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Luke Stoops is a psychologist Trouble met at a medical conference a few years back. He has an office in San Antonio. But like Trouble said, I highly doubt Rella will go see him.
“Is there anything else, or just the proximity thing?” Judge inquires.
“Yes,” I rumble.
All eyes turn to me.
“You’re with her all the time,” Trouble says. “What do you see that I don’t?”
I cross my arms and squeeze my biceps. “She has nightmares. Bad ones.”
Trouble leans away from the window, his brows dropping. “How bad?”
“Bad enough that she wakes up screaming and scared shitless.”
“Screams? It’s been quiet at night. I would have heard her scream.”
“You’re on the other side of the house, and she’s only done it once. I always get to her before it reaches that point. The fear in her eyes when she first wakes up….” I trail off, unable to describe the pain and rage I feel every time I witness that fear.
I flick my eyes to Trouble and see the same anger and hatred blazing in his eyes.
Face as hard as granite, he turns to JW. “Get in touch with whoever you need to. Offer whatever the hell you need to. I want those fuckers found yesterday.”
JW nods tightly, and we all turn back to the window. Rella has Elijah in her arms, smiling at the cute little boy. Without knowing much about the adult version of Rella, I have no doubt she would make a good mother someday. She’d be fiercely protective and would love her child unconditionally. I just hope she allows herself to find that particular happiness. It’s something she deserves more than anyone else.
Through the glass, I hear Rella laugh at something Elijah babbles at her. She leans down and places a tender kiss on his chubby cheek. He begins to squirm, so she sets him on his feet. Remi scoops him up and puts him in his highchair. They all take their seats around the picnic table. It twists my insides into knots when I notice the others taking care not to sit too close to Rella.
Most women are affectionate creatures. As a child, anytime Rella was around my brothers or me, she was always either close or touching one of us, despite the horrors she endured. A hand on the arm, a shoulder against our sides, feet in our lap, arms around our waist as she rode behind one of us on our bicycles. She knew how to ride a bike herself, but claimed it was more fun when she rode with one of us.
Her being so closed off from affection isn’t natural. It doesn’t seem right, and it pisses me right the fuck off that the people in her life changed her so much.
“What’s going on with you, Emo?” Trouble asks, snatching me from my thoughts. I glance over and notice that JW and Judge have moved to the living room, leaving me and Trouble alone.
I raise a brow, silently asking him to elaborate.
“I get that this is strange and very hard to take in. Hell, I’m still trying to grasp the idea that she’s really here myself. But this is more than that. It’s deeper than you needing to make sure she’s okay. What’s going on between you two?”
My eyes turn menacing. I don’t like the tenor of his voice, and I sure as fuck don’t like what he’s implying.
I take a step toward him, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
“What in the fuck do you mean by that?” I growl, getting in his face.
“Back the hell off, Emo.” He matches my tone, his eyes slitting, not backing down. “You’re mistaking me for someone who fears you. I didn’t mean what you’re obviously thinking. I’m just trying to understand your need to be everywhere she is, and why she’ll allow you to get closer than anyone else.”
I grind my molars and bite out, “You’ll have to ask her that, because I have no clue.” I draw in a deep breath through my teeth and let it out slowly. “As far as being where she is, it’s just something I need to do.” My stomach dips, and I lower my voice, giving Trouble exactly what I’m feeling. “What if she disappears when I’m not looking?”
Compassion replaces the hostility on his face. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
I st
uff my hands in my pockets and finger the key with the tip of my pointer finger. Before I can put pressure on it, Trouble grabs my forearm and pulls my hand back out. He drops my hand, but reaches out for the back of my neck and tugs me forward until our foreheads meet.
“I know because this is real,” he says quietly, pushing his point home by squeezing my neck tighter. “This isn’t a figment of our imagination. She’s real, Emo. Our girl is here, and she’s not going any-fuckin’-where. Nothing else will ever happen to her again. She’s safe.”
“She’s not safe until those sick fucks are dead,” I tell him heatedly.
