“Let’s go to bed,” I suggest, knowing this isn’t the time to fight him on anything, but throwing out the one question rattling around in my mind instead. “Any idea what’s coming?”
He groans, “I really don’t, baby,” scrubbing both hands over his face before twisting the nozzle to off.
Once he’s done with his weird slicking-the-water-off ritual, he drags me out, swaddles me in a towel, and pampers me for five minutes—drying, lotioning, hair brushing.
When his gaze fogs over, I return the favors and corral him into the bedroom, tucking him under the sheets and climbing in beside him. Despite his injuries and difficulty finding a comfortable sleep position, we settle into our usual cuddling embrace—his cock snug inside me, his limbs engulfing my frame.
And even though I had my reasons, I extend my regrets. “I love you, Ty. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Jax. I never meant to hurt you.”
His eyes pop back open, glimmering in the dark. “I know you didn’t, Little Moon … Axel and Jax being in the mix was—” He halts abruptly and his scrutiny shoots to the ceiling. “Fucking hell. Ivy mentioned the book.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, having no clue what his mutterings are about.
“It’s just … shit, it was right there.” He pecks my lips, gripping my face like it’s a lifeline. “I love you so goddamn much. Listen to me. You were right. True north. One direction. Us. I was too fucking close. I needed to listen and take all the players into account. Think about where everyone was.”
“Ty, did those pain meds mix with the alcohol and make you loopy? Or are you trying to tell me that the final test won’t be so bad?”
“Painkillers—probably.” He yawns, and I briefly wonder if he is simply spewing nonsense, but his next sentiment sends a chill skittering up my spine. “I don’t know what it is, but the burn is coming, baby girl. And they’re gonna make it fucking hurt.” He presses me into his chest, nestling his face into my hair. “But I’ll get us through it. And then we’ll flourish. Eyes on me.”
TY
All the pain I choked down last night blasts through me the second I open my eyes. My shoulder is stiff, my thigh burns, and my head pounds—an incessant thump, pulsing at my temples and along my brow bone. Everywhere throbs. But none of that compares to the phantom ache of my wife no longer wrapped around me.
The high-in-the-sky sun slices into the room, casting a golden glow. A hazy recollection of Rena waking me up for pain meds with Liam and Gage barking things at me sails through my mind. No idea when that was, but it wasn’t bright like this. I reach for my phone and note that it’s after one in the afternoon.
Fuck.That explains Rena’s absence.
Once I hobble around, quickly washing up and carefully shimmying into some comfortable clothes, I mosey out to the kitchen. My stomach is tangled in knots, upside down and threatening to expel the contents. Or lack thereof.
Liam is the first to greet me as I round the corner. “You look like shit, man.”
“I see that sensitivity training is paying off,” I quip.
He laughs while guiding me over to a seat at the kitchen table, and I loathe how weak my body feels.
“I’ll give you fucking sensitivity,” he volleys and heads toward the fridge. “I’m going to cook your broken ass breakfast. Well, lunch. Eggs. I can make scrambled eggs, and you can call it whatever the hell you want.”
“What I want is to hold my goddamn wife and for Gage to cook. I’m already nauseous. I don’t need you giving me food poisoning.”
He freezes with the egg carton balanced on his palm, cocking his head and taking me in. “Gage and Rena left. Remember?”
That effectively ejects me from my chair. I bolt straight to a standing position, nearly toppling from the momentum. “What the fuck are you talking about? Left where?”
Abandoning his meal prep, he saunters back to me. “She got her last assignment. Gage got a card too. They weren’t permitted to share the contents or communicate after departure, but they had to leave. I’m guessing KORT put Gage with her instead of you because you’re injured. Either way, we woke you up, gave you the option of tapping out or moving forward. You were in a lot of pain, but seemed lucid and were adamant that we could navigate this, as was your wife. And they were told to be in the air within three hours of receiving the card, so—”
“When was that?” I heave, bile scorching my esophagus with the question. “And in what universe would I ever approve of her being anywhere without me?”
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
She wasn’t supposed to be away from me. That was the deal. The only reason I was willing to participate in this twisted trial.
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. One wrong choice.
“It was nine thirty when we woke you up, and they left abouttwo hours later,” he says, pushing me into the chair. “Sit the fuck down before you pass out. You’re green, for Christ’s sake. Far too wrecked to be looking after anyone. I’ll make you toast.”
Blood flow swishes against my eardrum. Something feels off. “Where?” I rasp, my throat raw.
“The plane’s destination says Chicago. I’m on top of this, Ty. I’ve got you. And our Little Moonshine is in good hands with the Big Guy.” He holds up a KORT envelope with my name scrawled across it and tosses it onto the table. “That came about ten minutes ago. I heard you moving around, so I waited.”
