The box of pizza hadn’t arrived yet. He’d made sure it was the kind she liked— hell, the kind shealwaysgot, even when she pretended, she wasn’t hungry. Pepperoni and black olives. He told the guy on the phone to make it right, or Tool would come down there and teach him how to toss a pie the hard way.
He leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly. Every muscle in his body tensed and released like a loaded spring trying to settle. His jaw had ached from clenching so long. The thing was—he wasn’t trying to hold back how he felt. Not anymore. Hewantedher to know. He just wasn’t about to do it wrong.
He wasn’t going to walk in while a crowd of brothers sat by her bedside, making noise and crowding her space. That wasn’t the moment she deserved. No, he wanted it quiet. Just the two of them. So she’d know she was more than a club girl, more than a patch chaser or a warm body in the dark. She wasBrandi. His. Even if they hadn’t figured all that out yet.
The squeak of sneakers against tile caught his attention. A teenager in a pizza uniform walked toward the nurses’ station, looking lost. Tool stood before the kid could blink.
“Yo. You got a delivery?”
“Uh… yeah. Large pizza, extra cheese, pepperoni, olives?—”
Tool took the box before the kid could finish, handed him a wad of cash, and didn’t wait for change.
Turning, he made his way down the hallway. The weight of the box in his hands wasn’t heavy, but it felt like something solid. Real. A way to sayI see you. I’m here.
He reached Brandi’s door and paused for just a breath. Not because he was unsure—but because he wanted to enterright. No games. No noise. Just him, and the comfort she hadn’t asked for but sure as hell deserved.
With one hand, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The door eased open with a soft creak, the sharp scent of hospital-grade disinfectant hitting him as he stepped inside. Brandi’s room was dimmed, the overhead lights off, only the soft glow from a corner lamp casting golden shadows across the space. She was awake, propped slightly on the bed, flipping through a magazine without really looking at it.
A few of the brothers were scattered around the room—Angel leaned against the windowsill, Crow and Bishop in the chairs by the wall. A couple of the women sat quietly in the corner, scrolling their phones, trying not to take up space. They all looked up when Tool entered, but no one said a word.
They didn’t have to. Tool’s presence shifted the air.
He walked in slow, steady, the pizza box balanced in one hand. His eyes found Brandi immediately, locking onto hers with a quiet intensity.
Angel smirked, pushing off the sill. “Damn, that smells good.” He reached out casually, trying to flip the lid open like it belonged to him. “What’d you get?”
Tool didn’t miss a beat. He lifted the box out of reach, one brow ticking up.
“If you want pizza, order your own,” he said, voice calm but flat as a brick wall. “This is for Brandi.”
Angel held up both hands, laughing. “All right, all right, territorial much?”
Tool didn’t bother answering. He crossed the room to her bedside, set the box down on the rolling tray table, and popped it open forher. The smell immediately filled the room—cheese, spice, that perfect hit of grease. Brandi blinked, caught somewhere between surprised and amused.
“You remembered,” she said softly, eyes drifting from the pizza to his face.
“‘Course I did,” Tool replied, dragging the table closer so it hovered just above her lap. “Wasn’t sure if you’d eaten. Figured you might need something real.”
She gave a faint nod, and he watched her closely. The tension in her shoulders eased just a little.
Tool looked around at the others. “She needs rest,” he said, firm now. Not loud. Not mean. Just solid. “Y’all can give her that.”
One by one, the brothers and the girls started to gather their things and file out. No arguments. No pushback. Not with the way Tool was looking at Brandi—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered right then.
And in that moment, she was.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brandi stoodunder the walkway’s canopy, hidden in the shadows of the B&B, watching the two people she respected the most. The way Gypsy held Quinn, the way she melted into him—it was real. Deep.
Something Brandi had never had.
Something she could only dream about.
She’d spent almost forty-eight hours in the hospital before being released. They had all stayed. The brothers and the old ladies. Sighing she turned to leave when movement flickered in her peripheral vision as the other women began to emerge. Some slipped away with their men, others dragged their partners inside, laughter and murmured words blending with the sound of the rain.
