I’ve had so much blood pumped into me, I don’t even think I’m me any more. I had internal bleeding caused by a splintered rib that nicked a blood vessel. The mass of blood behind my ribs was excruciatingly painful, but once it started to disperse, the pain lessened over the weeks until regular paracetamol sufficed and I could lose my drip. My left arm is broken in three places and three tendons were severed above my wrist. I have a tidy gouge in my thigh, and I’m all kinds of black and blue from scrapes, cuts and grazes. Quite honestly, I look a royal mess, even six weeks later.

Yet I’d endure this pain forever and happily look like this for the rest of my life if I could change just one thing.

But I can’t. My only comfort is that our baby didn’t suffer like we have.

Stephanie was charged with attempted murder. I didn’t know, but a few neighbours up the street have CCTV cameras installed at the front of their properties, and after careful analysis, apparently her intent became clear. The footage of her coming at me with a knife only moments before cemented it for the police.

I chose not to see that footage, but Jack did. I don’t know why he needed to, and I didn’t ask. They also did tests on the car; the speed on impact was estimated to be around 50 mph. I shouldn’t even be alive. Stephanie’s been put on suicide watch while on remand, and her lawyer has appealed for mental assessments. I’ve heard she’s claiming diminished responsibility. I’m hoping that means she’ll be certified mad and shipped off to a mental institute. I don’t care where they take her, just as long as it’s far, far away from me and Jack.

After my parents got over the shock of the accident, my father ripped into Jack with an anger I’ve never seen before. Jack bowed to his fury, putting up no fight and not retaliating with any kind of excuses. The guilt that consumes him worries me more each day. He’s here, but he’s not here. He smiles, but behind the smiles there’s a perpetual sadness. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. No one was supposed to suffer this much.

My friends and parents have been in and out of my flat checking up on me, but their help hasn’t been needed. Jack’s taken compassionate leave from work to be with me, to wait on me hand and foot and fuss over my healing body. I can’t say I don’t like having him around so much after all the time we’ve spent snatching hours here and there to be with each other. But I just wish the circumstances weren’t so tragic. We lost our baby. It’s something neither of us knows how to deal with. All we have is each other; I pray that’s enough.

We’ve watched Top Gun a hundred times and eaten a million Giant Strawbs between us. Jack has taken me to physiotherapy every other day since my cast was removed. In between sessions, I perform the exercises that were given to me, on various hard-backed cards, at least six times a day. Six times! So basically all I’ve been doing are arm exercises, and Jack has made sure of it, sitting with me for twenty minutes each time and doing the movements with me, as well as pulling me up if he thinks I’m not doing it effectively. I’m bored of arm exercises.

Now I’m reclined on my couch, flicking through the channels, when Jack wanders in with those damn cards. ‘Not again,’ I sigh, the remote control falling to the cushion with my limp arm. ‘We just did some.’

‘Be quiet,’ he scolds me gently, shifting my legs and sitting next to me.

‘But it’s much better. Look.’ I reclaim the remote control and aim it at the television, ignoring how heavy it feels. ‘I can do this.’

‘Yes, but I want you to be able to do this.’ He fists his hand and starts thrusting it in the air, mimicking some hand action on an invisible cock. I gape at him, not because it might be inappropriate for him to do that, given where we’re at, but because I see a slight glimmer in his grey eyes that’s been missing for weeks. The corners of his mouth twitch, and I find mine following suit. And then he laughs lightly, the sound acting like the best kind of medicine there could be. I giggle, my head falling back to the cushion. It feels good, another piece of my broken heart slipping back into place.

My grief will never diminish completely, but I have to hope the pain will eventually become bearable enough for me to move forward. I hope Jack is moving in the same direction too. I drop my head and find he’s smiling. It’s such a stunning sight, and it fills me with hope that with my fading pain comes his fading guilt. ‘You’re very good at that,’ I say, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. ‘Been getting a lot of practice?’

He flicks through the cards, looking up at me with a raised brow. ‘Wanking pales by comparison after you’ve had the hand of the woman you love wrapped around your cock,’ he replies huskily, winking, expanding my grin.

