Page 81 of Worshiping Faith

He doesn’t argue. Just nods once. “You need to rest. I’ve got you.”

The words settle deep in my chest. Not a question. Not a request. A statement.

It’s permission.

More than permission, it’s a fucking command.

I step closer, barely realizing I’m doing it. Wilkes doesn’t back up. Doesn’t shift. He just watches.

And when his hand settles at my waist, firm, steadying, I feel it.

The pull. The thing I wasn’t sure was even there.

My eyes burn, but I can’t let it go. My jaw locks, holding back something I don’t even understand.

“You want to be alone?” he asks.

Yes. To cry? Yes. But I don’t say it. “I’m on that edge,” I admit instead.

His eyes don’t waver. “Let it out.”

The words hit me harder than they should.

The moment his arm slides fully around me, pulling me against his chest, I break.

Not all at once. Not the ugly, gasping sobs I know are waiting in the dark. But a tear slips free.

And Wilkes? He just holds me.

“Faith,” Jinx calls, voice a strained plea.

I pull back, meeting Wilkes’ eyes. The warmth from his hand on my back is gone, replaced by that unreadable, steady stare of his. Shit. I was just about to let myself break for a second. One fucking second.

I take a slow breath. “Can I have a rain check on the falling apart? Whiskey, maybe.”

Wilkes doesn’t hesitate. “Go on.”

No argument. No attempt to hold me here. Just that firm, quiet permission, like he knows I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else while Jinx was calling my name.

Jinx is struggling to pull himself up when I step inside. His skin is pale, sweat clinging to his forehead, his hands trembling as he fights against his own body.

“Thirsty,” he rasps.

I move toward him, but Wilkes is already at my side. Efficient. Controlled. But not happy. His movements are too sharp, too restrained.

“Can you help him sit up?” I ask.

Wilkes doesn’t answer. He just moves. Large hands gripping Jinx’s thin frame, careful but firm as he adjusts the pillow behind him, shifting him just enough to give him some relief.

I grab the antibiotics and Advil from the dresser, pop them into my palm, and press the glass of water to Jinx’s lips. “Drink as much as you can,” I murmur. One thing at a time. Small steps.

Jinx barely manages a nod, his body too wrung out to fight. It’s almost like the crank was the only thing keeping him going, and now, without it? He’s got nothing left.

The glass empties. Then another. I ease him back down.

Wilkes is still watching me. That same look from before. Like he’s trying to place something about me.

I sit beside Jinx on the bed, fingers sliding into his thick black hair, twirling at the damp strands. His lashes flutter, body relaxing under my touch.

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