He gasps, and the relief he feels explodes along every nerve ending.
“Nix?” Luca asks. “What is it?”
“He’s alive. Fuck, Luc. Jamie isn’t dead.”
“He’s not?” he questions, eyes hazy, and then he’s laughing. “I can feel him, too. I mean, it feels the same as it always has. Thank fuck.”
They still have forever, just like Jamie promised.
Nix’s eyes burn, and he laughs. “He didn’t leave me, Luc! He didn’t leave us.”
The dam breaks. Laughter, tears, joy—all of it spills out in a messy jumble. He takes Luca’s hands, and together, they jump around the expensive wine cellar like the happy, relieved idiots they are lucky to be.
After a few minutes, Nix takes them both to the floor again, and Luca grabs the open wine and carefully pours a stream into his mouth.
“Fuck, that’s pretty good,” he says, and looks at the label. “Do you think Gideon could get us some for home? You know I don’t drink much because I like to play, but I might make an exception for this.”
Nix doesn’t say it’s probably too fucking expensive—for drinking or for washing off motor oil. He takes the broken bottle from his mate and puts it on the floor, in case he needs a projectile to crack the glass in a bit, and to keep Luca from being drunk and stupidly brave…again.
“Let’s figure a way out of here so I can go kick Jamie’s ass for scaring fifty years off my life.”
Nix leans back against the cool glass wall, Luca’s weight pressed against his side, both of them finally breathing again. Relief still buzzes through his limbs.
They don’t have forever yet. Not until everyone’s safe.
Then he remembers the phone.
He pulls it from the waistband of his briefs—classy—and powers it on. There’s only one number he knows by heart.
He dials. The phone rings once. Twice.
“Yes? Who is this?”
Nix exhales. “It’s me.”
10
With Every Trust Rebuilt (Jay)
Even though there is an excruciating pain in his right shoulder and a dull throb in his heart, neither of those would be enough to wake him fully under normal circumstances. He’d grown used to the latter over a decade, and the former…well, he knew what that was, too.
No, it’s the familiar steps pounding down the hall that alert him that he’s still alive, because he can tell those footsteps belong to his agitated mates. They’re recognizable as Leo’s heavier, angrier tread and Grayson’s lighter, uncertain stride. He knows the sound of each footstep, of each mate, and yes, he also recognizes how obsessive that is.
He can’t help that he’s devoted. He wouldn’t want to.
The door cracks open slowly, despite the urgency of those steps, and Leo’s head pokes around the edge of the door, followed by Grayson’s on top, like a two-man statue.
“He’s awake,” Leo calls, as if he is announcing to a crowd that has gathered behind him, before he enters only to stand just inside, arms crossed. There is an unmistakable aura of sadness, anger, and relief emanating off his cinnamon-toasty-scented mate. And, well, Jay can’t blame him.
He fucked up.
He had underestimated Carnell’s desire to remove him from the playing field entirely. He can’t remember anything past his father’s vitriolic words about Nix, about him.
The decay Jay had always thought lay under the surface had suddenly been reflected on the outside where everyone could see. Those missing moments seem important, and before he makes his abject apologies and begs for forgiveness, he needs to get his hands on all of his mates and for someone to fill in the blanks.
Grayson pushes Leo out of the way like he can read Jay’s mind, tossing off his shoes so he can gingerly climb onto the wide hospital bed. Even the jiggling of the mattress sends sparks of pain in all directions. He flexes the fingers of his right hand and is grateful he can still move them. Nerve damage to his dominant hand would mean disaster to Jay’s ability to make music.
He lifts his left arm, and his very pale mate slips gently into his side.
