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Eleven
COLE
Ihold the punchbag as Jace slams his fist into it again and again, then he jumps up and delivers a swift kick, causing my feet to stumble back.
Sweat drips from him, and each measured action is filled with more fury than the last, but I can understand it. Jesus, I feel it myself.
The thought of what he’s been through is unimaginable.
“We knew he had some demons,” Jace spits out, then punches the bag again with a grunt. “Never knew it was that bad.”
“Me neither. I can’t imagine what he went through.”
“Thought my childhood was bad.” He mocks with a sardonic laugh. “His is like a horror story.”
“Yeah.” I grimace at how my childhood was compared to his. Although I lost my parents when I was young, I never went without. My nana showered me in love, and no one ever laid a finger on me.
“All this fucking time.” Jace shakes his head. “Both of them, all this fucking time!” He shakes his head harder this time. He’s in as much disbelief as I am, only Rage’s comes out in aggression.
“And Viggo? Do you think she remembers anything?” he asks, sweat pouring from him.
Anxiety ripples through me at the thought that Tia might know more than she’s telling us. Maybe we’re all keeping secrets?
“I don’t think so. She’d have said if she remembered, right?”
Jace nods and delivers a swift kick to the punchbag.
My mind wanders to the connections we’ve discovered, and I swallow back the bile in my mouth, at the secrets our brother has kept from us. “She’s going to be pissed if she ever finds out we didn’t tell her everything.” My voice is a whisper as I tell Jace my concerns.
He stops punching and his head snaps up to mine, and his stare sears into me. “She isn’t going to find out.” There’s a threat behind his eyes, and I almost want to balk at him; he doesn’t scare me, but his actions do. The damage he can cause others when his rage burns so deep it consumes him, that’s what scares me.
“Right. She won’t find out.” I nod, agreeing, once again just to keep the peace, but regretting every word.
SKY
The noise filling my ears has become my solitude. Without it, there would be no him, no forever, and that’s a thought I simply cannot bear.
“The boys are content at our house, Sky.” I lift my head from Bren’s pillow to face Oscar. “Paige is managing.”
I bite into my lip to stifle a smile at Oscar’s words. The boys might be happy, and Paige might be too, but Oscar hates having visitors, and if he didn’t hate hospitals so much, I’d think he was using it as his escape. Instead, as I stare down at my husband, I know as much as Oscar does, he’s here for Bren. The bond they share is one beyond that of protection, they’re entwined.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” I stare toward the man I respect wholeheartedly, and he stares back at me. “I want to know why Bren is in a hospital bed.” I slide down off the bed; where I’ve been since he received lifesaving surgery for multiple gunshot wounds to his chest. “I want to know why he was so badly hurt... yet you’re all unscathed.” My voice hitches with emotion.
I’m pissed nobody has told me anything. I’m in the dark as to why my husband is lying in a hospital bed and the familieswere put on lockdown, yet he’s the only one hurt. No, hurt is an understatement. We could have lost him. Our boys could have lost their daddy, and we might still lose him. I squeeze my eyes shut, and my hand finds my stomach, where our baby is growing, and the anger I feel deep inside overthrows all other emotions and boils to the surface. Determined to get answers, I snap my eyes open with a renewed vigor.
“I’m pregnant.” I ignore Will gasping from Con’s lap and instead continue on, “I know my husband, the father of my babies, would not put himself at risk of not coming home. So, tell me, Oscar, why is he lying in a hospital bed, unable to breathe for himself?”
Oscar glances toward Cal, and that has me seeing red. I turn my attention toward Bren’s second-in-command. “Cal?” I ask with hope, but he gives little response.
“Fuck this,” Con grunts. He gently removes Will from his lap, stands, and begins pacing. Blood covers his clothes, my husband’s blood, and the sight of it has tears filling my eyes again, but I refuse to let them fall.
“Con?”
“Sky!” Oscar yells at me for pushing him. And for the first time ever, I want to take out my brother-in-law’s eyeballs. Instead, I choose a more subtle approach and try a tactic I’ve witnessed his wife use many times. I hold my hand up to stop him from speaking. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say, Oscar.” His eyebrows raise, and I spin to face Con. “Con, please? Do you really think he wouldn’t want me to know?” I implore.
Con chokes on a sarcastic laugh, throws his head back, and looks toward the ceiling before pinching the bridge of his nose, then he rolls his head to face me. “He wouldn’t. He didn’t want you to know a damn thing.”
Worry settles in my stomach, making me want to retch again. Is this to do with another woman?
