CHAPTER 35: THE INCIDENT ON THE BED

JD’s eyes landed on her bedroom door. Was she still in there?

A dull thud resounded in his chest as unease coiled in his stomach. He lingered by the staircase, debating whether it would be appropriate to check. Joanne wasn’t the type to sleep in—she was always up before dawn, running the household like clockwork.

But maybe... maybe last night had exhausted her. That was normal, right? People overslept all the time.

Still, the feeling didn’t sit right.

He saw movement on the porch and turned.

Patrick.

The older man stood by the door, brows furrowed in concern. "Jo?" His frown deepened when he saw JD hesitating at the threshold.

JD stiffened.

And then, as if something snapped inside him, he turned on his heels and bolted up the stairs.

Patrick, who had been about to step inside, paused mid-motion, watching the way JD practically flew up the steps. A slow smirk tugged at his lips. That young man looked like he’d just received news that he was getting drafted for war.

He liked JD. The kid was polite, well-mannered, and carried himself like a man who had seen the world but never let it corrupt him. Educated. Respectful.

Yes, he thought. This one would be a good fit for Jo.

Jonathan? Patrick wasn’t convinced. The man seemed nice enough, but there was something about him that didn’t sit right.

But JD... Patrick could see it.

Still, what he wanted most was for Joanne to be happy. She deserved it. More than anyone. And he hoped—prayed—that before the first snowfall of the year, she would finally find it.

***

JD reached her bedroom door, his breath uneven.

His hand hovered over the doorknob, fingers trembling.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t just barge in. But Sam’s words echoed in his mind, dark and taunting. You know what happens to your pet dogs, don’t you?

What if she was hurt?

What if—

JD turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The air inside was cold. The curtains were drawn, casting long shadows across the room. His eyes swept over the space before landing on the bed.

A bundle beneath the covers.

He rushed forward, reaching for the thick winter blanket, peeling it back. Then the comforter. The linen bedsheet. And finally—

Joanne.

Pale. Cold.

And barely dressed.

She lay curled beneath the layers, her body clad only in a thin slip and panties. Strands of hair clung to her damp forehead, her skin warm to the touch.

JD’s throat constricted.

He didn’t know where to look. Didn’t know what to think.

A flush crawled up his neck, but his worry overrode it. He crouched beside the bed, pressing his palm against her shoulder.

"Joanne." His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

She didn’t stir.

His fingers flexed. "Jo," he tried again, shaking her gently.

A small sound escaped her lips, but she remained curled in on herself, her breathing shallow. JD exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus.

She wasn’t hurt—at least, not in any way he could see.

But she was warm... too warm. Burning.

Fever?

He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. The heat beneath his fingers made him flinch. As he leaned in closer, something bumped against his foot. He glanced down. A whiskey bottle rolled lazily across the floor.

He sighed. Why does she drink so much?

His gaze returned to her. Her face was flushed, her body curled beneath layers of blankets, yet she shivered.

"Cold..." she mumbled weakly.

JD let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. He wanted to shake her for being so reckless, for not calling for help. What if he hadn’t checked on her?

Pulling himself together, he stripped the blankets away. If she kept overheating like this, she’d fry her brain. She whimpered, feebly clutching at the sheets, but he pried them from her fingers. Then, he crossed the room and threw open a window.

A soft moan left her lips as she instinctively curled in on herself, hugging her own body.

"Bear with it, all right?" His voice was softer than he expected.

He needed a cloth for a cold compress. Something—anything—to cool her down.

But when he turned back, she was murmuring again. JD paused. The fevered rambling sounded like a chant, whispered and broken.

He leaned closer.

Before he could make out the words, she latched onto him.

He lost balance.

In an instant, he toppled onto the bed, his torso pressing over hers.

JD froze.

Her eyelids fluttered open—slowly, groggily.

His breath caught.

For a long, aching moment, nothing moved. Even his blood seemed to flow backward as her hazy gaze landed on him.

Her fingers, trembling and fever-warm, traced up his forearm.

To his shoulder.

To his neck.

Then, at last, they rested on his cheek.

"You’re here..." she murmured.

Before he could respond, she fisted his collar and pulled him closer.

JD felt heat rush through him, but not from the fever. His gut tightened. His body reacted.

His instincts flared, every nerve in his being suddenly aware of how close she was—how dangerously close.

But this was wrong.

She wasn’t in her right mind.

JD tried to pull away, but she clung tighter.

"I’m sorry..." she whispered.

The sound of her quiet sobs made something crack in his chest. He parted his lips, about to ask why?

But then—

"...Liam... I’m sorry..."

JD went rigid. His pulse slammed in his ears. And just like that, the haze shattered. Reality came crashing down, sharp and cold.

JD wrenched himself from her grip, suddenly finding the strength that had eluded him before.

It wasn’t her strength keeping him there. It had never been her strength.

"It’s Jeffrey," he snapped, anger rising—sharp, bitter.

For a second, just a second, he’d thought she was talking to him.

But she wasn’t.

She was out of her mind, fevered and delusional, calling out for a ghost. Her ex.

He stood abruptly, any warmth from before drained away.

On the bed, she stirred, rubbing her eyes. Her lashes fluttered, her brows pulling together as she blinked at him in confusion.

"JD?" Her voice was clearer this time, but laced with exhaustion. "What are you..."

Then, realization dawned.

She was nearly naked.

A sharp gasp escaped her as she scrambled to cover herself. But there was nothing to grab. Flushing, she tried to get to her feet—

JD rolled his sleeves up, sighing. "I wouldn’t do that if I were you."

Ignoring her flustered state, he turned toward her nightstand, pulling open the first drawer. He needed a towel—something for a cold compress.

Nothing.

The second drawer.

Still nothing. Just knives. Guns. Books.

JD frowned.

Joanne pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. The world was spinning, her head pounding. She didn’t know what day it was, what time it was.

She barely processed what JD was doing—until he reached for the third drawer.

Panic spiked through her veins.

"DO NOT OPEN THAT DRAWER!"

But it was too late.

JD had already pulled it open.

His gaze landed on the contents.

He went still.

Then, slowly—so, so slowly—his lips curled.

Look what she got.