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STAR OPENED THE HOUSTON Chronicle. She flipped to the Sports section and scanned until she found . . . "Jaguars: The pursuit of up and coming super star Tyler Bronson. In an interview yesterday, stated—"
Jags screamed! He curled into a ball.
Cam and Ajay dashed into the bedroom.
Casually, Star draped a cool cloth over Jags' forehead. "I got this." She glared at Cam. "You can go. You don't have to be here. Carina and Maggie have worked five double shifts in a row. You have a restaurant to run, a life to live." She dabbed Jag's forehead with the damp cloth, not even noticing her pruned fingers. Muscled memory now set to autopilot—her hand moved mechanically from Jags' forehead to the metal bowl on the end table, resoaked the cloth, rinsed it before mechanically pivoting back to Jag's forehead like the crane in one of those supermarket coin-op games.
Cam stared at her as if she had spoken in a foreign language. Unblinking and as determined as a barnyard rooster.
She wanted them gone.
She wanted her privacy back.
And she wanted to be alone with Jags.
Groaning, she stood and went into the bathroom. Kneeling beside the whirlpool tub, she turned on the water. Adjusted the hot and cold faucets, making the water the perfect kind of warm. Easily, she sat on the cold tile and blew out a breath. A ratty knot of her strawberry blond hair stiffly wavered, dry hay in an arid breeze. How many days had it been since she last showered? She resisted an audible groan and forced herself to happier thoughts.
The night before Jags had fallen ill, he'd shown her a crazy and fun kind of passion, a euphoria she could never have imagined. His words, his touch, his hot breath on her bare skin had turned her inside out. That night a veil had been lifted and she realized the man who'd brought her to climax so easily, made her feel desire so completely, was the one she was made for. Divinely designed and made for perfection.
But her pride had gotten in the way and she threw a tantrum. At the memory of her immature fit, she closed her tired eyes and listened to the running water.
The last week had been exhausting. As she watched Jags deteriorate with each passing day, another veil had been lifted. She now understood what Jags meant when he said that he saw her; because now she saw him. But it wasn't with their eyes that they saw each other—
No.
It was with their souls. That's the only way she'd come to understand it. And she innately knew that the way she felt for Jags was something that neither of them could ever resist or deny, ever again.
Soulmates.
And that would've sounded silly—assasine!—to her weeks ago. Soulmates was something only fathomed in trashy paranormal romances that oftentimes centered around vampires and witches. But sometimes life was stranger than fiction.
Most of her life she had been spent trying to advance her career, pay off her college loans and plan her future with Tye. That's what responsible young people did if they wanted to be successful in life.
All of that seemed so trivial now. So far on the back burner that she couldn't even see the stove.
All she could think about was Jags' pain. But pain was the least of it. Between his bouts of consciousness, he'd been trapped in a mental void, leaving him lonely and afraid. Somehow, from that emptiness, he'd reached out to her. In her mind—his presence a ghost and her mind his house to haunt.
He was born from a powerful line of empaths and that reality frightened her, perhaps because she knew little about his past or him, for that matter.
Outside of Unsolved Mysteries and X-Files, she'd never imagined such people really could exist
If only he'd open his damn eyes, maybe even talk. Jags not talking was like a dog that never barked. Just wasn't natural.
She turned the faucets off and got to her feet. Leaning on the door frame, looking into her own bedroom, she glanced to his brothers who were seated in the love seat that she'd inherited from her dead grandmother.
"He hasn't had a bath in five days." And neither had she, she begrudgingly thought. A wonder the bedroom didn't smell like an unwashed gym locker five times over—what with tending to Jags ninety-eight percent of her waking hours. Despite it all, somehow, she'd managed to do some frenzied cleaning and keep lavender and linen Mainstay candles burning, a twenty-four-hour seance of sorts.
Without a word, Cam and Ajay stood and went to the bed, one on each side. Slowly, they dragged the comforter down.
Jags moaned, shivering so violently, Star wondered if he was suffering from a seizure. With the desperation of a school-aged child on Monday morning, he reached for the comforter.
But Ajay pinned his arms to the bed. Which only seemed to worsen Jags desperation. His legs thrashed, kicked so violently that the box springs retorted with their own squeals.
She had seen statues with more emotion than the glossed over expression on Ajay's face. Cam's features were no softer, his expression unyielding.
With an arm under Jags' knees and another under his back, Cam scooped him off the bed.
Unfortunately, as expected, Jags screamed, as if Cam's touch burned.
As much as she resented Cam and Ajay's presence, she had to admit right then she was glad for their help.
They possessed the ability to harden their emotions in order to do right by Jags, a feat she lacked immensely. She was always struggling, either to hold back the tears or scream out the anger.
