Wicked Ink by Misty Simon Page A

She wished she had given Jackson her cell number with explicit directions to call her as soon as he found Garrett. She would never be able to live with herself if something had happened to him. She’d cried the whole way home, almost too much to see the road clearly. But now that sadness had morphed into anxiety and worry. If Jackson didn’t get here soon with Garrett, she would start tearing up the streets on her scooter.
    A heavy tread sounded on the stairs right outside her door. She flew out without a moment’s hesitation. Garrett was bloody and his face was haggard. He’d never looked better to her. He was leaning heavily on Jackson, but he looked whole and alive.
    When she ran up and hugged him, he turned his face from hers. She was through with that. Grabbing his chin, she made him look her right in the eyes. He tried to look everywhere but at her, but she dodged around until he had no choice.
    “I can do this all night.” And she meant it. Sometime between mashing up the ripe bananas and taking the fresh bread out of the oven, she’d realized that Garrett held her heart. No matter what he thought in his despair, he was worth so much to her, and she was determined to show that to him—whether he felt the same way or not.
    “I’m leaving tonight, Dory. Let me go.”
    “No.”
    “What do you mean, no?”
    “And this is where I head out, folks,” Jackson said, propping Garrett up against his doorway but making no move to open the door. He stepped back and kissed Dory on the cheek. “Good luck, chicky.”
    She’d need it.
    “Come over to my apartment,” she said, making it more of a command than an offer.
    “No.”
    “Is that your new favorite word?”
    “No,” he said but with a tiny upward tilt at the corner of his mouth.
    “I’m tired, Garrett. Of playing this game and of watching you hurt yourself. Now get into my apartment before I hurt you worse.”
    He had to have lost a lot of strength, because he actually let her lead him into her space. But he refused to sit on the sofa given how dirty he was.
    When she went to place her hands on his chest, he backed away.
    “I can’t let you keep doing that when I don’t even know why it’s working. I won’t use you that way.”
    “What do you mean?” She paused for long enough for him to escape into the kitchen.
    “That thing you do with your hands. When you do it, I don’t need to get into the chair to purge myself. But it has to be affecting you somehow, and I won’t let it happen again.”
    “You don’t
let
me do anything. I do what I want, when I want. Now tell me about this hands thing you think I’ve been doing.”
    “Well, like I told you, when I take in darkness, I have to get rid of it with light, and I do that with the chair. It’s not foolproof, but it works. The two times you’ve put your hands on me, though, I haven’t needed to use the chair. Something in you or about you is cleansing me.” He slid down the wall to sit on the floor, cradling his head in his strong hands.
    She stood her ground, but it felt a little shaky under her feet. This strong man looked so defeated. It made her want to cuddle him, even though she was aware that would probably freak him out. “Why in the world would you turn that down? Do you prefer to be electrocuted?”
    “No, but I won’t use you.”
    She looked at her hands and then at him. She didn’t know where this thing came from that calmed him, perhaps it was all the therapy she’d done or some talent from the father she’d never known. Anything was possible now that she knew superheroes existed. “You’re not using me if I give it to you freely. Let me help you. Don’t turn away from me.”
    “You don’t understand. I told you I haven’t always been some good guy doing good works. I hurt people, Dory. I’ve never taken a life, but I’m sure I’ve made people wish to their god I had killed them. I have to atone for that by saving people. If the price for that is the chair, then