“Alle, come on. Leave the man alone. It’s not him you need to direct this at.”
No, it wasn’t his fault, but none of the people she ought to be directing this at were present. No Xane, no Flynn, or Marshall—she’d no desire to see either of her brothers any time soon—and no Spook. That’s what cut the deepest, that he’d imagine her capable of hurting him in that way. That she would…that she would betray him in exactly the way that bitch Siv Gyllensköld had done.
Strong hands clasped her around the middle, lifting her off the floor and peeling her away from Luthor. Rock Giant. He was the only one with the sheer physicality to pick her up in that manner.
Luthor gratefully slid away from where she’d trapped him and bolted into his room, Ash and Ginny following apace. They slammed the door, right as she drove her head backwards into Rock Giant’s chin.
Despite his “oof” of protest, his hold on her didn’t slacken. He was talking to her in steady soothing tones, but she hadn’t a clue what he was saying.
The moment Paul set her on her feet again, she about turned and laid right into him. He didn’t deserve it, but he stood and took it, even when she beat her fists against his chest. It was like hitting concrete.
“Alle?” Ronnie’s concerned voice sounded loud behind her.
Rock Giant shook his head. “It’s fine. She needs to get it out.”
Somehow that restarted her brain, and killed some of her explosiveness, leaving behind embarrassment and lethargy. Paul caught her beneath the armpits, keeping her upright as the adrenaline surge drained away. “I got you.”
“Ronnie, grab my key card, would you? Back pocket.”
While Ronnie did exactly that, Paul stroked a hand down the back of her head, and neck, and let her blub against his chest.
“Okay. It’s okay,” he soothed, as he waltzed them across the hall and into his room, her face still pressed to the comfort of his shirt. It was now, unfortunately, a little moist. Actually, pretty soggy, and snotty too. “You’ll feel better for getting it out.”
“Don’t,” she contradicted him, twisting her neck to peer up at him. “Guess I just proved I’m the psycho bitch Xane and Spook think I am.”
“I’m not sure they do. Whatever Spook actually said, it was in the hospital when things were obviously tense. I’m sure you can’t take it as a true reflection of what he truly believes.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Alle, Spook might have dubious taste in women, but I don’t. I know a good egg when I meet one. You’re no psycho bitch. Your behaviour is entirely understandable. I think anyone who’d just found out that their brother hospitalised their lover would react how you’re reacting. Moreover, I’ve experienced plenty of Xane’s bullshitting. I know exactly how rage-y that gets me, and it’s never been on the same scale as he’s bullshitted you.”
“Like what?” She sniffed hard and rubbed her nose. It didn’t matter how hard she willed herself into composure, she couldn’t stop shaking and bawling. Her eyes stung, her nose felt like it was twice its usual size.
“It doesn’t matter.” Paul hauled off his T-shirt by the neck and offered it to her to use as a handkerchief.
“Sorry, I made a mess—” She was facing a wall of inked muscle from a distance of approximately three inches, and it sent a wave of unexpected and unwanted heat washing through her. Thankfully, it probably went unnoticed, given she was already blotchy from crying.
“Shut up and take it.” He offered her a crooked smile, big shoulders lifting. “Might as well make a proper use of it.” Alle accepted the abused shirt and used it to mop her face. It smelled of his aftershave. Musky. Comforting. “Glad to be of service. Now, why don’t you take a seat.”
Ronnie grasped her hand, curling his clever fingers into her palm. “I’ll make you a hot chocolate, and you can borrow my robe if you like, and the fluffiest socks that I own. They’re new, and they have cats on them.” Rather than guide her into a chair, he left her by the bed. “Paul, you want anything?”
“A stiff drink,” the big guy replied, before waving the remark away. “Nah, I’m good. Concentrate on our girl here.”
While Ronnie busied himself making her a hot chocolate brimming with confectionery, and folding the socks he got from his room into some esoteric configuration that meant they rolled over her feet and up her legs with minimal effort. “My nan taught me that.” Paul settled with his back to the headboard and tilted his head, beckoning her. It felt disloyal to snuggle, but dammit, she needed the comfort.
Guilt be damned.
It wasn’t as if Spook had been around recently, and she’d been holding a torch for him that had never once dimmed.
Ronnie settled on the other side of her, so they were sat in a line. Her and Ronnie nursing drinks, and Paul idly browsing the room service menu. She didn’t think he was about to order. It was difficult not to stare at the patterns of ink moving with his breaths. He was a map of interconnecting patterns and colours, whereas Spook’s ink was predominantly black, isolated pieces.
“I wonder what the others are talking about,” Ronnie mused. The froth of his drink clung to his upper lip.
“Timing, dude,” Paul muttered.
Alle patted Ronnie’s leg. “I wouldn’t mind knowing either. Hopefully nothing they’re not prepared to say to my face.”
“More likely they’re grilling Luthor for deets. Not that he’ll spill. Doesn’t know anything he hasn’t already shared.”