On the outside, her resolve was already threadbare but on the inside she was frayed, coming apart at the seams and each agonizing sound from Jags was a brutal tempest threatening to force her to her knees in prayer and desperation.
Cam and Ajay slowly stepped toward the door, Jags cradled between them.
Keeping her back toward them, she stepped aside to let Cam pass into the bathroom alone with Jags, and all while Ajay stood in the threshold, silent and lock-jawed.
She wanted to give them privacy as Cam stripped his brother nude. Despite herself, she quietly laughed. Modesty seemed too trivial a concept compared to Jags rapid decompensation.
Jags' chattering teeth broke her reverie.
Small and insignificant, the sound was more trying than nails down a chalkboard.
Gnawed at her nerves.
She covered her ears.
She heard the rippling of water as Cam laid his brother in the tub. Jags moans faded to whimpers.
Star turned on her heel and entered the bathroom. "There are fresh linens for the bed in the hallway closet."
Nodding, Cam slid past her.
Star knelt beside the tub. And frowned when she saw that Jags' boxers had not been removed.
"Jags? Can you hear me?"
A corner of his mouth twitched.
"I'm going to drape a towel over the water and take off your boxers. I promise I won't look."
His eyes opened!
She gasped and covered her mouth. His beautiful hazel eyes bore into her.
Smiling, she swallowed back tears.
Jags grabbed her hand and kissed her palm.
So darn sweet, and so darn encouraging. Because he had barely moved for the past five days. Maybe he was getting better, nearing the end of whatever kind of crazy metamorphosis this was, a thought that made her heart race with hope.
Jags' lids closed.
Sighing, she slipped her hands into the water and gripped his Mickey Mouse boxers at the waist. Gently, she slid the boxers off, keeping her gaze averted, trying to give him some semblance of privacy.
But she wanted to look.
She really, really wanted to look.
Course, she'd never admit such a thing to another soul.
Idly, she wondered why she wanted to see him, all of him. Wasn't a sexual thing. Certainly not anything perverse or depraved.
Or at least she didn't think so.
Maybe it was just a case of wanting to know him, know all of him, memorize every curve, wrinkle, fold and scar.
She twisted the water from the boxers and draped them on the side of the tub.
With a squirt of lavender body wash onto a purple mesh sponge, she gently dragged it down his arm. "Sorry the soap is so girly. I don't have many male guests spend the night. Now I have three. I told your brothers to run home and get some toiletries but Cam refuses to leave. And Ajay, well . . . he's left a few times but I don't know where he went and I'm sure I don't want to know. Anyway, it doesn't matter because he never came back with toiletries. I guess they don't mind my girly soap." She smiled warmly, holding up the purple sponge. White foam popped and suds dribbled from the mesh.
She lowered her reach and grazed the sponge over his knee.
He flinched.
"Sorry."
He neither opened his eyes nor spoke.
The absence of his voice needled at her psyche. He loved to talk and it had become apparent as of recent, that Star loved to hear him talk.
Over the past five days she'd tried to speak to him as much as possible. Didn't matter what she said, she reasoned. Just wanted him to hear her voice, know she was there.
The newspaper.
Unfortunately, reading about political corruption, the rape of an elderly woman and the murder of two children unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time was the last thing Jags' or she needed.
So certain parts had to be skipped. And the newspaper quickly became stale.
Two periodicals.
Unfortunately, they were engineering trade magazines, but it couldn't be helped; that was all she had in the house.
She then resorted to telling him comical and embarrassing stories about her childhood and what it was like living with eccentric hippie parents. Once, during a school break, her parents had left she and Tilly alone. They left to attend a nature retreat.
Two weeks later her mother returned with two dozen baskets she'd weaved from dried hemp. She'd also sewn half a quilt with Star and Tilly's name knitted in the center.
Except mom hadn't finished the half with Tilly's name, so it just read TIL.
And Tilly had gotten so mad that later that night, she'd snuck into their parents’ bedroom to steal the quilt.
But Tilly never found the quilt. Only blanket she found was the one draped sideways over her father's hips, exposing his naked ass in between her mother's naked thighs.
Tilly raced back to the bedroom and proceeded to slap at Star's head, waking her rather abruptly. Star's anger quickly turned to laughter. She'd never forget the look on her sister's face as she hurriedly confessed her plan of taking the quilt to the back porch where their parents kept their hand-rolled cigarettes and a scattering of lighters. She planned to light the darn thing on fire.
A bit of an overreaction, Star could admit. But they were children. And they were girls. A dastardly concoction of immaturity and drama.
Tilly's eyes were so big! Like polished saucers. She stammered so badly it took several minutes for her to fully convey what she'd witnessed.
"The funny thing is," she'd told Jags, "Mom accidentally spilled some of the homemade peach brandy on the quilt and it ruined the whole darn thing anyhow."
But the story had earned her no response from Jags.
