It works, even though I’m probably half his weight and size. Determination and gravity work in my favor, and soon I’m straddling him. I hit my knee on the side of the glass coffee table as we both fall awkwardly between the sofa and the table, and it makes my eyes water.

Oh well. At least my face doesn’t look like a scalpel attacked it.

I’m kind of surprised, to be honest, that Elliot overpowered Jase. I always imagined it’d be the other way around. That El would be too nice and would hold back his full strength in a fight like that. Obviously not. He gave everything for me back then and he’s just given it all again here, tonight.

He sits up, clearly displeased, a hand curled tightly around each of my arms as he tosses me sideways off him and onto the couch. He staggers to his feet, just in time for both of us to hear the deafening click of a gun being cocked. Fuck.

Jase stands before us, his arm shaking, his face almost unrecognizable. One eye is swollen half shut, there’s blood coming from his nose, and the entire left side of his face is littered with cuts and swelling.

Oh yeah, and that shaking arm leads to a hand, holding a gun. The gun I was in charge of. Double fuck.

“Get up,” Jase commands, and Elliot rises to his feet swiftly, keeping his hands in full view.

“Really? You’re pointing that at my dick?” Elliot’s voice is still taunting and bitter, even when he’s in danger of being shot.

“Put the gun down,” I say to Jase, wriggling to the edge of the couch, where I stand, planting myself firmly between the two again. Jase ignores my request, instead aiming over my shoulder, at Elliot’s head.

“Jason!” I yell, trying to make eye contact with him. He remains steadfastly locked on Elliot’s forehead, the two shooting each other daggers so poisonous, that if looks could kill they’d both be dead already.

“Don’t aim at his head!” I yell, the words coming out wrong. Jase sneers, blood smeared across his teeth. A horrible shiver passes from the top of my spine to the soles of my feet as an image of Dornan biting my breast and drawing blood swims in my vision.

“If you move out of the way, I’ll point it back at his dick,” Jase offers sarcastically. “Your call.”

I stay put.

Jase shakes his head. “You don’t come into my house and tell me whose son I am. I’m NOTHING like that motherfucker.”

“What I want to know is why haven’t you killed him yet?” Elliot’s acting like he has the upper hand, when he’s the one who’s about to get his brains painted all over the wall behind him. Jase’s expression drops when he hears Elliot’s question.

“It’s none of your business,” he says through clenched teeth. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m the guy who saved the girl. The girl who would have died if it was left up to you,” Elliot spits, and I feel like I’ve been punched.

“Elliot!” I yell, rounding on him.

“Get out of my house,” Jase says, deathly calm. Too calm. “I won’t tell you again.”

Elliot throws a disgusted glance at Jase. “His brothers were waiting in the hospital corridor to murder you, Juliette. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember!” I snap, tears filling my eyes. A rock forms in my throat that hurts to talk around.

“We need to leave,” Elliot says, taking my wrist. To the surprise of all three of us, I snatch it away. “Julz!”

I shake my head. “I’m not leaving, El. I’m sorry.”

The shock on his face is outweighed by the hurt. His cocky sneer falls away, replaced by a look of absolute heartbreak that makes me wish for the sneer again.

“Julz,” he pleads, gentler this time. His eyes wide, imploring me. I sob as he draws me close to him, tilting my chin so I’m looking up into his stricken face. “Don’t do this. Don’t go back to this life you fought so hard to flee.”

Love fights a bloody duel within my heart, and I’m torn between darkness and light, the pain a real and living thing. I shake my head, rising onto my tiptoes to brush my lips against Elliot’s smooth, but battered cheek. Then I push him away, even as the places he was touching me burn without his contact. Even as I know that he might not forgive me for this.

“Go,” I say, motioning to the front door.

He doesn’t move.

“Go!” I yell, more forcefully this time. I’ve broken his heart for real this time, I can tell. His eyes tell me everything: his sorrow, his pain, his rage. All there for me to behold.

Finally, he seems to come to a snap decision. He pushes past me, stopping briefly to grab his unloaded revolver and magazine from the coffee table. He shoves both into his pocket and then corners Jase, who doesn’t seem to mind being cornered, since he’s the one with the gun that works.

“I’m watching you,” he says menacingly, one finger pointed at Jase’s bloodied face.

