For that very question, we decided he needed to wait on the bus. We, being Izzy and the PR team. The lawyer, Mrs. Giordano, was able to rescind the restraining order, but public opinion hasn’t been reassured yet.
My fists clench at my sides, instinctively wanting to protect her from their prying eyes. The way they gleam with the knowledge that they get to plaster her pain all over the world pisses me off. They don’t care she’s a person; all they think about is the story they get to spin, what outlandish headline will draw more clicks. Who cares if it’s the truth or not.
The guys step forward, a wall of solidarity pushing back against the tide of paparazzi. It doesn’t dissuade them at all. They shout, trying to squeeze answers out of her silence, but she doesn’t flinch. Raina meets their relentless gaze head-on, defiant despite her fragile state. She stands from the wheelchair and strides forward with her head held high, marching for the door to The Storm—an apt name for her bus because that’s exactly what I feel like.
My thoughts are abruptly cut off at the harsh sound of someone’s voice right next to me. “Back off!” one of the security guards barks, thrusting an arm out to force the ferocious reporters back. Their tenacity wavers for a wisp of time, but they quickly regroup, a pack of wolves hungry for a bite out of my girl.
“Raina! Is it true you attempted suicide?” The question slices through the air, sharp and unforgiving. My stomach churns atthe thought—how dare they? How could anyone think those bruises were self-inflicted? On what planet is that possible?
Raina’s body tenses beside me, her breath catching, and I want nothing more than to drag her back inside, away from their invasive curiosity.
“Don’t listen to them, Peaches. Keep moving,” I growl under my breath, stepping closer to her, ready to draw her into my protective orbit. But she holds steady, refusing to let them see her break. With every ounce of strength she possesses, she pushes forward, navigating the gauntlet of flashing cameras and invasive questions.
It’s no wonder she hates them so much. She’s a warrior in a battle no one else can see.
“Let’s go,” Nash says from her other side. Blake is already at the door ready to open it when we get there. I press my hand to her lower back, gentle yet firm, guiding her toward the waiting bus, my presence a silent promise against the storm brewing outside.
The door swings open, the sound of it swallowed by the reporters’ continued barrage of questions, forever hopeful they’ll get an answer. Probably trying to piss one of us off to the point of getting a reaction.
“Let’s get you inside, Bunny,” Blake says, stepping to the side to give her room to get around him.
We’re greeted by the fresh scent of the bus, a pleasant change from the harsh antiseptic smell of the hospital.
“Easy does it,” I murmur, steadying Raina’s back as she climbs the stairs. She’s moving carefully, like every breath might shatter her. There’s a momentary sigh that escapes her lips, almost inaudible beneath the barrage of shouted questions still coming from outside, but I hear it. It’s a sound of weary relief, tinged with indignation, a reminder of what she’s enduring.
As the door to The Storm shuts behind us, muffling the external pandemonium, Raina pauses just inside, her shoulders sagging slightly. The calm interior contrasts starkly with the chaos we’ve just left behind. Soft leather couches invite rest, and dim lighting offers a gentler environment than the harsh fluorescents of the hospital hallway.
I watch her closely, aware of the subtle changes in her demeanor. She’s exhausted. It seems that small trek zapped every ounce of energy out of her.
“Hey there, sweetness. It’s good to see you in person,” Darius says. She gives him a soft smile, something she seems to do every time she hears his British accent, like she can’t help but do it. Probably doesn’t even know she does it now that I think about it…
“Dare,” she rasps. The one word has my heart speeding up. Hearing her voice has been so few and far between since she woke up, she saves it for moments when she feels it’s important.
Her arms open, and Darius steps into her hug, sweeping her into his arms. His face seems to nuzzle right into her neck, taking in a deep breath like he wants to make sure it’s real. Although I can’t imagine she doesn’t thoroughly smell like hospital.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. You gave me an awful fright. No more trying to die on me.” He holds her tighter, yet it’s clear he’s still being gentle, trying not to hurt her.
Somehow I’m no longer jealous of any affection he gives her, not like I would’ve been last week. Saving her life changed that for me. He earned a spot in her circle for eternity.
“Come on,” he says, taking a step away from her, but keeping a firm grip around her waist. “Let’s get you seated and comfortable.”
She moves to take a step toward the couch, but pauses when the corner of her eye catches on Tristan. He’s hovering in thenarrow hallway where the bunks are, watching from afar, not yet invited back into the fold.
As far as I know, she said he could be here, but she doesn’t seem sure what to do with him. She smiles, although it’s weak, and lifts her hand in a tiny wave, then continues to the couch where Nash holds his arm out, wanting her to sit next to him.
When Darius releases her, Raina suddenly snaps her hand out, grabbing his and sitting down, dragging him along with her. She doesn’t say a word, but she’s made it clear she doesn’t want him to be far.
Is it possible she feels safer with him next to her?Did him saving her form a bond that can’t be erased, even if she was unconscious when it happened?
The moment she settles between the two men, her mask seems to crumple. Her eyes slam shut, and her lips purse together like she’s trying her damndest to keep a tidal wave locked away. Her fingers move to her neck, but hover over her skin before she makes contact.
“Distract her,” Tristan whispers. It’s so low I’m the only one to hear it. With a single glance, I know he’s barely holding himself back from doing it himself, but he’s trying to respect the fact he broke her trust.
I grab a blanket draped over the edge of the couch and tuck it over her lap. “Here you go.” My voice is low, careful, like speaking too loud might make everything worse.
“Just breathe, Raina,” Darius says, leaning into her and stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “We’ve got this.”
With a raise of my eyebrows, and the help of an intense stare, I gain Nash’s attention. Jerking my head to the side, he gets my hint. “What should we watch? It’s a long drive back home, so we have plenty of time to binge-watch something.”
