The Prison Healer

“Jaren can help you,” Naari told Tipp. “He’s good with his hands.”

“Take off your shirt and lie down.”
“I’m flattered, but we barely know each other.”

’m allocating him to you for orientation.”

“So,” Kiva said, “most men are pigs.”

The guard’s reply was dry. “Yes, you were the picture of health when you got out of bed and fell flat on your face.”

“I was fine after that.”

“Admit it, you just wanted Jaren’s arms around you again.”

“And just so you know, I don’t see you as some kind of damsel who needs rescuing. I’ve never met anyone stronger than you—not just because you’ve survived a decade in this gods-awful place, but because you’ve sacrificed your own needs over and over again to serve those around you, even—and especially—those who don’t want your help. So you’re right, you don’t need me fighting your battles.” He moved a step closer, his tone husky as he finished, “But . . . if you’ll let me, I’d like to be standing beside you as you fight them.”

Jaren held her tighter, rubbing her back soothingly. “Shhh. I’ve got you.”

Tear after tear fell from Kiva, all her fear and sorrow flooding out of her, until finally her sobbing eased, giving way to exhaustion.

In a rasping whisper of a voice, her words full of anguish, Kiva repeated, “I can’t lose him, Jaren.”

“I know,” he whispered back, still holding her close, his arms curled tightly around her.

She pulled away just enough to look up at him, meeting his concerned blue-gold gaze.

“You don’t know,” she said hoarsely. “I can’t lose him.”

Jaren reached for her face, gently wiping away her tears. “Sweetheart, I know.”

“We should get back in there,” she said, pointing to the infirmary. “I just . . . I just needed a minute.” She made herself meet Jaren’s eyes. “Thank you. For being here.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Kiva,” he said softly. “You’re not in this alone. Any of it.”

It was only when she’d cried her last that sleep finally found her, and she drifted off wrapped in Jaren’s embrace, feeling safe and protected for the first time in years.

But, Papa, the endings are the best part.

Sometimes, sweetheart. But other times, the beginnings are.