with a sigh. “I don’t regret it, Juss. We were tested regularly before the accident. These tests were just to ease our minds, that’s all. And like I said, the full results won’t change how I feel about you. Not one thing.”
He settled his head against my chest and was quiet for a long moment. “Did we do that before? I mean, me asking for you to . . . be inside me or something. Because it felt . . . familiar. I didn’t remember anything, there was no flashbacks, but it felt . . . I dunno. Like my body knew what it wanted.”
I gave him a squeeze. “Yeah, we did. A lot. You loved it when we’d stay like that.”
“I came fast. I was thinking about it.”
I chuckled. “Watching porn for a few hours had you kind of worked up.”
“I’m gonna do it again tomorrow, just so you know. There’s a lot of videos to get through.”
I laughed again and was reminded that we were a sticky mess. “Shower time. Then you can heat up leftovers for dinner and I’ll remake the bed and put these in the wash.”
I helped Juss off the bed and we showered together. Then he went to sort out dinner, and I stripped the bedding and set it going in the washing machine and remade the bed with clean linen. When I went back out to the kitchen, I noticed Juss’ limp was more pronounced as he took the plates to the table.
“You okay? Is your leg sore?”
“Yeah, a bit. Just time for my pills, that’s all.” He managed a smile. “I feel good. Great, even. A little achy in all the right places, but in a good way.”
That was true. It was time for his night-time pain pills, but still . . . “You’ll tell me if something hurts or gets worse though, yeah?”
He rolled his eyes as he sat down. “Yes, I promise. I am achy and tired, because I’ve been freshly had. But I won’t object if you want to have me again.”
I chuckled as I ate my first mouthful of leftover meatloaf and mash. “Your body won’t be thanking me tomorrow. You might be sorer in the morning.”
He made a maybe face but shrugged. “On the bright side, we found a position that works.”
Chapter Five
Two days later, all the insurance money had hit my account. I paid off all the credit cards and put a chunk on the overdraft, feeling like things were finally—finally—starting to be okay. It was one thing knowing the money troubles would be over soon, but it was a whole other thing to know it was actually over.
The bank account was looking pretty fat, Juss was more himself, and life was looking pretty damn good.
Until Davo came into work and handed me a folded copy of the Times. “Jusso’s interview is on page three. There’s a photo of the crash. Not sure if you want him to see it.”
My stomach dropped. “Thanks, mate.”
Davo gave a hard nod and went out and made a point of having a chat with Sparra and Juss, probably so I could have a quick look and decide how best to prepare Justin. He’d seen some insurance photos as part of the van claim, but nothing too graphic.
I turned to page three, my heart in my throat. There were two photos: one of Justin just a few days ago, and one of the mangled van. The photo of him was on his right side, getting a good look at the scar down his head. I remember Juss saying he wanted to get the name of the shop in it, and it was . . . but the photographer knew what he was doing. The picture emphasised his scar more than anything else.
The photo of the van was one the paper had run after the accident. The van was barely separated from the truck, the door was missing from where they’d obviously had to cut him out. It was . . . crumpled, smashed, barely recognisable. There was debris all over the wet road, glass, pieces of metal. It looked like a war zone.
God, it made me feel sick.
Then I read the article.
* * *
Memories Erased
* * *
Justin Keith’s life changed forever on that rainy morning almost four months ago when the van he was driving was hit by a truck. Taken to John Hunter Hospital, he was rushed into surgery for a serious head injury, multiple broken bones and fractures to