But in the graveyard, when he’d been shot and I had no idea if he was dying, I screamed out his name—and the word Caleb burst from my lips as if by instinct. I don’t know how to feel about that.
Theo and Ryland head down the hall toward the bathroom to wash off some of the dirt and blood, both theirs and others, that’s spattered over their clothes and skin. I should probably do the same, but I can’t get my feet to move. I stand in the hallway staring at nothing until Marcus steps up and wraps his arms around me.
The feel of his body jolts me out of my chaotic thoughts, and I press my forehead against his chest, burying my face in his warm shirt.
He’s the only one I haven’t told yet, and without any conscious command from me, the words pour from my lips. I tell him everything I know and suspect about Dominic—about who he really is.
Marcus stiffens beneath me. I can feel the tension gathering in his body, but he just keeps holding me as I speak, letting me get everything out in a quiet whisper.
When I’m done, he draws back a little, looking down at me. He doesn’t offer defense or condemnation of Dominic. He doesn’t tell me I’m crazy for believing this is real, or that I should’ve let him kill Dom when we first got back to the safe house.
All he does is press a gentle kiss to my lips.
I don’t know how he knew that’s what I needed more than anything right now, but I’m grateful for his silence, for his acceptance, and for the reminder of his unconditional love.
“Come on, angel.” He kisses me once more. “Let’s get you off your feet.”
Marcus catches my hand and pulls me toward a living room in the middle of the house. Theo and Ryland join us, speaking to each other in low voices.
The furniture is leather and minimalist chic, matching the rest of Victoria’s home. Even though it looks simple, I’m sure it’s expensive as fuck, but none of my guys seem to care about that as they all settle onto a large sectional sofa.
They sit close together, tugging me down on top of them so that I’m sort of sprawled across all of their laps—as if by some unspoken understanding that all of them need to be touching me right now.
I need it.
And they need it.
My head is on Marcus’s lap, and he runs his fingers gently over my cheek. Ryland’s hands rest on the curve of my waist, and Theo’s palms graze up my leg.
“Rest, angel,” Marcus tells me quietly. “We’ll wake you when Doctor Brenson is done.”
I shouldn’t be able to sleep. Energy is still buzzing through my veins, making me restless and demanding that I do something.
But it turns out my exhaustion is even stronger than that. With the warmth of the men’s bodies seeping into mine and their strong hands holding the scattered pieces of me together, I drift off into a dreamless sleep.
Quiet voices wake me.
My body jerks as I come back to consciousness, and the three sets of hands on me all tighten their grip slightly, grounding me and reminding me that they’re still here.
“It’s okay, Rose,” Theo murmurs. “It’s all right.”
I struggle to sit up, and they shift on the couch a little to give me room. I end up sitting on Ryland’s lap with the other two close on either side.
Victoria is nowhere in sight, and when I glance at Marcus questioningly, he says, “Doctor Brenson is working on Victoria’s leg. He finished up on Dom’s bullet wounds just a little while ago.”
“Is he…?”
I trail off. I don’t want to finish the sentence. I don’t want the fear in my voice to betray me.
“He’s not dead.” Ryland’s arms slide around my waist, his voice rumbling against my back. “He’s sleeping. Lost a lot of blood, but the bullet wounds themselves weren’t too bad. One in his chest, and one that grazed his shoulder.”
So the third missed him. And the second shot barely hit him.
The surge of relief makes me feel a little dizzy, and I reach out, gripping Theo’s hand to steady myself.
“Come on.”
Theo gives my hand a squeeze, then the men help me to my feet and lead me back to the room where they brought Dominic when we first arrived. Down the wide hallway, I can hear the low murmur of voices as Victoria talks to Doctor Brenson, but I ignore it, stepping into the room where Dominic lies.
He’s on his back, his eyes closed. His face is pale, his cheeks a little sallow looking.
I remember thinking that he looked younger and softer when I saw him sleeping on the couch back at his safe house. The same thought occurs to me now, and it twists something inside me. A sisterly instinct I didn’t even know I still had.
Despite everything, despite my attempts to hold on to Dominic, to see the man who kidnapped me and went along with Carson’s fucked up plan, when I look at him now, I only see Caleb.
A kid who got in way over his head and lost himself trying to get out.
There’s a chair set against one wall, and I walk over and sink into it, still gazing at my brother. The men all settle in around me, leaning against the wall or lounging in the doorframe.
Minutes tick by slowly, and my eyelids droop a few times. I keep expecting the men to leave, to go take care of the business I know must be waiting for them. But they don’t. Each one of them stays right where they are, alert and silent.
I know they’re not keeping vigil over my brother.
They’re keeping vigil over me.
The sun is almost up by the time Caleb’s eyes blink slowly open. I’ve completely lost track of the days and hours by now. Everything since the party has been so disjointed and chaotic that sunrise and sunset seem like arbitrary markers.
A new day is starting, but it feels like the end of a long one. I think I could sleep for a week.
Caleb’s dark lashes flutter a little as he blinks again. His eyes slowly focus, first on the ceiling above him and then on the room around him.
My stomach balls itself up into a tight knot. I don’t know if he’ll remember what I said last night, and I can’t decide if I hope he does or doesn’t. Maybe I should still try to sweep this all under the rug, to forget about what I know and just let us each go our own separate—
“LaLa?”
My brother’s voice is groggy and soft, but there’s no mistaking what he says.
I freeze, my hand gripping the arm of the chair tightly as my muscles tense, my entire body going into some kind of weird fight-or-flight mode.
“Caleb?”
The word scratches out of my throat, as dazed and quiet sounding as his use of my old nickname. I drag my gaze up to meet his, and I’m shocked at the raw pain that splits his face.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck. LaLa? You’re…?”
He shifts on the bed like he’s going to sit up, but he obviously can’t manage it. He’s got an IV hooked up to his arm, and he groans softly as he settles back onto the pillow. Looking back up at the ceiling, he blinks several times, tears sliding out from the corners of his eyes.
My own eyes burn, and I clench my jaw, fighting down the wild surge of emotions.
None of my men leave, but they all stay still and silent, letting this play out between us without interference. I’m glad as hell that they’re here. I don’t think I could face this on my own.