Leaning forward, I fall into an embrace from both of them. My world narrows down to the feel of their arms, the strength of their muscles, the warmth of their hearts. the undeniable truth of their presence. The fear ebbs slowly and reluctantly, like a tide being forced back against its will.
As the adrenaline fades, my body starts to go limp. Clay catches me instantly, lifting and carrying me into the back seat of his truck. Opening the opposite door, Rhys scoots inside to take me from Clay’s arms with gentle reverence. I’d prefer to walk to the hospital rather than get into another vehicle so soon, but I lower my head onto Rhys’ shoulder and cling to his fingers instead.
“He’s going to get away with it. I just know he is,” I whimper once Clay has dropped into the driver’s seat. His hand hovers over the key in the ignition while he turns back to look over his shoulder.
“You don’t know? We thought you did it on purpose.” My brows furrow, and my head tilts to look up at Rhys. He’s also frowning, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“We heard everything, baby. Every single word. You synced your mic app with mine, they must have still been linked from when you used it in the library. I played it all on speakerphone for the wire to record.” Blinking in confusion, I stutter, scared to believe what they’re saying.
“But I…my phone. He took it,” I argue weakly, my mind starting to swim again. Cradling me closer, Rhys shushes me lightly.
“We have everything,” he repeats, his forehead resting briefly against mine. “We’ve got him. It’s over.” The weight of his wordssettles cautiously, like the illusion might shatter if I digest it too quickly. They have him. Not just physically, not just for tonight, but completely. There’s no talking his way out of this. No more shadows. No more unanswered questions. No more fear lurking at the edges of every happy moment.
Catching Clay’s careful watch, he nods slightly. “We’ve won,” he confirms before he turns to the front. Twisting the key, the truck rumbles beneath us. Clay is careful to go slow, keeping the ride as smooth as possible while I battle against the overwhelming sense of relief in the back seat.
Unexpectedly, as we put distance between us and the events of tonight, another sob tears out of me at that, my entire body curling inward as the finality of it hits. Won. Done. Over. The words feel unreal, the feeling of letting my guard down foreign after months of bracing for impact. I press my face deeper into Rhys’ shoulder, breathing him in, grounding myself in the solid truth that we’re free.
The road unfurls ahead of us like a promise I’m afraid to trust, the dark giving way inch by inch to civilization as streetlamps begin to dot the roadside. Their amber glow streaks past the windows as the trees thin out, fields giving way to fences. We follow street signs towards the hospital, traffic lights flashing by like I’m re-entering a world I briefly stepped out of.
I watch it all through damp lashes, my cheek pressed to Rhys’ shoulder, feeling his arm tighten around me every time my breathing stutters. Each passing light takes on more weight, becoming a quiet reminder that we’re moving forward. That the night didn’t swallow us whole. That despite everything, we’re back together and heading to safety.
After a while, and when I feel able, I lift my head to gaze upon Rhys. Flashing of ink and concern meet my eyes, his sharp jaw tilting downwards. He looks wrecked, yet beautiful. The manArthur tried to break and failed to destroy. The man who never stopped fighting, even when he thought he had nothing to give.
“I thought I lost you,” I whisper, the words cracking straight through me. “I really thought…I wasn’t going to come back.” Rhys shakes his head, lifting my hand to press a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.
“There is no version of this life where I wouldn’t find you,” he says fiercely. “You’re our everything, Harper. We don’t exist without you.”
“I second that,” Clay leans his head back whilst keeping his eyes on the road, his presence in the cab steady and unwavering. “Although, if your aunt Marg happens to be a super villain who’s raising an army of cats to take over the world, I’d really like to know upfront.”
“What happened to being too soon for jokes?” I laugh weakly through my tears, the sound equal parts hysterical and strained. Clay shrugs, refocusing on the road ahead, although the corner of his mouth twitches like he can’t quite help himself. The jesting falls exactly where it needs to, shifting the dread that’s been tightening my ribs. I press my good hand against my chest, inhaling shakily. My heart feels too big for my body, swollen with the kind of fullness that only hurts because it’s so raw.
Arriving at the hospital, slightly blinded by the lights, I stay in Rhys’ arms. Clay joins my other side, tightening the blanket around my shoulders to cover my decency. Nurses rush forward from their station, which is a sign in itself that I must look like hell warmed up. Despite their insistence, Rhys and Clay refuse to take more than a step aside. They help me change into a hospital gown, tuck me into a bed and then stand guard on either side of it. I can’t help but smile, although the tears continue to flow like a gentle stream.
As soon as the nurses are out of sight, Rhys is nudging his way into the bed alongside me, while Clay bends to cradle myupper body in his strong arms. At last, I exhale, feeling the stress evaporate from my bones. It really is over. I survived. I fought to be back in their arms and encased in their love. Whatever comes next, whatever healing from this looks like, I know one thing with absolute certainty. These men will keep me safe, because they’re my home.
Chapter Thirty Seven
“Come here,” Rhys beckons, holding out an inked hand. I reach for it immediately, being drawn away from the hissing of my coffee machine and into his living area. As soon as my fingers brush his, Rhys sits upright on the sofa and drags me into his lap. I curl against his bare torso, the figures marking his skin staring up at me as I trail my fingers over their forms. His cheek rests on my head, his arms tightly caging me in, not that I would try to escape anyway.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. Rhys doesn’t respond, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest shifting beneath me.
The call came in early this morning. Phillip has reclaimed control of his assets and wasted no time putting the manor up for sale. I’m not sure how much Rhys shared with his parents about the traumas he suffered in that house, if anything, but Phillip stated he never planned to return anyway. That version of his life no longer exists, and in the spirit of new beginnings, he’s moving Della-Mae upstate to the finest medical clinic money can buy.
All good news on the surface, but perhaps not the outcome Rhys expected. Maybe he envisioned them staying closer, orincluding him in their move. Maybe he’s elated to know they’re free to make the choice that suits their needs best. I wouldn’t know, since he’s barely spoken since ending the call.
My fingers track Rhys’ ribs, the sinew of his muscle, the scars hidden in plain sight beneath his ink. I’m always surprised by the sheer amount of circular burns and tiny nicks, being drawn back to the memory of a man who could only deal with his pain physically. I hope Rhys has a better handle on his emotions now, but time will tell.
After a while of simply breathing with him, I figure Rhys has fallen asleep and attempt to wriggle free. His arms band down tighter, pinning me in place.
“Stay with me.” It’s a gentle command, concealing the desperate plea underneath. This time when I squirm, Rhys allows me enough space to face him.
“I’m not going anywhere. In fact, none of us are for the next three years, thanks to the Dean reinstating our study programs. You’re stuck with me,” I beam. The sofa dips as Clay drops down beside us, his arm trailing the back cushions.
“And me. That was my mom’s care home,” he holds up his phone. My head tilts, the concern that starts to bubble inside instantly squashed by Clay’s raised brow. “Apparently, someone has requested that she be transferred to a fancy medical clinic upstate. One with a specialized dementia unit, all expenses paid. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Rhys?”
Rhys doesn’t look at either of us, his head tipped back and eyes fixed on the ceiling. His expression is still impassive, like a sulking king in the center of the sofa, while one shoulder lifts in a lazy shrug.
“It’s a long way to go on my bike,” he drawls. “Figured I’d need a driver.” I snort softly and shift, swinging a leg over him before he can protest. Straddling his lap, I plant my hands on his chest, feeling the solid heat of him beneath my palms.
