“I’m worried he hasn’t called me,” I admitted. “I know you two haven’t got a call either, since we’re all stuffing cookies in our gobs and drinking like the fate of the free world depends on it.”
“Ye said gob!” Arabella beams happily. “Your first Scottish word, aye?”
Laughing and trying not to think about Mason in dire peril, I tap my wine glass to hers. “Aye.”
***
“Are ye sure ye dinnae want us to stay?” Arabella asks, but there’s lines of strain around her mouth.
“You’ve been so good to me, but it’s okay. You both have little ones at home and I know you’re thinking about them. I’ll be fine.” I nod firmly. “I have Talon and Vincent to keep me company. Thank you, it means so much that you came over.”
“The thing you’re likely already learning about this family,” Mina snickers, “is that there will always be someone there for you. Even if you’d really rather be alone. It could be your turn next time to keep one of us sane.”
The warmth I’m feeling could heat the entire house. Friends. Family. All rolled into one loud, complicated, loving package.
“Ma’am, I’m going to take a walk around the perimeter,” Talon says, looming over me at the front door as they leave. “Vincent’s in the security suite in the back and ye have the panic button and-”
“Talon. I’m good. Thank you for being so alert.”
He gingerly pats my shoulder with his giant bear paw. “I’ll be back. Please lock the front door, aye?”
My phone rings just a couple of minutes later.
“Afton? Are you okay?”
“Who is this?” My throat closes up like someone’s choking me. I know who it is.
“It’s Wyatt,” he says with the tone of a man who thinks he’s about to be shot.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Sam needs help,” his tone switches back to the focused one I remember, “he’s injured. You’ve got to let us in, I don’t want any of your security to shoot us, Sam’s already got a bullet in his shoulder and it’s bleeding-”
“What gate?” I interrupt him.
“The north one, I think.”
“Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”
I race barefoot through the kitchen heading for the back door. He’s shot? Who shot him? Oh, god did Dad find out he warned us? The gate’s about ten feet from the back door and I’m there in seconds, pressing my palm to the biometric lock and yanking on the door handle until it turns green.
Wyatt’s there.
“Where’s Sam?” I look around him for my bleeding brother and that’s when I feel the sting in my arm. My hand comes up in slow motion, ready to strike him in the neck.
I dimly hear him say, “I’m sorry…” before I go boneless.
***
Grieving him - Scottish slang for feeling upset or guilty.
Gob - Scottish slang for face or mouth
Chapter Thirty-Nine
In which things can just get so much worse. This seems unreasonable.
Mason…