She gently scrubbed behind Jags' left ear.
"Couple days ago I called Maggie and demanded she bring you and your brothers a few changes of clothes, deodorant and razors." She looked at her pink, disposable razor on the edge of the sink, the blades black with Cam and Ajay's whiskers.
They'd both been so distracted by Jags that neither had complained about the pink ladies shaver—not even Ajay.
"When this is all over and you're all better you be sure and give Ajay a hard time about using my girly soap and shavers." Star laughed, trying to remain positive and upbeat, the sound skipped along her breath in shaky waves.
So damn transparent.
Scrubbed behind his other ear.
"I really wish you'd start talking so you could tell your brothers to take a hike." From the corner of the tub, she grabbed the shampoo. She lathered the soap between her fingers and gently massaged his hair and scalp. "This okay?"
No response.
"Your hair really is beautiful. I'm so jealous. Gonna give me an inferior complex, you know, when we're together in public. Me next to you . . . no competition. Your mop way sexier than mine. And that just won't do."
Good Lord that sounded cheezy. But could she really be blamed? She was running out of material to chat up.
Star made circular motions with the sponge on his chest, round and round, over his pointy nipple and subtle muscles. She sighed dramatically. "Okay, okay . . . I'm just teasing you. You can keep the hair. I wouldn't want you any other way anyway."
Now she was fabricating his responses??
Or . . .
Had Jags psychically influenced her thoughts?
She dunked a plastic pitcher into the water. Shielding his eyes, she dribbled water down the back of his head. "One more should do it."
"I like your girly soap." His lids flipped open! Voice coarse and cracked. "Reminds me of you, of a crisp mountain breeze."
Her hands flew to her mouth. The half-empty pitcher fell to the floor, splashed the tile. She scrambled to her feet and dashed into the bedroom.
Ajay sat on the love seat while Cam straightened the clean sheets on the bed.
"He spoke!"
Ajay bolted to his feet. Cam tossed the remaining pillow and its case aside. Both raced past her and to the bathroom.
Both stood.
Speechless.
Soundless.
Just stared at their brother, as if they didn't know what to do or say.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, Ajay knelt beside the tub. "What's doing, buddy?"
Jags' trained a steely gaze between Ajay then Cam. Then back to Ajay.
Cam glared at Star. "You said he spoke."
"He did!"
Folding his arms across his massive chest, Cam lifted a brow. "I don't hear anything."
Before Star could claw Cam's face off, Jags muttered something indiscernible.
Ajay leaned closer and Jags whispered. Grinning, Ajay glanced to Cam. "I'm not sure I should repeat what he said in mixed company."
Cam arched a brow.
"The short of it is he wants us gone. That's not precisely how he worded it but I don't feel right about repeating it . . . which makes me better mannered than this guy." Ajay jerked a thumb toward Jags. "Who'd a thunk?"
"Sucks to be you," Cam said, matter-of-factly. "I'm not leaving until I know you're okay and I'm sorry to say, but you look like shit."
With a wave of her hand, Star strode from the bathroom. "He's clean," she tossed over her shoulder. "You can put him back in bed now."
Cam reached into the tub and scooped Jags from the water. Star turned, averting her gaze on Jags' naked body as Cam passed.
And predictably, Jags screamed.
She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes. A nervous squeal escaped her tight lips.
Hearing him in so much agony bordered on insufferable. Her sanity hung by a thread. As much as she hated to leave, maybe she should take a break and clear her head. An unstable, emotional, crazy woman was not what Jags needed right now.
"You can turn around," Cam said.
Star turned and saw Cam sitting on the foot of the bed. Jags' was tucked neatly beneath the sheet that was pulled up to his neck. His eyes were closed. Wetness framed the pillow around Jags' head.
"How much longer?" Cam asked the room.
Star sat on the love seat. "Your dad said it could be up to ten days."
"Fuck." Cam began to pace. "He's losing too much weight. We have to get something in him besides applesauce. Applesauce can only take a person so far." Cam stopped pacing to glare at Star and Ajay. "Well?"
"Jesus, Cam!' Star blurted. "Want me to run out and get him a pork chop and loaded baked potato?"
"And soup," Ajay added. "He's got a thing for soup."
Star shook her head so fiercely it brought on a headache. She hadn't even realized she'd raked her hands through her hair so hard she'd actually scraped skin off her scalp.
On edge.
Everybody was so damn irritable.
Ajay took a seat beside Star. "Calm down now before you give yourself an aneurysm."
"Why don't we try the protein shakes that you make for Gramps?" Ajay said. "I know Jags wouldn't drink them before but we could try again."
Sighing, Cam sat on the bed by Jags' head.
Beneath the covers, Jags' legs suddenly flailed, kicking Cam in the ribs.
