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Dropping into a chair on the other side of the table, I look at the two men. Like, really look at them. Some of my rage deflates at the realization that neither of them has slept a wink. Dad has dark circles under his eyes, his hair is disheveled like he ran his hands through it one too many times, and both are in the same clothes as last night.
A steaming cup of coffee is suddenly thrust in my line of vision, the dark liquid almost spilling over. As I follow the arm attached to it, an equally tired Denielle looks down at me. One corner of her mouth twitches, and I assume it’s her attempt at a reassuring smile—which epically fails.
Out of the corner of my eye, Wes pulls out one of the barstools and leans against it. I take the mug from Den, not even attempting a positive facial expression, and she immediately steps back to Wes’s side.
The bond the two of them have developed over the last months cause me to turn away. I want Lilly, my best friend and my girlfriend, back by my side. Seeing them so close causes a surge of jealousy that I am embarrassed to even admit to myself.
"Anything new?" Wes is the one to break the suffocating silence.
"We—" George starts when a door somewhere flies open—the front door maybe? And the noise of numerous footfalls echoes through the first floor. Every head turns as Nate stumbles into the kitchen, followed by a man in a pilot uniform and several of George's guards.
Lilly's brother is half bent forward, clutching his side, and George is out of his seat in a second. Good thing he was sitting in the corner seat, or he either would've climbed over the table or pushed my father out in the process.
"Nate, you're not supposed to be on your feet."
"What happened?"
"Where is my sister?!"
The man I assume is Joel, George, and Nate speak at the same time. Just as the words leave his mouth, Nate's legs buckle, and his pilot and head of security reach for him. George catches the brunt of his employer's large body and has to brace himself by stepping one foot back.
Nate grunts, and Joel supports him by wrapping his other arm around his shoulder. "He shouldn't be standing. Can we put him down somewhere?"
"I’m fiiineee," Nate responds in a slur.
I narrow my eyes at him.
"Dude, you don't look so fine," Wes remarks dryly, and Denielle elbows him in the ribs. "Ow." He scowls down at her.
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?" George bellows, and everyone—except my father—flinches at his outburst. George doesn't raise his voice.
"He was stabbed," Joel explains with fear in his eyes as if George would hold him responsible. Maybe he does. What do I know about the inner workings of them.
Stabbed?
Everyone's gazes falls to Nate's side, where he's holding himself.
"How the hell did you get stabbed?" George addresses his boss, the momentary anger gone.
"Hank," Nate grunts.
"Hank? What—" Eyebrows scrunched, George turns to me as if I know what happened.
How would I know? I take a step forward, shouldering the poor pilot—who looks like he’s about to piss himself any second—out of the way.
"Let me have him. I'll take care of Psycho-brother-in-law," I say, unable to stop myself from using my nickname for him. I grasp at anything that makes me not feel like floating in a dark void, and taking a verbal stab at Nate briefly does it for me. He's my connection to Lilly.
"You're funny, little brother-in-law." Nate chuckles then winces. "Fuuuuck."
"Come on, I gotcha."
Nate shifts his entire weight on me, and I brace his body as we make our way to the closest living room.
George breathes down my neck, followed by Denielle and Wes both staring like they're watching Alien vs. Predator about to battle it out. I guess I can't fault them for that. This is the first time I've been face to face—in person—with the guy who kidnapped Lilly. Twice. But as we hobble toward the couch, several things register in my brain. My anger and resentment toward this man are gone. I don't know if it's temporary or if both of us losing the one person we care most about has shifted things. We'll have to wait and see.
Panting—the dude is fucking heavy dead weight—I deposit him on the couch. Half sitting, half lying on the sectional, I take a seat close to Nate, but not too close to be in his personal space. George sits down on the small coffee table right in front of us and leans forward, reaching for the hem of Nate's shirt.
My father is standing behind George, watching the scene with a frown.
