Conquered

Lost without You

Kara was still on the couch. Half on him, half on the cushions that smelled like him now. His arm was around her. Jon pulled her closer. Pressed his face to her neck. “Don’t ever let me go. I’d get lost without you.” they didn’t move.

At 1:40 PM, Jon’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. One time. Then stopped. He tensed under her. “Time.”

Kara lifted her head. “What time is it?” “1:40 PM,” Jon said. Not checking the phone. Just knowing. “Dr. Ellison. 2 PM appointment. Uptown. If we leave now, we make it.”

“Right,” said Kara. She Sat up, her legs were asleep. “Okay. Yeah. Let me—” she looked at him. Really looked.

Grey t-shirt from yesterday. Wrinkled. Hair sticking up where her fingers had been. He looked like a man who’d survived a panic attack at 12:15 AM and won.

“You can’t go like that,” she said. Jon looked down at himself. “No. I can’t.”

Panic hit her. “I don’t have anything. I have scrubs. I have oversized polos from pharmacy school. I have leggings with a hole in the knee. I don’t have anything you can wear"

Jon smiled, “I wasn’t asking you for clothes, Kara.”

He grabbed his phone. Dialed one number from memory.

“Marcus,” he said. Voice shifted. Not CEO Jon. Just Jon. Tired but sure. “I need clothes. Not a suit. Jeans. Dark. T-shirt. Black. Jacket. My size. I’m not at the penthouse. I’m…” He looked at me. “I’m safe. Be discreet. Nancy doesn’t know I’m here. You have 15 minutes.”

He hung up.

“You have an assistant for emergency jeans?” Kara asked.

“I have an assistant for when I do stupid things like sleep on a pharmacist’s couch instead of going home,” Jon said. “Marcus doesn’t ask questions. He just fixes it.”

1:45 PM. Jon stood. Stretched. His shirt rode up an inch and she saw skin. Pale. A scar near his hip.

“Can I use your bath?” he asked. “I’ve been in these clothes since 2:17 AM at the pharmacy. I want to be clean when I tell Dr. Ellison I’m done with him.”

Her throat went dry. “Yeah. It’s through there. Towels under the sink. They’re clean. Washed last week.”

Jon nodded. Disappeared into the bathroom.

Water started.

Kara sat back on the couch. Stared at the door. Tried not to think about Jon Marsh, TBI survivor, in her tiny bathroom.

Knock.

She jumped a foot in the air.

“Ms. Clayton?” Male voice. Crisp. Professional. “Marcus Reed. Mr. Marsh’s assistant. I have a delivery.”

She opened the door a crack. Man in a suit. 30s. Holding a garment bag and a shoe box like they were nuclear codes.

“Mr. Marsh said to be discreet,” Marcus said. Didn’t even blink at her apartment. At her sleep shorts. At the fact his boss was apparently showering here. “Will you take these to him?”

She took the bag. It was heavy. Expensive. “He’s in the bath.”

Marcus nodded. “Tell him the board is requesting a meeting at 4 PM. He’ll know what that means.” Then he was gone. No questions. No judgment.

Kara set it outside the bathroom door. Knocked. “Clothes are here.”

Water shut off.

“Kara?” Jon’s voice. Through the door. “Towel?”

She grabbed the pale blue one. Knocked again. Door opened a crack. Steam. Jon’s hand — wet, scarred knuckles, veins.

She passed the towel. Fingers brushed. His were hot.

“Thanks,” he said.

Then the door opened wider. Jon stood there. Towel low on his hips.

Kara forgot how to breathe. Scars. Long, silver, surgical, starting at his left collarbone and cutting across his chest, disappearing under the towel. But under the scars was muscle. Broad shoulders from 3 years of 3 AM insomnia and weights instead of sleep. Chest built from fighting his brain, not a gym. Stomach flat.

He was really, really hot.

Jon saw her staring. Didn’t cover up. Didn’t smirk. Just waited, gold eyes steady. Like he was letting her see him. All of him. Broken and not broken.

“You have scars,” Kara said. Dumb. Obvious.

“Car accident,” Jon said. Voice quiet. “3 years ago. 2:17 AM. Truck ran a red. Killed Lily. Left me with gaps and these.” He didn’t gesture. Didn’t have to. “Dr. Ellison said I should be grateful I survived.”

“Are you?” she asked before she could stop myself.

Jon’s jaw worked. “Some days. Days like today, with you, yeah. I’m grateful.”

He reached for the duffel. Towel shifting. Kara snapped her eyes to the ceiling.

“Turn around, Kara,” he said. Amused now. “Unless you want a show you can’t unsee.”

Kars spun around so fast she hit the wall. Faced it. Heard rustling. Denim. Cotton.

“You know,” Jon said from behind me, “gaps don’t stop you from lifting weights at 3 AM when you can’t sleep.”

She choked on air. “Noted. Insomniac with a hot body. Got it.”

Jon laughed. Real laugh. “You can turn around.” she did. He stood there in dark jeans, black t-shirt stretched across his chest, jacket over it. Hair damp, pushed back. He didn’t look like CEO Jon.

“How do I look?” he asked. Like a man worth losing everything for. Kara said silently.

“Human,” said Kara. “You look human.”

Jon stepped closer. Took her hand. “1:58 PM. You’re staring again.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he said. Thumb brushing my knuckles. “At my scars. At me. It’s okay. I like it when you look at me like I’m real. Not broken. Not a stock price. Just Jon.

Kara got ready quickly and they left together. Hand in hand. Down the stairs.

At the door, Jon stopped. Turned to her. “Kara. If I have a gap in there, if I forget why we’re there, you tell me. Okay? You’re my anchor. Say my name.”

She squeezed his hand. “Jon Marsh. 1:59 PM. You’re firing Dr. Ellison because you choose memory and I’ve got you.”

Jon exhaled. “Then let’s go.” they walked uptown. Toward the brownstone. Toward the fight.

No board. No Nancy. No one knew yet.

But at 2:00 PM, Dr. Ellison would. And then the world would.