‘Did you just say that?’

‘Yep.’ He holds the card up and I look, seeing the familiar pictures. ‘Now focus on this.’

‘After you’ve just said something so romantic?’

The full-blown Jack Joseph smile makes an appearance. ‘Concentrate,’ he orders.

Grudgingly I look at the card. ‘Easy,’ I claim, starting to clench and unclench my fist, over and over. ‘Next.’

‘This one.’ He holds up another card.

‘There.’ I bend my arm at the elbow with a stifled yawn. ‘Next.’

‘Annie, you need to extend your arm fully.’ He reaches over and pulls my arm straight. I hiss, feeling my stiff tendons stretch too much. ‘Yes, much better,’ he quips sarcastically. I scowl. He gives me a warning look. ‘Are you going to carry on arguing with me?’

I grumble my annoyance and start to bend my arm, slowly this time, stretching it back out as far as I can. ‘Happy?’

‘I’m just trying to help.’

‘Help me by taking me out,’ I plead, with no hope that he’ll listen. I feel like a prisoner, and aside from my mundane visits to the physiotherapist, Jack’s kept me safe inside wrapped in cotton wool. I’m slowly losing my mind. ‘Or at least let me in my studio so I can do some work.’

‘I was thinking of taking you somewhere, actually.’ He reaches up to my face and traces the line of a cut on my cheek. ‘But I don’t want you pushing yourself.’

‘I feel so much better.’ I need to get out and try to pick up something close to normal life instead of lying here with nothing to do other than relive that awful day. This isn’t healthy for Jack, either, being my nursemaid twenty-four-seven. He needs to get out too.

‘I’ll make you a deal,’ he says, bending over my reclined body and coming in close to my face.

‘What?’ I’ll do anything.

‘I’ll take you out somewhere if you . . .’ His words fade, his eyes flicking past me fleetingly.

‘If I what?’

‘If you agree to move in with me.’

I recoil. I don’t mean to. We haven’t spoken about this. Or anything, for that matter. Since I was discharged from hospital, all of our efforts have gone into my recovery, and we’ve both seemed content doing that. I didn’t want to go over and over the dreadful events that put me in hospital and snatched away our unborn child. Jack’s been here at my flat the whole time, and I didn’t question it. Move in with him? Where? His home has been empty, since he’s here and his wife has been locked up. And I know he never wants to set foot in the place again. My flat is small.

‘Maybe we could buy somewhere,’ he goes on, sensing that I’m spinning off endless silent questions, and maybe knowing what they are. ‘I can’t sell my place just yet, until we know what’s happening with . . .’ He trails off again. There’s been no mention of her name and I doubt there ever will be. Jack’s filed for divorce and has left the complicated logistics of it in the hands of his solicitor. ‘I want somewhere with you. Away from here. Somewhere to call ours.’

‘Ours?’ I ask, liking the sound of that.

‘Just ours.’

‘Just ours,’ I parrot, struggling for what else to say. Somewhere that is just ours.

‘A fresh start. Me and you.’ He takes my wrist and fingers my bracelet, prompting me to look down at it. ‘If you want me.’

Another small piece of my shattered heart drops into place. I add my fingers to his and join him in playing with the precious charms. The dynamics of our relationship have been forced to change. Before, when we were only able to see each other in stolen moments of time, our clothes were usually ripped off within seconds, both of us ravenous with hunger for each other, our time together spent losing ourselves in our private bubble of happiness. Now, when we’re spending every second of the day with each other and I’m laid up, our time is spent . . . just being. Loving. Supporting. Healing each other as best we know how while being physically unable to take each other into the mind-numbing haze of pleasure that’s got us through so many months. But it’s still pleasurable. Through the grief I’ve been dealing with, being with Jack is still beyond fulfilling. And if anything, it’s only strengthened our love. He’s seen me at my weakest. I’ve seen him at his. Yet together we’re probably stronger than ever. I look up at him, letting my lips tip a little at the corners. ‘You were always mine, even before I knew it.’

