“You’re dead to me,” he says with conviction. He rolls out his shoulders, glancing at the teammates by my side. His eyes flicker back to mine. “Talk to her again and I promise you, I’ll ruin your career.”
“Fork,” I beg.
His nostrils flare, getting in my face. “I expected more from you,brother.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, flinching through the blinding pain.
He scans my face, expression still full of fury. “That doesn’t mean shit coming from you. You aredead to me.You no longer fucking exist.Fuck you, Boston.”
I swallow, my head dropping a bit with the weight of my shame. I nod, accepting it. There is no way this conversation ends positively. If I keep talking, I’ll just get hit again. I mightforce Ari into a worse spot with her brother, too. So, I shut up. I accept my death notice, and I let him choose when he wants to rip his glare away from me and storm out of the bar.
The second he’s gone, all eyes slowly turn to me. I blink through the pain, sure that something is broken and that I’m covered in blood. I glance across the room toward our booths, where Arden is standing with her phone, arms wrapped tightly around herself, Whitney and Autumn flanking her. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her look afraid of him before, but she does right now.
Caulfield slides past her, a pile of jackets in his hands. He walks right toward me, ignoring the rest of the team, and puts a hand on my shoulder. He says nothing, just guides me away from the scene.
“Wait!”
We freeze.
Arden hurries toward us. I brace myself for yet another lashing, but she doesn’t yell or lecture me. She searches my face. “I need to examine you. I can’t…I can’t let you leave without?—”
“He’s not fucking staying here like some piece of entertainment,” Saltzy snaps, pushing me forward gently. He shoots her a hard look, one that she doesn’t return. “I’ll get him looked at.”
Her brown eyes slide to me, regret sweeping between the both of us.
“Happy Birthday,” I say weakly.
Her eyes soften, brimming with tears. “I’m sorry.”
Wyatt and Saltzy flank me as we leave the bar, right into Caulfield’s truck. They take me to the hospital, sit with me while I wait, and nobody says a fucking word until I finally decide that this silence is agonizing enough. I need out of my own head.
“What the fuck do I do now?” I grumble.
Wyatt lets out a long breath, placing a sturdy hand on my shoulder.
“You think about how stupid that was,” Saltzy says gently, leaning forward on his elbows. He glances at me. “And you take a fucking second to feel better before you do anything at all.”
“He’s my…”
“Don’t worry about it right now,” Saltzy says, straightening in his seat. “You did what you did, and he did what he did. I’m a bit more pissed off at him than at you right now, so if there’s a divorce, you very well might get custody of me.”
I glance at him, wincing at the pain in my face. I’d laugh if this wasn’t so fucked up. “I’m not going to press charges.”
Saltzy shakes his head, glaring at the floor. “I don’t give a fuck about his fate in this case, Boss.”
Broken cheekbone, broken nose, and a popped blood vessel in my eye. To be honest, I think Fork went easy on me.
Saltzy and Wyatt drive me home, but they refuse to leave. I’m too tired to argue, so I let them do what they want to do. They take one of the guest rooms, and I fall into my own bed with Wanton tucked next to my side, because the guy seems to know something is up and won’t leave my side. Someone comes in every couple of hours to check on me, making sure I didn’t croak in my sleep or anything. Wanton growls every time they touch me, but relaxes when I pet his fur.
When I wake up, both of them are in my kitchen, my house is spotless, and there’s a full breakfast waiting for me. I’m not hungry, but Saltzy sits beside me and glares at me until I eat. I manage half a breakfast sandwich and that satisfies him enough.
Declan shows up an hour later, dark circles under his eyes and stress woven into every crevice of his face. Both Wyatt and Saltzy seemed surprised to see him. He walks in without knocking and strolls into the kitchen, greeting the boys beforehis eyes find at the table. His face loses all colour at the sight of my injuries.
I looked in the mirror when I took a piss this morning. I didn’t even recognize myself, so I understand the shock. Declan physically has to stop and bring his hand to his mouth.
I don’t know if he’s here to scold me, but I won’t snap at him if he does. I know I messed up and it was in a big, fucked up way. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, he walks toward me and places both of his hands on my shoulders. When I don’t acknowledge him, because I can’t, he leans down and winds his arms around me.
“You should be with him,” I mumble.
