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I whistle, wiggling my eyebrows at Emma. “The boy’s possessive.”
She narrows her gaze at me. “I’ll be in the meeting room. I’m sure you have wonderful news for all of us.”
Don’t I ever. She has no idea the Kings are also waiting with her crew in that room.
Even after she leaves the kitchen, Sam seems unable to lower his gun. I look at my phone again, scrolling.
“What do you know about night terrors?”
That finally brings him back. “Night terrors?” He puts his gun down. “A fair bit. Rose used to have them.”
I crack my neck, hating that frustrating feeling.
“You’d know, wouldn’t you,” I say blankly, but he knows me. He knows my tells, when I’m annoyed.
“You asked. I answered. Stop being a shitty overprotective brother.” He pours himself a cup of coffee, turning his back to me. What a brave man. “Why do you ask?”
I relax against my seat. I guess he has a point. “I think Kayla has them.”
He sits down opposite me, taking a sip. “And you care because?”
“Because it keeps me up at night.”
Something presses against my chest. A spike coming from inside me and attempting to pierce me from the inside out. A whisper of a threat calling me a liar.
“One night. It kept you up one night. You weren’t sleeping with her before.”
I shrug. “It kept me up last night. That’s one too many nights.”
He stays silent for a minute. A minute is long when your best friend is trying to read you.
“Trauma,” he finally says. “That’s all I know about it. She needs to heal.” He relaxes against the back of the stool and takes another sip with his eyes on me. “I don’t think that’s something you can provide her. So I’d say your solution is separate rooms.”
A surge of anger rolls through me. My blood boils at the insult he throws my way. I’m capable of everything. Nothing can stop me. If Kayla needs to heal, then I’ll fucking heal her.
Reading my mind, Sam shakes his head. “You need to be able to empathize with what someone is going through to help them heal. That’s not something you can do.”
“I can do anything.” My cold tone surprises me.
I’m frustrated because he’s underestimating me. Because he should know I can do anything I set my mind to.
I’m not frustrated because he thinks I can’t take care of my wife. Right?
I crack my neck again. Something feels off inside, and I can’t comprehend it. That’s to be added to the list of things annoying me today.
The door opens, and Kayla walks in, in a pair of black jeans and a tight black tank top. Head held high, I can clearly see the band-aid covering the cut on her neck and the bruises from my fingers underneath.
My dick can see it too, according to the way it wakes up in my suit pants.
My wife crosses her arms over her chest, looking at me with that fierceness in her green eyes I enjoy so much. Nothing can take that woman down, not even forcing her to talk about the things that broke her.
“How’s the neck?” I ask, extending my hand so she understands I want her to come to me. She sticks to her spot.
“Fine.”
“I can call Marcie if you want.”
She shrugs. “Sure, if you want a dead body in your house first thing in the morning.”
