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I sigh, dropping my head back against the pillows. “Come on, cut me some slack.”
“Nah, man, seriously—you didn’t tell your boys you were gonna be a father again? Didn’t even ask if we wanted to help you keep Olivia safe? We care about you and we care about her. Why do you think we wouldn’t want to help you? Keep her safe? Especially if she’s got a new little Daltonator in the oven?”
I roll my eyes. “I never said that I thought you guys wouldn’t do it.”
“Then what, huh?” he persists. “Some silly savior complex? Thinking you gotta keep us out of trouble?”
He hit the nail on the head with that one. It was exactly that. It got bad enough that I had Elliot in on things. But he’s my lawyer and, if there was anyone that needed to be looped in on all the craziness of my life, it was him.
“It’s already bad enough I got a target on me from Coach Driscoll and Mr. Wilde,” I say wearily. “Adding this on top? If shit gets out, hits the fan, and you’re involved? What would be the point? Now, people are actually attacking me. If that had happened to you or Dante…”
Marcus rolls his eyes. “Well, lucky for me, I don’t get drop-dead wasted in bars and go out by myself, unlike some idiot I’m unlucky enough to be friends with.” He levels a look at me. “Dante and I are in on this until the very end from now on, understood?”
“Marcus—”
“No. Hell no. I don’t need your excuses, Reese,” he says firmly. “We’re friends. Family, actually. That makes Olivia family now, too. And frankly, I don’t think you’re allowed to tell family whether or not they’re allowed to help you if they’re offering.”
I chuckle. “You’re goddamn stubborn, you know.”
“Pot meet kettle, motherfucker.”
Dante comes in just then, ripping into a new charger case with his teeth. “Fucking hell, they make these things so hard to get into.”
“If you weren’t a damn barbarian about everything, life might be easier for you,” Marcus mutters.
“Still managed to get it out. Kiss my ass, Syndergaard!” He tosses the charger my way.
I plug it into my phone and then the wall and let it juice up as I slip out of bed with a pained groan. That son of a bitch really got me good with the switchblade. The kick to the jaw wasn’t exactly a love tap, either.
“Alright, fuckers. You don’t get a free show. I got the all-clear once Mackie was done talking to me to head on out.”
Dante snorts. “Like yours is a show we wanna see. Already get enough of that in the locker room.”
They laugh their asses off all the way out of the hospital room. I roll my eyes, but gingerly start to dress. My clothes from last night are sweaty, torn, beer-stained from where I fell to the ground, and clotted with blood, so that’s a no-go. The nurses found me a pair of hospital sweats that just barely fit me and a t-shirt that was passable. The whole getup probably looks silly as all hell with my boots, but I can’t complain. Clean clothes are clean clothes.
With that out of the way, I lean over the hospital bed to see if my cell is charged enough for me to turn it on and make sure I haven’t missed anything important. When it powers up, I see that I have more than a dozen messages and several missed calls from Elliot and both the bodyguards I hired to watch after Olivia. All sent within the last few hours.
I comb through them, immediately on high alert.
J: ETA on your arrival? It’s past the time you said you were going to be here.
J: Checking in to reconfirm ETA.
ELLIOT: Saw the news. Tried to call. Get in contact with me as soon as possible. P.I. thinks this might be related to Holly.
K: Just saw a TMZ report about you being attacked at a bar, sir. Awaiting instructions.
K: Sir, there’s been an incident at the cabin. Contact ASAP.
With my heart in my throat, I go to my voicemails. The first is from J.
“Mr. Dalton, an update. Miss Olivia came to us this morning in hysterics. She was apparently… bleeding? K has taken her to the hospital for a possible miscarriage.”
My throat tightens. Possible miscarriage? The fuck’s happened in the short span of time I was out?
Then guilt grips me.
I wasn’t there.
