“Don’t play dumb, girl.Coda.Who’s his father?”
Brax tosses back her head and laughs. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. We decided it was better that way.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise if I tried. “And you’re okay with that? Truly?”
“Yes. Coda is as much Houston’s son as he is Loren’s as he is Rich’s, regardless of what his biology says.”
“And if, God forbid, there comes a time when it’s necessary to know or Coda wants to know?”
“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” she answers easily. I consider if I could stand not knowing before deciding it’sa moot point. There’s no chance I wouldn’t know exactly. “Oh, I almost forgot.” Braxton reaches into her shorts to pull out a small case containing noise-canceling earbuds. “For you. In case you have trouble sleeping at night.” When I look at her strangely, her cheeks warm, but all she offers in explanation is a grumbled, “Thin walls.”
I take the earbuds at the same time there’s a knock on the door. “Um…come in!” I call out when Braxton doesn’t say a word, waiting for me to say it’s okay.
The door opens, and Houston peeks his head inside before pushing in with the rest of his body. There’s a large suitcase in his hand that he leaves by the door. “Oni said you might need this,” he explains. “It’s got clothes and toiletries in it.”
She really thought of everything. It’s only been a few days, but I’m already indebted up to my eyeballs to the woman.
“I guess I’ll leave you to it,” Braxton says as she stands and joins Houston, who holds up his arm for her by the door. I feel my nape grow warm when I watch them embrace. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?”
Suddenly, I feel Houston’s piercing green stare and Braxton’s warm brown focus on me, so I nod. “Will do.”
As they leave together, I hear him whisper urgently to her, “Did you give her the headphones?”
Braxton tosses back her head in exasperation and groans. “Yes, Houston. I gave her the headphones.”
The door closes behind them, and I’m alone.
Standing from the bed, I drift over to the window like a specter doomed to haunt this plane without a real existence. The curtains are parted to show me the full moon in stark contrast to how incredibly fucking empty I feel being here without my mountain men. I’m back in the States, back in my reality, but I feel far from home.
I don’t allow myself to dwell on it, and instead, I turn to stare at the phone I left on the bed.
They’re only a phone call away, but I don’t feel brave enough to call yet, so I ignore the phone and walk over to the suitcase before ducking inside the en suite for a long, hot soak in the clawfoot tub.
When I emerge an hour later, I’m too nauseous and exhausted to eat, so I crawl into bed and fall asleep immediately only to be jarred awake sometime during the night by the carnal sounds coming from down the hall.
Cursing, I lunge for the earbuds left on my nightstand and shove them into my ears, and then I shove a pillow over my head for good measure.
Thin walls, indeed.
The next morning, I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed in the fluffy robe Braxton loaned me with my new phone in hand and the number to the hospital room in Canada keyed in.
All I have to do is press call.
But I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes, and I haven’t pressed call yet.
My hand is trembling, my heart is racing, and my skin is fire hot.
I’m a coward.
I’m a coward, I’m a coward, I’m a coward.
I’ve already tried calling the ICU’s nurse’s station for an update, but since I wasn’t an authorized contact, they refused to give me the status of Thorin’s condition.
What if he’s already awake? What if he needs to hear it from me why I left? Don’t I at least owe him that?
Exhaling a long breath, I press call and shut my eyes tightly as if it might shield me from the incoming pain.
The phone rings three times before it stops.