Jase grins. “I’ve already been watching you,” he replies. “Next time you come into my house, you’re a dead man.”

Elliot storms out, slamming the door behind him for good measure. As soon as he’s gone, I start to panic.

Oh my God. What have I done? I just sent him away after everything we’ve been through? What kind of horrible, selfish bitch does that make me? He saved my life. He gave up his life and his career so that I’d be safe, and he came here tonight thinking that I was in danger … and all I did was hurt him even more and send him away?

It’s not right. It’s beyond wrong. I rush to the kitchen and grab my iPhone in one hand, the battery in the other, trying to stick the battery back in so I can call El and make sure he’s all right. I briefly consider following him, but I also can’t leave Jase here alone, his face completely messed up and with the weight of my secrets weighing upon him.

Torn between these two men. Six years, and nothing has changed, except now they both know I’m alive instead of one thinking I’m dead.

I’m fumbling with the stupid phone when I hear Jase behind me. I turn to face him, dropping the phone and rushing to him as he sways on his feet.

I wonder how long it’s been since he slept. Since he ate. He’s always asking about me, worrying about me eating and resting and if I’m hurt, and I just keep taking and taking without giving anything back. I loathe myself for it.

“Six years,” he says sadly, his dark brown eyes glassy and bloodshot, one half concealed by a swollen eyelid. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you call me?”

I don’t have an answer, except the one I carry with me everywhere. My answer to everything.

“I was afraid.”

He shrugs me off and hauls himself over to the refrigerator, yanking the freezer door open. He takes something out and kicks the door with his black boot. As it swings shut I glimpse a bag of peas in one of his hands, a bottle of vodka in the other.

I continue watching as he takes two steps and leans his back against the counter, sliding down to end up in a sitting position on the floor below the sink. I tilt my head, unable to take my eyes away from him, when I spy the roll of paper towels on the counter.

Yes. I should clean his face up. He’d do that for me. He’s done it for me plenty of times.

I step over and grab the roll of paper towels, stopping in front of where Jase is sitting, blocking me from the sink. I lean across the bench, wetting a thick wad of paper napkin, and then drop to my haunches beside him.

He’s not really paying attention to me, with the bag of peas obscuring his vision in one eye, and the other firmly planted on the vodka in his hand. So when I press the cold, wet towel to his cheek, he jerks back, dropping the peas into his lap.

“Sorry,” I whisper. He eyes me warily before nodding, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cabinet door.

I take his nod and stillness as an invitation to continue, so I gently dab the blood from his face. Some of it has dried already, and I have to hold the towel in place until it dissipates. The thin material quickly becomes soaked in various shades of red, and I have to get fresh supplies several times before I’m finished.

Finally, I sit back on my heels, satisfied that I’ve done as much as I can. I notice Jase’s dark grey shirt, spattered down the front with his own blood, and probably Elliot’s as well. I reach out again with the last paper towel, intending to blot the blood from his shirt, when Jase’s hand shoots out and wraps around my wrist.

Our eyes meet, and I shiver involuntarily. His hand is like ice. Then I remember he’s been holding frozen peas to his face, and his freezing cold skin makes sense.

“He was going to kill me,” Jase says, referring to Elliot.

I shake my head. “He wasn’t.”

“He can’t come back here. Ever.”

I nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to be here.”

Jase raises his eyebrows. “Well, how the hell did he know you were here?”

I point reluctantly at my phone. “GPS.”

Jase’s eyebrows practically hit the roof. He puts the bottle down and gets to his feet, grabbing the phone.

He smashes it against the hard edge of the bench, sending pieces of glass and plastic everywhere. Great. First the vase, now the phone? We’re going to be stepping on glass for the next week.

If he even wants me to stay here, that is.

Jase slumps back to the ground, apparently not bothered about the mess, and resumes swigging from his vodka bottle. I stare into space, wondering what comes next.

I’m too tired to cry. Too shocked by Elliot’s sudden arrival and subsequent departure. My thoughts are whirling.

I’ve never been a smoker, and not much of a drinker, but if someone offered me a cigarette and a bottle of wine right now, I’d light up and suck that cancer stick in between drinking straight from the bottle. Then I remember sucking Dornan’s dick while he blew smoke down at me, and suddenly that craving vanishes.