"Fuck this shit." Cam bolted to his feet and strode from the room. "I'm going to the grocery store. When I get back I'm going to make him a shake and force feed it to him. Call me if anything changes."
Star stretched her arms over her head. "I'm going to lie down for a bit. Wake me—"
"I know," Ajay said, "Wake you if anything changes."
Star stumbled from the room.
Collapsed onto the sofa.
Face first into the cushion.
Ajay sat on the bed beside Jags', his back against the headboard, legs stretched and crossed at the ankles.
Over the past five days, Jags had awoken more times than a newborn infant. They took turns sitting with him, spooning him apple sauce, the only food he didn't refuse. And somebody was always talking to him, making sure Jags knew he wasn't alone.
And right now was no different. Ajay began talking.
"Remember when we first met and our parents brought us with them out to dinner? They gave us like twenty bucks worth of quarters to go play at the arcade? You and I played Art of Fighting for four hours straight but only spent two-fifty the entire time."
Earlier that day, Ajay had gone out to his Jeep. He smoked half a pack of cigarettes and drank half a case of beer. Then he drove to The Pink Palace on the edge of town and bought a Penthouse.
Ajay reached behind. He slipped the magazine from the waistband on the back of his jeans.
He began reading. "Can you believe this shit? Who the fuck would want to cook with jizz? I don't fucking care how healthy they say it is. Ain't no goddamn asshole gonna blow his load in my butterscotch icing."
"Ajay?" Jags' weak voice, barely an octave above a whisper.
Ajay turned to see Jags with his eyes open and his smile weak. He scrambled and sat on the side of the mattress. "How you feeling?"
Thumbs up. "Better."
Jags grabbed Ajay's forearm.
But Ajay immediately ripped himself from Jags' weak grip. "None of that shit, at least until you're better."
Dad had reassured everyone Jags would be okay. It was just a matter of time . . . patience. A waiting game. But Ajay didn't need Jags' gift of unnatural empathy to read the worry on his stepfather's face.
Normally, the transformation was mildly uncomfortable, but not deadly. But Jags' gifts were so strong, unlike any other in their family's recorded history, that nobody really knew what to expect.
Not only was he born of a people rumored to have paranormal abilities, but among them he was the strongest. To an epic level, making him a freak of sorts.
Ajay always considered Jags unique, a real diamond in the ruff, but the reality of Jags . . . an anomaly of gargantuan proportions was somewhat alarming.
And kind of cool.
Jags' eyes narrowed. "You want to ask me something."
His empathic abilities seemed to be in working order. He was on the mend. Ajay slid his phone from his pocket to call Cam.
Jags waggled his fingers. "You're going to make a dying man beg?"
"You're not dying."
Jags laughed. "Worth a shot." He pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes. After a moment, whatever pain he felt, must have passed. "I may not be dying." He pushed himself to a sitting position, coughing into his fist. "But I hurt like fuck."
"Fine. When you collapsed, you mumbled something about Emily. Did you have another vision?"
"I've said all I'm going to about my vision . . ." He coughed. ". . . and Emily."
Ajay began dialing, but Jags grabbed Ajay's wrist. "I want you to go," Jags rasped, like an old man who'd smoked most of his long life. "I need time alone with Star."
"I get you buddy. I really do. I'm pretty pent up myself, but you can barely speak never mind—"
Jags clutched Ajay's hand and forced it on his blanketed groin, revealing his erection beneath.
Ajay jumped off the bed. "Don't ever!" He took a shaky breath. "Ever, do that again. Ugh!"
Jags managed a weak laugh. "Go."
Ajay held his hands up. "Alright. Alright. I got it. What the fuck."
Jags patted the bed. "Sit. I want to talk a moment first."
Ajay sat, but did so further down the bed. "Talk."
"I need a favor."
"Like you even have to ask."
"Join the police force."
Ajay heaved a sigh. "Lay off on the whole job bit. I get enough shit from Cam."
"I had a vision. Trust me. Join the police academy." Tension hardened Jags' features. He turned and pulled his knees into his chest. "Now," Jags mumbled into his knees before uncurling his body and shimmying up the headboard. "Today."
"I'll think about it."
"Name one time you won an argument with me or didn't cave to my whims." Jags leaned forward and coughed. "We both know you will. Save us both the time and just do what I ask." He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. Clutching his stomach with one hand, he offered the other to Ajay. "Brothers."
Right now, Ajay would join the Houston ballet if it would make Jags happy. And Jags had never steered him wrong whether it was a decision with life-changing consequences, or a choice between beef or chicken.
The police force had its perks, like getting to chase bad guys and getting to carry a gun. Some felt naked without their cell or wallet. But the feel of a gun in his hand, could calm his nerves better than any drug or massage.
And sometimes better than sex.
Ajay wrapped his hand around Jags' forearm. "Always."