‘It’s what he chose.’
‘And Jessamine isMimi.This must mean I’ve been adopted into your little family, huh?’the older boy teases, drinks champagne.‘Lock it is, then.’
Lachlan changes the subject.‘How’s things?’
‘Things,’the oldest Sorrenko boy muses, his joy ebbing, ‘are as they should be.Father has me working hard to take over when my time is right.Much publicity, all building towards twenty-one,’ he says, accented as always, but his tone has dulled.‘I suppose he has to give blood tomorrow,’ he says, gesturing towards Jules.
Lachlan frowns.‘Give blood?’
‘He’s nineteen now.Or maybe old man Alistair takes it before, I don’t know.My father started when I was nineteen.’Roman looks at him, blinks.‘Oh, you didn’t know.’He claps Lachlan’s shoulder.‘Well.You will find out tomorrow.’
He walks away and Lachlan’s mind goes into overdrive.
Give blood.
Give blood for what?To whom?
At around three AM, Jules has hit the point of no return, so Lachlan guides him into theStaff Onlyrestroom he had re-opened for Jules, helps him onto his knees and rubs his back when he violently throws up in the toilet.
Lachlan has no qualms with stuff like this, once had tocrawlthrough vomit and not make a sound, so he’s fairly immune.
‘Get it all up, there we go,’ he says, taking the opportunity to check in.‘Control, this is Kestrel.Give me Echo Bay checks with eyes on Shimmer.’He mentally counts the beats in between his command and the answer.Usually it gets to around five seconds before an answer is given.
‘Eight bells, Kestrel.Eyes on confirmed.’
Jules spits the last of it and then heaves a huge, mournful sigh.
‘Sorry,’ he croaks, which is not like him at all.
‘You’re fine.’
‘S’gross.’
‘Nah, you’re all good.’
‘No.’Jules is shaky and disoriented.‘I’m not.I’m bad.So bad.’
Lachlan allows himself a tiny eyeroll the kid won’t see.‘Nope, you’re good as gold and absolutely fine.Why don’t you sit on the—?’
‘I want you to do it,’ he whispers, pivoting slightly to get Lachlan in his sights.Lachlan’s customary refusal is poised to fall off his tongue when Jules adds, ‘I’m scared of needles, but not knives.You do it for me?’
‘What?’
‘Tomorrow.The blood.You could do it for me, right?I don’t mind if it’s you but not a needle please,’ Jules whines, eyes screwed up tight.‘I hate them.’
‘Are you giving blood tomorrow?’Lachlan asks, holding his shoulder to balance him when Jules starts to slide left.‘Jules, answer me.Are you—?’
‘Why’d you call me that?’
‘Call you what?’
‘Sweetheart.’He opens his eyes.‘You called mesweetheartthe night of the attack.Remember?’
Lachlan doesn’t.He’s confident he hasn’t ever called Jules that, not least because Jules would likely slap him for doing so.‘I don’t think I said that.’
Jules darkens all over.
‘You said,point and shoot these fuckers in the head.You said,you can do this, sweetheart,for Mimi.And then you said,please.’
