“I’ll need to pump his stomach,” Doc says, hooking a bag of fluids to the headboard.
“Will he live?’ I ask, my tone as blunt as my words.
“He’ll live,” Doc replies, pulling a length of rubber pipe from one of his bags and applying some kind of gel to the length. “I saw him only a couple of hours ago.” He nods to the piles of furniture by the door. “That barricade would have taken him some time to build, and he hasn’t vomited.”
I nod, backing out of the room. “Would you two mind?” I say to Tank and Fury, indicating the wide-spread remains of Lawrence’s barricade. They nod and get to work. “Update me.” I make my way to Rose and Danny’s room, entering without knocking. Beau is huddled on the bed sobbing, Rose’s arm around her. She looks up at me through glassy eyes. “He’s going to be okay,” I say quickly, hoping to ease her worry. But I can’t see a way forward without having Lawrence watched constantly, and I’m not letting Beau be that person.
She releases a pained whimper and gets off the bed, coming at me and pushing her body into mine. I hold her, feeling her relief all over me, as well as her tears soaking through my T-shirt. I can only thank God that we found him in time, and I know Beau will be crucifying herself over this. I had her on Danny’s desk for at least ten minutes. Both of us lost.
While Lawrence was attempting suicide.
I swallow down the anger before it consumes me. Beau’s been doing so well. Worried about her uncle still, yes, asking after Dexter, yes, but her lost spirit has been awakening more recently, and it’s been a comfort to my ravaged soul. This will set her back, and I can only resent Lawrence for that. “Come on,” I say softly, gently detaching her from my front, giving Rose a nod of thanks. She waves it off with ease, smiling, though it doesn’t touch her dark blue eyes. The situation, naturally, could be the cause for that, but now I’m more together, I notice she looks a bit pasty. I cock her a questioning look, and she once again waves it off. “I’m going to take Beau to lie down,” I say, leading her from the room.
“I’m here if you need me.”
I look back, seeing her heading for the bathroom. She shuts the door and a couple of seconds later, the toilet is flushing. Way too soon for her to have used it. I’m suspicious, but now is not a good time to question her, so I file my observations away ready to mention it to Danny. “Rose is in the bathroom,” I say to Tank as we pass. “Tell Fury Beau’s lying down for a while.”
“I want to see him,” she says, resisting me.
“No.” I scoop her up and lock her to my chest. “You’ll let Doc get him comfortable, then you can see him.” I enter our room and place her on the bed, pulling her trainers off and the sheets back. Her eyes are puffy and squinting, signs of a headache from crying so much. “Get in.”
She does what she’s told, and I crawl in behind her, spooning her, cuddling her close.
Over an hour passes before her breathing changes. Her body goes heavy against me, twitching every now and then. I lie with her a little longer before carefully easing myself away when I know she’s sleeping deeply.
I head straight for Lawrence’s room, meeting Doc in the corridor outside. “He’s conscious,” he says, pulling the zipper on his bag closed. “I would like to say it was a cry for help, but . . .”
“I hear you.” I work on fixing my irregular breathing before I enter, my anger building. “Thanks, Doc.” I gently knock before pushing slowly through the door, and I find him awake on the bed. When he turns his eyes my way, his lip wobbles. “Come to tell me what a selfish bastard I am?”
“Yes,” I reply, closing the door. “You must have known what this would do to her.” He’s an intelligent man.
Lawrence looks away, ashamed. I’m not prepared to let him hide, so I round the bed, putting my big frame in his field of vision. “Your husband shot your niece.” My voice raises of its own volition. “He killed my . . .” I suck back air and suck in some control. I cannot lose my shit. “He killed our baby, Lawrence.”
He closes his eyes, hiding again, but he can still hear me, I make sure of it, pulling a chair up by his bed and getting close. Not threatening, but certainly in his space.
“You don’t have to like me. I don’t want or need your approval. But I do want and need you to pull your shit together for the sake of Beau.” I swallow. “That woman, my woman, has been through hell. She lost her mother. Her father is a self-serving, power-hungry womanizing wanker, who’s showed no interest in her, not past what she could do for his public image. You, Lawrence, were all she had, and she might have me now, but she still needs you. So I’m going to ask you nicely, just this once, to pull your fucking head out of your arse and stop mourning the man who nearly took her from us. Look at what’s in front of you and make the fucking most of it, because we’re all learning pretty fucking fast that life is too short.” I clench my eyes shut, grappling for calm, blindly feeling for his emaciated hand and squeezing. “I’m begging you, Lawrence.” I open my eyes and find his glazed gaze on me, his hand constricting mine weakly. “I can’t let her return to those dark places again.” She’s done so well, even after a mountain of more shit being piled on top of her. If she breaks, I’m breaking with her, and that’s going to cause all kinds of chaos for Miami.
He whimpers, sniveling. Any other man I’d condemn outright for being so weak and pathetic. But Lawrence? I can only feel pity, and my wrath won’t solve this. Look at him. I’d break him in two with a flick of my little finger.
“I don’t know how to be without Dexter,” he whispers.
“You’ll be honorable, Lawrence. You’ll be loyal and real. You’ll be everything he wasn’t.”
He eyes me with a weak, wry smile. “I never had you pinned as a shrink type.”
“When someone matters to you, when they’re your world, you be whatever you need to be to make them okay.”
“A killer too?”
“A killer too,” I confirm, not beating around the bush. He’s heard things, many things. There’s no getting away from that.
“You told me at the hospital that you’d kill Dexter if you find him.”
I can only nod. What a fucked-up situation I’m in, and once again I wish I could turn back the clock to the moment I snapped and finished Dexter. I’ve never lived with many regrets. Since Beau ambushed my life, they seem to be coming thick and fast.
“But Beau’s made me promise not to,” I add.
He shoots his eyes my way. “She did?”
“She won’t marry me otherwise.”
“Oh . . .” Lawrence breathes, eyes darting, my bombshell sinking into his head. After a few, silent seconds, he looks at me again. “Who’s The Bear?”
“I don’t know,” I confess, realizing I’m still holding his hand. And yet I can’t bring myself to pull it away when he’s clenching it with force, like a lifeline. “He’s at the top of the Miami criminal pecking order. I think Jaz figured out who he was and that Dexter had been corrupted, hence—”
“He had her killed.” Lawrence shows me the first sign of anger, and I can’t help but think it’s a good thing. He needs anger to extinguish the grief. Anger will help. So I fuel it.