Page 43 of Alec’s Dream

“No. Haven’t talked to her since Saturday.”

“What—”

“It’s complicated.”

“The fuck? You said—”

“I know what I said. I also know that it’s complicated and it’s been five fucking days since I’ve talked to her. Further, I know that a nine-one-one came in from her house and I’m fresh out of giving a shit about anything other than getting to her and making sure she’d okay.”

“I take it she turned you down.”

“More like shot me down, closed the door, and bolted it.”

“So you’re down?”

“Christ, Nixon. She made herself crystal clear she’s wants nothing to do with me.”

“Yet here you are, rushing to house.”

“I’m not an asshole.”

“Didn’t think you were a quitter either.”

Damn, that stung but Alec didn’t have time to give his dig any headspace. Not when they pulled onto her street and found three sheriff SUVs with lights still flashing in front of her house.

Nix pulled his truck to a stop and Alec jumped out, meeting Jonny on the porch.

“Where is she?” Alec asked. One look at the other man’s face told Alec it was bad. “Jonny?”

“Macy’s in the house. Rory’s in there, too. She’s…fucking hell…she’s shaken up. More upset that Rory saw.”

“Saw what?” Alec growled.

Alec felt Nix come to a stop next to him and Jonny’s gaze shifted to Nix.

Fuck that.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Alec started to push his way in but Jonny stopped him.

“Brace, Alec. You’re gonna be pissed but you’re gonna have to find it in you to lock it down. Macy’s feeling this deep, and I don’t mean the bruises on her face.

Bruises.

On her goddamn face.

With a lift of his chin, Alec made his way into the house and found mother and daughter sitting on the couch. Rory curled in Macy’s lap, her face rested on her mother’s chest. Macy was stroking Rory’s hair and whispering to her.

Alec sat on the coffee table facing the duo, careful not to scare either of them.

“Macy, baby?”

Cold, listless eyes met his gaze and he had to swallow the bile crawling up his throat. It was not the cuts and bruises littering her beautiful skin, not the dried blood still on her cheek, not even the mussed-up hair and torn shirt that sent white-hot rage sparking throughout his body.

It was her dull stare.

Completely vacant.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.