He nods, combing his fingers through my hair. ‘I’m just so sorry that—’

I take his nape and pull him closer, our lips nearly touching. ‘I’ll be okay,’ I say, cutting him off. ‘I have you, so I know I’ll be okay.’ I’m mindful that my hurt could eat him alive if I let it. I mustn’t let it.

‘I’ve put you through so much,’ he whispers.

‘I put myself through it,’ I point out. This isn’t just his doing. I accepted the repercussions the moment I knowingly got caught up in a web of lies and deceit with a married man. I just didn’t anticipate the extent of the pain and heartache we would go through. I didn’t anticipate Stephanie.

His lip curves a little. ‘I didn’t exactly give you much choice, did I?’

‘You mean when you relentlessly tempted me with your gorgeousness?’

He closes the space between our mouths and kisses me carefully. ‘I knew I was supposed to find you drunk in that bar that night.’

‘I wasn’t drunk.’

‘Of course you weren’t.’ He smiles against my mouth. ‘Want some help in the shower?’

I nod against him and let him help me up from the couch, making myself keep the slight discomfort quiet so he can’t withdraw from his end of the deal.

‘You’re in pain, aren’t you?’ he muses as he holds my waist, walking behind me and matching my sluggish pace.

‘I’m fine,’ I retort, my face screwing up a little when an unexpected shot of pain bolts through my thigh. I’m still limping slightly, but I’m pretty sure that’s simply because of my lack of regular movement. My muscles and bones are just objecting any time I move because they’re used to feeling redundant.

Jack guides me into the bathroom and flicks on the shower. I hate myself for it, but I have to sit on the toilet seat while he starts collecting towels. I’m exhausted from that short, leisurely stroll from one end of my flat to the other. He doesn’t miss my movement, raising knowing eyebrows at me that I choose to ignore as I start to remove my T-shirt. I lose sight of him when I pull it over my head, and when I win the sight of him back, he’s removed his own T-shirt. I smile at his abs, his chest, his downright stunning torso. And I sigh.

I drop my T-shirt to the floor as Jack unfastens his jeans. Slowly. Then pushes them down his thick thighs. Slowly. He’s purposeful and means to be. Things happen between my legs that haven’t happened for a long while.

‘I’ll wash you down.’ His jeans hit the floor. ‘Up for it?’

I fly up from the toilet seat. And yelp. ‘Fuck!’ I drop back down and grab the sink, breathing through the pain.

‘Annie!’ Jack’s kneeling before me in the blink of an eye, assessing my condition. ‘Take it easy.’

My cheeks puff out as I exhale, looking up at him. ‘Ouch,’ I murmur pitifully.

‘Okay. No outing. It’s too soon. And no joint shower.’

I growl and grab his hair, yanking him forward threateningly. ‘You’re coming in!’ I hiss. ‘And then you’re taking me out.’

‘Fuck, Annie!’ He chuckles as he reaches up to prise my clawed fingers away. ‘Okay, okay.’

‘Good.’ I go back to breathing, cool and controlled. ‘Sorry for being so insistent.’

Jack laughs, a proper belly laugh. It’s like music to my ears. ‘I look forward to a lifetime of insistence, gorgeous.’ He rises before me, offering his hand. ‘Ready?’

I take his hand and let him gently ease me up and strip me of my shorts, knickers and bra before directing me patiently to the shower. ‘What do you expect when you brandish that body, anyway?’ I ask, hearing him chuckle. ‘And look at me like that. And speak to me in that tone. And say those things.’

‘I’ll keep my mouth shut.’ He gently turns me at the shower bench and helps me down. ‘And keep my clothes on,’ he adds.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ I object. That would be a travesty.

My bum meets the wood of the shower bench and I grimace, hating needing it. I was hoping today would be the day I’d be able to stand while I have a shower. ‘I feel like an invalid,’ I grumble, watching Jack drop to his knees before me.

‘You are,’ he points out, making my face screw up more. He takes the sponge and wets it under the spray, adding some shower gel. He clasps my ankle and gently lifts, keeping a cautious eye on my face for any hint of pain. ‘You good?’ he asks, just to be sure, and I nod. ‘Good.’ He starts soaping me down. ‘Want me to shave your legs?’

