Page 64 of Shipwrecked

“Can we look at your shoulder?”

I squeeze his hand. Jules nods again.

Seán gives me the gauze, and I hold it to my nose. I keep Jules’s hand inside mine and guide it onto my lap. He keeps his eyes on me. The same quiet attentiveness that he’s slipped into when we’ve been intimate together wraps around him like a shield. There’s something terrifyingly vulnerable in it.

Mathieu kneels at his side. “Can I slide this down?”

I squeeze Jules’s hand.

“Yes,” Jules says.

It’s a half-button-up shirt. Mathieu unfastens the buttons, then eases the fabric off Jules’s shoulder. His arms are down, and the fabric falls to his elbows on either side. Jules doesn’t bat an eye, focused on me.

There’s bruising on the side of his arm, and I know from Mathieu’s expression that there’s more on his back. Seán moves behind Jules, examining the damage.

“Bruising and swelling, but not as bad as your throat,” Seán says. “Let’s ice it and… We have no ice packs.”

“I can dip something in the ocean.” Mathieu grabs a shirt from his own bag and darts out of the camp at a brisk trot.

Seán pulls the med kit over and digs out bruising cream.

“We’ll cool your shoulder and throat first, then put the cream on,” Seán says. He tries to make eye contact with Jules. Jules doesn’t acknowledge the effort.

Jules is staring at me. It’s like someone has put a gun to my head and threatened to end the world if I let my temper slip out. I’m not sure Jules is in the right headspace to distinguish that my anger isn’t directed at him.

“I don’t know what to do,” Seán admits. “We can’t call the guards. We’ll report him when we’re rescued, obviously, but in the meantime…”

I could beat the ever-loving shit out of Darren. Jules doesn’t deserve to be hurt, and he doesn’t deserve to be scared.

When did this happen? When were they even alone together? “He’s not allowed anywhere near Jules,” I say. “He’s not allowed near camp.”

“Has your nosebleed stopped? Here.” Seán offers me a wet wipe. I use it to clean myself.

“Keeping him away is a good idea,” Seán says. “His lean-to is the furthest out, anyway. The only thing we’ll have to do is have someone bring him meals.”

“You or me, nobody else,” I say. I’m not letting Mathieu within a mile of that fucker either.

“I’ll do it,” Seán says.

“I can too.”

Seán studies me for a long time. “No,” he eventually says. “I’ll do it.”

“I—”

“I don’t want you getting done for assault too, Cillian. No, and that’s final.”

My jaw clenches, and Jules’s eyes focus there. Only when I force my jaw to relax do Jules’s eyes slide back to mine. “Okay,” I say quietly. “Fine.”

For the entire conversation, Jules kneels, silent. He’s watching me. I think he’s listening, waiting for an instruction of some sort. I squeeze his hand, showing that my next words are for him. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Jules’s eyes flash towards the entrance of the camp. He stares as though a monster will come slinking out of the shadows any second.

I squeeze his hand again. “On me,” I correct. “He’s not here, and he’s never getting close to you ever again. I promise.”

Jules’s attention flicks back. His eyes find mine and lock on. The panic goes away.

“He’s mad about Mathieu,” Jules says.