She wipes them away quickly, her scowl looking misplaced on her otherwise perfect face.
Ford doesn’t even give her the grace of softening. He turns his head, catching Hudson in his gaze. “Get her out of here. Take her home.”
It’s so final that the room stands there in silence, shocked at his reaction.
Dale lets out a broken noise, hiding it quickly by spinning on her heel and leaving the room, trembling, refusing to let them see her collapse.
Hudson stands up from where he was sitting in the corner of the room, drinking coffee so quietly I hadn’t noticed he was there for the entire spectacle, and leaves the room to help Dale home.
Behind us, I hear the jaggedness of Dale’s breathing, the frantic shuffle of her as she grabs her purse and keys. The sounds echo awkwardly through the cavernous room, hollow and out of place, while the rest of us pretend to carry on as if nothing at all has shattered.
I stand there, shocked, tears still dripping down my face.
I’m unmoving as I struggle to digest the morning and listen to Dale leave. The door slams behind her, and the house falls quiet again, except for the sound of Hayden’s breath hissing through his teeth while Ford slaps the bandage on his side; the doctor must have left it on the table. My chest is still raw from sobbing, but the anger rises hot, cutting through the grief.
I should be worried about my husband. I should be happy to see my brother. I should be mourning the loss of Dexter, and instead, I’m furious about the treatment of my best friend.
“What the fuck was that?” My voice is sharp, shaking, but I don’t care. “How could you treat her like that? She thought you were dead—she’s been tearing herself apart for weeks—and that’s what you give her?”
His jaw hardens, his hands still sticky with Hayden’s blood as he finishes taping his side. He doesn’t look at me right away, like he can brush it off, like Dale is nothing. And that dismissal, that cruelty, makes me want to claw at him myself.
“She loves you,” I spit, tears blurring my vision again. “How can you treat her like that?”
Finally, Ford lifts his eyes to me, flat and cold, the same way he looked at Dale. “Better she learns that she means nothing to me now than later.”
The words hit like a slap, cruel, meant to end the conversation.
I suck in a sharp breath, trying to steady myself, but the anger boils up again before I can swallow it down. “You can’t just do that to her, Ford,” I snap, my voice cutting across the table.
He doesn’t answer, his attention fixed on the grand dining table, which is full of bloodied gauze and stitching supplies.
I turn, looking at my husband with worry and then back to my brother, who was once presumed dead, and is now standing next to my bloodied husband.
“Where have you even been?” I demand, my voice rising. “All this time—where the hell were you?”
His jaw tightens, but he says nothing, and that silence makes me want to shake him until he breaks.
I drag my eyes back to Hayden, to the blood darkening the bandages around his side, and my chest clenches with fear. “And what about you?” I whisper, the sharpness draining into panic. “Why are you hurt? What happened to you?”
I reach for Hayden’s hand, desperate for him to answer, desperate for something that makes sense in this nightmare of a morning.
Hayden pushes back from the table before Ford can even answer, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. He rises slowly, one hand pressed to his side, and for a terrifying second, I think he’s going to collapse. But then he’s crossing the space between us, steady despite the blood and the stitches, his eyes locked on me.
“Darling,” he says, low and firm, the way he always does when he wants to quiet the storm building in me. His hands find my shoulders, warm and steady, drawing me in until my forehead rests against his chest. The scent of iron and smoke clings to him, but it doesn’t matter. I cling back, desperate for his solidity.
“You know I can’t tell you everything,” he murmurs into my hair, his breath rough against my ear. “Not the details. It’s Brotherhood business, and you know what that means.”
He caresses my hair, pulling me closer to him as he continues to speak, “Ford has some things to share with you, though.”
My throat burns. I want to scream, to demand answers. But the finality in his tone, the way his arms tighten around me as if he’s both shielding me and keeping me in place, tells me there’s no use.
“You’re bleeding,” I whisper instead, my voice trembling. “I thought—”
“I’ll be fine,” he cuts in, a hint of steel beneath the softness.
I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, forcing myself upright even as my body trembles. My voice comes out raw, but sharp enough to cut through the room. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Hayden’s eyes flick to mine, hard and unyielding, the cigarette burning low between his fingers. “Martine—it's not going to be easy.”
