Chapter 67

Grace breathed a sigh of relief. "That's great. You've finally woken up."

Woken up? When had he fallen asleep? One moment he'd been in Grace's arms, soaking up her strength and scent; the next, he must have drifted off. The memories seized him.

Wait, no. That wasn't entirely right. They'd chatted after dinner, then each washed and changed for bed. He'd lain down on the cot and counted her breaths until she fell asleep.

Jason rubbed his eyes, the evening's events returning in short order. He hadn't had a nightmare like this in a long time. In his dream, he'd knelt before a woman and begged her… Was it because he'd talked about that woman tonight?

Jason raked a hand through his hair, exhaled, and lowered his head, only to find his pajama button undone, revealing his chest. "My clothes…"

Grace saw his gaze and pursed her lips. "Because… you were shouting that it hurt so much. I was afraid something was wrong, so I unbuttoned your shirt to see."

He stared at her; her face reddened. "But I assure you, I… I didn't even have time to look before you woke up, so I didn't see anything," she hurriedly explained, sounding increasingly odd, her cheeks glowing brighter.

"It doesn't matter if you saw. You can look at my body," Jason said. Her blush was quite adorable, actually.

"Your body… does it h-hurt anymore?" she stammered.

"Mhm, it doesn't hurt anymore." He lowered his head and began buttoning his pajamas. She tried to keep her gaze above his neck, but accidentally glimpsed his chest, then quickly pulled his pajama top down again.

"Hey—you're hurt!"

She stared at a scar above his heart. Though faint, it was clearly not a minor injury. "What's wrong here…"

"It's just a small injury," he said indifferently.

She bit her lip and gently touched the scar. He'd cried out in pain while sleeping; her hand had accidentally touched this area. Had he been hurting because of this injury? How badly had he been hurt? Grace felt a wrench in her own heart.

"How did you get hurt like this? When did it happen?" she murmured.

His body stiffened. Years had passed since his injury; only doctors had touched the wound. She was the only one… His heart pounded beneath her touch.

"It's been a long time. It's no longer painful," he said.

Relieved, she noticed their proximity. "That's… that's good. Hurry and button up or you'll catch a cold." Blushing, she quickly moved her hand away.

Suddenly, his chest felt cold, his heart empty. He buttoned his pajamas slowly. "By the way, what else did I say besides crying out in my dream?"

She hesitated. "Just… you kept shouting, 'Mom, don't go.'"

His body stiffened; his hands clenched into fists. She reached out to touch his cheek; the coldness seeped into her fingertips.

"Jay," she whispered.

He slowly raised his head. His eyes were as empty as when he'd spoken of his parents. Some wounds never healed; they only festered.

This man, stoic and resolute as he claimed to be, was still suffering. And it tore at her heart.