I look down at my legs, reaching to smooth up my skin. I’ve been trying to shave, but with limited movement comes limited reach. ‘Please.’ I can’t believe we’re at this place in our relationship already, but Jack’s completely unperturbed by the task and happily fetches the razor and starts running it up my leg in precise, gentle strokes. ‘Our love has reached a whole new level,’ I muse to myself, seeing his mouth stretch into a smile as he carries on with his self-appointed job.

‘Our love is the greatest kind, Annie.’ He finishes up and washes the remnants of soap away, running his palms down my legs to check his handiwork. ‘Perfect,’ he says, looking up at me. I suspect he’s not talking about how good a job he’s done of shaving my legs. He’s talking about our love.

I reach forward and feel his bristly jaw. ‘Perfect,’ I counter.

He turns his mouth into my hand and kisses it gently, breathing in and closing his eyes. ‘I love you.’

I inch forward on the bench, wanting to get closer to him. He’s having none of it, holding me back. ‘I want to hold you.’

‘Then I’ll come to you.’ He walks forward on his knees and places his hands on my thighs, looking at me for an okay. I open my legs in reply and reach for his shoulders, pulling him in and constricting my thighs as much as my body will allow before it hurts. ‘Careful,’ he warns, his wet chest meeting mine, my face sinking into his neck, his face into mine. We both hum. ‘God, that feels good,’ he sighs.

It so does. Warm. Comforting. Right. We stay there for ages, locked together, enjoying the first proper cuddle we’ve had in too long. Nothing hurts me. I have no space for anything other than appreciation. I could stay here forever, so content in his arms, so when he starts to break away, I grumble and cling to him even more tightly.

‘I thought you wanted to brave the big wide world,’ he says, nudging my face from his neck with determined effort.

‘I’ve changed my mind. Let’s just stay here.’

‘Forever?’

‘Yes.’

He laughs. ‘Someone’s decisive today. How about I promise to hold you all night long?’

‘As opposed to lying on the edge of the bed as far away as possible from me?’

‘I was afraid I’d knock you in my sleep.’ He pushes himself up and retrieves the shampoo.

‘I feel better after five minutes of you holding me than I have after six weeks of being static.’

He pauses with the bottle upside down, looking at me. I shrug. It’s the truth. He has a healing touch. ‘Then I’ll hold you all night,’ he declares.

‘What about tomorrow night?’

‘And then too.’

‘And the next night?’

‘Annie, I’m going to hold you every night for the rest of our lives together.’ His hands come to my dark hair and massage, working it up into suds. ‘And I’ll be thankful every minute that I can.’

I fall into total bliss, feeling Jack’s hands working tenderly through my hair, like he could be handling the most fragile of things. I guess right now he is. ‘You must be sick of seeing me looking such a wreck,’ I sigh. I’ve forgotten what make-up is, and I’ve been in slobby clothes for weeks.

‘You look beautiful every day,’ he says, simple as that. ‘Be quiet.’

I obey and let him take care of me, having to keep my eyes closed. His naked lower stomach is at perfect eye level, and if I drop my eyes a little, something else. I know I’m not ready for that, so taunting myself would only add to my fading pain.

‘Up you come.’ Jack slips his arm around my waist and lifts. ‘Easy.’

I wince and hiss and ooh my way up, after just a few minutes on my arse. I grudgingly admit that I have a way to go yet until I’m fighting fit. ‘Thank you.’

He doesn’t acknowledge my graciousness, being quick to wrap me in a towel and help me to the sink. I look at myself in the mirror. I look pasty. Beautiful every day? I scoff and reach for my packet of contraceptive pills, popping one out and bringing it to my mouth.

But the tablet doesn’t make it past my lips.

Because Jack’s palm is wrapped around my wrist, hindering me from putting it there. I look at his reflection in the mirror, my eyebrows pinching in the middle. What’s he doing?

‘How about you don’t take that,’ he says quietly, observing me carefully for my reaction.

I’m thunderstruck. Does he mean . . .? ‘Then I’ll likely fall pregnant when you finally give in to my need to have you asap.’

