on your side, yeah?” JJ lifts the makeshift ice pack he’s made and presses it to your ribs. You hiss in a breath at the contact. Slowly, JJ slides his other hand around the opposite side of your waist, bracing your body against the cold.

“Just breathe,” he encourages you, voice low. His gaze meets yours briefly and then dips back down to the ugly bruising on your side. He adjusts the ice pack slightly. He’s always so reckless, but he’s being careful now, gentle. Gentle for you. “It’ll hurt like hell for a while, but it’ll be okay.”

“JJ,” you start, your voice coming out as a whisper. “I…”

“Hm?” He dips his head, bringing his face closer to yours. You close your eyes. You want to tell him. You want someone else to know what happened, someone to bear witness to what you’ve had to endure. But no matter how hard you try, you’re hitting a block. You can’t force words past your lips. Hot tears start to leak out from under your eyelids.

“Let it out,” you hear him murmur. You don’t remember ever seeing JJ this solemn, this caring.

“I want to tell you what happened. But I can’t,” you finally manage to whisper. You pry your sticky eyelids apart and meet his gaze, feeling self-conscious as his blue eyes search yours. “I can’t. I just can’t. I—”

For some reason your breath is speeding up. You feel like you’re hyperventilating.

“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t do that. I got you,” JJ says. He drops the ice pack and reaches out, gathering you into his arms. You fist his Pelican Marina T-shirt and turn your face into his shoulder.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper tearfully one more time, not even really sure what you’re referring to. Going home? Having broken ribs? Life in general?

You can’t see JJ’s face, but you can feel his jaw tighten against your hair.

“I’m gonna keep you safe. We’re gonna figure this out. Promise.”

You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, JJ’s arms secure around your body and your head buried in his neck, as the ice pack lies forgotten on the counter. You want to start feeling better. You desperately want to not feel so goddam numb. But you only continue to feel emptier as you cry.

The plan doesn’t come together that day. You’re afraid that not going home might make things worse, but you let yourself get talked into spending the night that night on the couch at the Chateau. JJ seems back to his usual self as he talks about sleeping on the porch with the gun, outfitting the open-air shed into a place for you to live, setting up your dad to make it look like he did something that would get him on Rafe’s hit list, the same crazy shit he usually spews.

In quiet moments, though, the new, soft version of JJ pops back out. He shows you how to hold a pillow against your ribs to help with the pain. He makes sure you eat something for dinner even though you can barely swallow it down. He brings you a blanket at bedtime because he knows you’re always cold despite the muggy air outside.

And those are the moments when you think maybe he was right. That even though it hurts like hell, maybe everything will be okay.