AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m perfectly capable of walking to the door, sugar.” Thane slung his free arm around her shoulders as he climbed from Atticus’s truck, tugging her close as they stood together on the sidewalk outside her house. With his injured arm in a sling to stop him from moving it too soon, he felt like an idiot, but at least he was alive to feel that way. “I’m not complaining though. You fit me so well.”
She flushed brightly and tightened her hold around his waist. “It’s a gift.”
“You are indeed.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head and breathed in her scent.
Ten days after the worst Sunday morning of his life, he was finally free of the medical ward tucked into Atticus’s headquarters. A slight infection in the wound had delayed his discharge, but right now, he was just grateful to be breathing in fresh air, laced with the smell of cut summer grass and the heat of June.
Over the past few days, he’d been hyperaware of Connie’s behavior, noting how she was slowly returning to her usual self. It worried him, because she was hiding behind the Domme again, and trying to stuff the memories back into a box they’d outgrown. The situation grew worse when Braun told her that Alicia had already been picked up by the Handicapable Rehabilitation facility.
Thane didn’t blame him—Bodie’s condition was sliding downhill again—and with everything happening at once, Alicia just wasn’t getting the help she needed. But Connie being Connie…well, she’d taken the news badly, as expected.
The screaming match she’d had with Atticus an hour after Braun broke the news had cost her the use of her voice for almost a day, her vocal cords as raw as her emotions. It had taken Thane two hours to calm her down, once the crying jag that left him feeling helpless was over.
Atticus rounded the front of his truck and lifted his eyebrow. “Gonna stand out here all day?” He frowned when Connie huddled into Thane’s side, her eyes locked on her front door. “Connie, Guthrie’s dead. You don’t have to be scared of him anymore. There’s no one lurking in there, you have my word. My team swept through the place earlier, and it’s absolutely safe.”
Well, that was the first he’d heard about that, Thane thought. Atticus hadn’t mentioned doing a run through Connie’s place, but it was a good idea, one he hadn’t thought of.
One day soon, they would have to go back to his house and face what had gone on there. It wasn’t just Connie who had reservations about stepping back into his home and meeting the nightmare head on—Thane was dreading it. Not because he’d been shot, but because he’d come too damn close to losing Connie there.
“You heard the man, sugar.” Thane hobbled forward, cursing his goddamn thigh. Too many days of inactivity made his leg feel like it was made of wood. “It has the Atticus security stamp.”
Connie shook off the aura of vulnerability, standing straighter, squaring her shoulders. Settling the Domme back into the forefront as a shield. “Of course, it does. Let me go open the door,” she said, as though they didn’t all know she was shitting herself. Lifting her chin a fraction, she walked away briskly.
“You need to get a handle on that, brother.” Atticus ranged himself beside Thane, and the pair of them watched Connie’s stride falter as she approached the door, keys in hand. “She’s rebuilding her defenses, one brick at a time, and once she’s locked behind them, it’s going to hurt getting her out.”
Thane rubbed at his chest when her hand shook. One attempt, two, to get the key in the lock. “Now we’re home, I’ll deal with it. She thinks I don’t hear her crying at night,” he murmured. “She sneaks off the bed and hides herself in the corner, then cries until she’s nearly sick. I’m going to sit down with her this afternoon, and lay some rules down on the table.”
“Leading with the Dom,” Atticus rumbled in approval. “I like it.”
“I don’t. I don’t like any of this. What happened has spun us around and flung us in a direction I don’t know.” Thane gave his friend the side-eye. “The offer of your cabin still open, Att?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll leave in a day or so. Let me get my feet back under me, gauge how the land lies with Connie. She’s determined to go to Avalon and show her face there, to prove she’s still the Mistress.” He stopped himself from grinding his teeth, rubbing his hand over his beard instead. At the house, Connie finally managed to unlock the door. “So we’ll go. She can show the world how strong she is, before I take her apart one memory at a time.”
“I’ll make the arrangements.” Atticus patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t give up on her, Thane. She can be a hardass, but she loves you. She needs you, and what you give her.”
Dressed in his attire from the morning he was shot—freshly laundered—Thane fingered the bullet hole in his shirt. “Unfortunately, I think it might be a case of me needing her more than she does me right now. But life is sent to try us, right?”
“From the moment we’re born,” Att agreed.
“Thanks for the ride.” Thane limped forward, determined to make it to the house by himself. His strength was already waning from standing too long, but he forced himself to take every step as though he wasn’t weak and exhausted.
When he reached the door, he turned and waved at Atticus, then hobbled his way into Connie’s house. The woman herself was nowhere to be seen, so he dragged his sorry ass along the hall until he found the living room, and the big comfy couch he promptly fell on.
Oh yeah, that felt good.
Groaning under his breath, he ignored the pretty room with its shelves of books and pretty watercolors on the pale yellow walls. The furniture was covered in a fine sheen of dust, the air carried the remnants of Connie’s scent—he much preferred it fresh and direct from the source—and the goddamn couch was like a plush cloud, easing his aches.
Shit, he’d forgotten to shut the front door.
Even as he steeled himself to stand, he heard it close with a quiet thud. Keys jingled in the lock, then footsteps moved down the hallway toward him. His heart lit up at the sight of Connie in the doorway, and he gave her a dopey smile as she came toward him, a couple of pillows and a blanket in her arms.
“Don’t coddle me,” he told her as she started to arrange the pillows. “I need to start building my strength back up.”
“Says the man who looks like he just ran a marathon. Let me do this for you, Thane—the nurses rendered me pretty much useless this past week.” With the pillows plumped, she helped him shift slightly so he could lean back against them, then draped the blanket over him. “Feels weird being the only ones here,” she muttered wistfully, her eyes growing sad for a moment. In a heartbeat, the grief was gone, and her tough face was back in place. “I’ll just go—”
Now was his moment. Adding an edge to his tone, he snapped out, “Sit, sugar.”
