“You know I’d do anything for you, don’t you?” I implore without any hesitation.
She closes her eyes, a smile on her face. “Learning that.”
A moment later, Matteo pulls her against his shoulder, and she melts against him. Taking full advantage of knowing she’s safe, she completely taps out of the moment. She doesn’t talk, she barely moves, and though her breathing gets choppy on a couple of occasions, she sinks into a peace.
Valentine keeps twisting around to check on her, but Matteo is taking good care of our wife. His protective arms don’t leave her, his jacket over her legs, and he keeps rubbing his face over any part of her body he can, scent marking her as ours.
Each time he repeats the gesture, she relaxes even more.
She only opens her eyes when Valentine takes a call. He tries to keep his voice down, so he doesn’t disrupt her rest, but it’s the blaze of bitter anger on his scent that has her sitting up and reaching for him.
Instead of hiding what he’s doing, he puts his cell on to speaker, and she can hear the conversation for herself.
“I couldn’t ignore his request for help, Valentine. And stop being a cock about it, because you know you’d do the same if I asked, or if he asked you first. No shit, sometimes it's hard to get through your thick head. But I did what you would’a. I turned the plane around and flew to where I needed to be because of Trinity. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s got ya so wound up still?” Ronin’s accent gets thicker the more he speaks.
Valentine hisses, his mood dipping down lower. He talks through clenched teeth. “You both neglected to tell me my wife was safe!”
Ronin nearly snorts, he laughs so hard. “Have you met your wife? She’s a hellion. And she’s got Santiago wrapped around her little finger. Honestly, we were there no’ even five minutes, and he’s allLayne this, Layne that. It’s doing me head in.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad she shot him. Where are you headed?”
Another voice joins the conversation. “Wait, you’re okay? Honestly, Val, you are okay?”
“With what, Santiago? With fucking what?” Valentine snaps again, bellowing down the phone.
I suspect, if Layne wasn’t here, he would roar even louder. I love his restraint. I would have lost it at Ronin by now and shot the phone to shut his Irish mouth up.
From the back seat, the sweetest sound floats our way. Kind of. Layne scoffs, her laughter thick with disbelief. Without using any words, our sweet wife confirms Santiago did actually do something to Layne.
Unsurprisingly, the three of us start snarling and growling like a pack of wild dogs.
Ronin just talks louder, over the top of the noises we make. But it's also clear he’s talking with Santiago. “Ya feckin’ idiot. Now they will know what you did.”
“What did he do?” I swing around to look at Layne.
“Santiago, I swear, what did you do, and what have you done?” Valentine snaps, silencing all of us.
But Ronin is loving the drama and steers the conversation again. “Well, that wouldn’t be right if we told you, now would it? But maybe it’s also time for the next chapter in our own respective stories too. Now I’d stay and be chatting with ya, but the reception’s awful bad up here. No doubt we’ll be talking again sooner rather than later, but Valentine, don't you be forgetting why we formed Trinity.”
Ronin clearly thinks he’s a fucking stand-up comedian, with the way he’s speaking and avoiding answering my brother. Unsurprisingly, the call cuts off.
What is surprising is how accurately Ronin hit the nail on the fucking head. Our story is right here, looking fucking better with every passing moment and scenting a storm. And Layne with us is all that matters.
Valentine holds on to his phone. I think he’s waiting for them to call back, but it stays silent.
“Please tell me you’re cooking tonight, Val. And then I need a bath, Dante.” Her voice has a different edge to it. Maybe it was hearing Ronin, or perhaps what he said reached her too, but Layne keeps everyone's focus on what is important, us.
Valentine’s voice remains strained because his emotions will take longer for him to resolve, but he’s trying. He’s fighting against his own ghosts, his own failures and vicious anger, to stay present for her.
He clears his throat and uses a different tone when he answers her. “Of course. What do you feel like?”
“The risotto from the other night was good.”
The way Layne already knows Valentine needs something he can anchor to as a funnel for his need to care for her is as obvious as the way I can see she needs to be pampered.
“Ah, well, I cooked that one, babe,” I say, twisting around to wink at my girl. She smiles in return before sinking against Matteo’s shoulder.
“Interesting,” she says with her eyes closed. “But I want Valentine to cook.”
