Beating the shit out of himself for getting in the car with us instead of the one that rolled down the street half a fucking mile.
“He’s working, sweetness.”
“I wish he were here, too.”
“Me too. He’ll be here soon.”
At least I hoped so. I wanted him here. I needed him here with us to reassure myself that he truly was alive and safe.
Marcie got quiet for a bit, then said, “I’m scared for Katie. For Jackson, too.”
I swallowed. I was fucking petrified. For both of them. I didn’t fucking want to imagine what they were going through. I didn’t say that, of course, because the last thing Marcie needed was my fear added to hers, which was why Hayden wasn’t here, if I had to guess. The fear and guilt. The latter of which he didn’t need to take on. This ambush wasn’t his fucking fault.
It had pissed me off when he didn’t get in the car with Foster, but that disappeared as soon as we came up on Foster’s SUV flipped on its roof, like it had been. All it took was me realizing how easily Marcie and I could’ve lost him to pull my head outta my ass.
We were all doing shit that wasn’t fucking advisable. There were reasons doctors didn’t care for their family members, and why protecting loved ones like this shouldn’t be done. It was why spouses and family members didn’t serve together or under each other’s command. It was impossible to make an impartial decision when someone you loved was in danger.
And that’s what he had to do. He tried, he honestly did. He pushed us toward the safer option, then ran into danger only to turn back when his commitment to us proved greater than his duty to Katie, Jackson, and Foster. He chose us over everything and everyone else. I couldn’t fault the man for that.
What more could Marcie and I ask for?
48
HAYDEN
Hours later, after being interviewed by the police, having our weapons confiscated for ballistics, and getting Foster checked out at the hospital, we were back at the Nashville house. Not my first choice, but everyone was certain of its safety since the assholes had taken Jackson and Katie.
Seeing that van speed off would haunt me for the rest of my days as had the order to stand down. It pissed me off more than I could say that we didn’t pursue them. I knew the arguments like the back of my hand. Hell, they were the same as some of the ones I heard as a Marine in similar situations. I even agreed with them, for the most part.
But I still fucking hated being told to sit on my ass and fucking wait when Katie and Jackson were going through a hell I couldn’t bring myself to imagine.
I wandered through the once jovial house, filled with laughter, familial love, jokes, and a camaraderie I’d not had since being discharged from the Marines. In the kitchen, I stood, arms crossed, feet shoulder width apart, staring out at the still room that had bustled only this morning.
“Hayden?”
I turned at the sound of my name. Heidi and Celeste stood side by side. The twins, who, like Asher and Bauer, looked nothing alike, now resembled each other more than they ever had. Their faces were puffy, scrubbed free of the smeared makeup from the crying that had rimmed their eyes red.
“Yeah.”
“Foster wants to talk with you and Declan. Do you know where he is?”
I nodded. “He’s with Marcie.”
They sighed. Marcie was nearly catatonic. The sight of the flipped SUV had tipped her fearful tears into panic, but when she comprehended the reality we all faced, she spiraled into full-blown hysterics.
When the paramedics checked her and Foster out at the scene and took them both in, Declan and the others sent me with them. Foster had a broken collarbone. And Marcie, while calmer by the time we got to the hospital, dropped into a completely unresponsive state. She seemed to be aware of what was going on, and the doctor didn’t seem worried, but Declan and I were.
“I’ll go talk to him, then send Declan.”
They nodded, gripping my arms as I walked past them. When we returned from the hospital, Foster retreated to the study, and no one had seen him since. The door was open, but his head rested on the couch back, one arm in a sling, with his feet on the ottoman and ankles crossed.
“Hey, Foster. How are you feeling?”
He raised his head, scrubbing his hand over his face like all the Holts I knew did. Sometimes they did it out of frustration, and at other times out of anger or exasperation.
“Like I got rolled. I’m too fucking old for that shit.”
I laughed, saying, “I’m not sure it has anything to do with age, man. Being tossed around in a rolling SUV would fuck us all up.”