His lips twist a little in amusement, still holding my wrist firm. ‘Like I said, how about you don’t take that.’ He tips my hand to the side, and the pill tumbles from my palm and falls into the sink. I look down, watching as it rolls around the plughole a few times before disappearing. The pill is gone, but I still stare at the porcelain of the sink, trying to wrap my mind around what he’s suggesting.

‘Jack, I don’t need you to—’ His finger meets my lips and hushes me, his body moving in close to mine.

‘I’m not trying to make things right, Annie. Not with a baby, anyway. And I’m not trying to replace the one we’ve lost.’ The mention of my miscarriage stings terribly, and he must notice because he encases my cheeks with his big palms and brings my face close to his. ‘I want to build a life with you,’ he says softly. ‘I feel like I’ve waited forever to feel like this.’ His thumbs caress my cheeks, and I close my damn eyes when tears pinch the backs of them. Jack kisses each of my lids in turn, so tenderly. ‘I want to make babies with you, Annie. Hundreds of them.’ I sniff back my emotion. ‘I want to look at you every day and smile because I picked you to be the mother of my children. Because I know if I’m to have it all, then I should have it all with you.’ I open my eyes and sink into the grey depths of Jack’s. The sadness that was lingering there: it’s nearly gone. ‘You are my all, Annie Ryan.’ He kisses my forehead sweetly. ‘No more pills.’ His kiss tells me so much. It tells me he’ll protect me. It tells me he’ll always be there for me. And it tells me that however wrong people think my choices have been, they were the right choices for me. And for Jack.

‘Just give me time,’ I whisper.

‘As much as you need.’ He pulls back, a small grin on his face, one that I can’t help but mirror. ‘I can do condoms. I just need you to know I’m ready when you are.’

‘Okay,’ I agree easily, as simple as that. Because I also know that if I am to have a child at all, then it should be with Jack. I stare into the grey eyes of a man who was forbidden. A man who should never have been touched. A man who wasn’t mine. ‘I draw the line at four babies,’ I murmur. His smile. God, his smile. It’s bright, almost dazzling, and it’s pouring with hope and love. The biggest piece of my broken heart slides back into place. Jack’s smile symbolises our life. And the lives of our children. It symbolises happiness. And freedom.

‘I want six.’

I ignore the searing pain that bombards me when I throw myself at him. ‘I love you,’ I sob like a fool into him. ‘I love you so much.’

‘Thank you.’ He holds me like I would collapse if he releases me. I would, but not with pain or exhaustion. I’d collapse with a happiness that’s almost too intense to comprehend. Like most things I have with Jack. ‘Come on, then. I’m taking you out.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s a surprise.’ He drops a kiss on my nose and releases me gingerly. ‘Want some help getting dressed?’

‘What am I wearing?’

He takes my hand and leads me to my wardrobe, then proceeds to flick through my rails of clothes. ‘This.’ He pulls out an oversized Ralph Lauren shirt. ‘With these.’ And some skinny jeans. So nowhere fancy, then.

Slowly and carefully, he helps me get dressed and oversees me applying the first bit of make-up I’ve worn in weeks. ‘My hair?’ I ask, frowning at my mane. It could do with a cut and colour.

He pulls the hair-tie off my wrist and gathers up my long dark hair, securing it in a messy ponytail.

‘Perfect.’

I wouldn’t say that, but it’s an improvement on the ragged mess I’ve been sporting since finding myself in hospital. ‘And my feet?’

‘Something comfortable.’ He rests his big, strong palms on my shoulders and massages lightly for a few pleasurable moments.

I close my eyes and soften under his touch. ‘That feels nice,’ I sigh.

‘Come on, before you fall asleep.’ Leaving me at the mirror, he pulls some jeans on and a T-shirt over his head. ‘Ready?’

I nod, slip my feet into my Converses and frown down at my untied laces. Jack’s kneeling in front of me, taking care of it, before I can even try to bend down. I smile down at the back of his head, feeling grateful instead of useless. His care. His attention. It’s easy to accept, because it’s Jack.