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"I...fuck." Rhys exhales a sharp breath. When he doesn’t say anything else, I lose all self-control.
My not-so-silent crying turns into uncontrollable panic. I rock back and forth while pressing the phone harder against my ear. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." I can't get anything else out other than my hysterical apologies.
"Fuck!" he curses. "Calla. Babe? Put Nate or George on the phone. Please." His tone is softer than before but detached at the same time.
He doesn’t even want to talk to me.
I hold out the device without looking who takes it. As soon as it’s out of my hand, my arms bend, and with my elbows pressing against my knees, my hands find my head, and my nails dig into my scalp.
"Yes?"
Nate has the phone.
Silence. "Did she sound okay to you?" Sarcasm drips from my brother’s question. "Yes." Deep breath. "George did everything he could without spooking the guy. He won’t meet sooner." Pause. "I get it, man. She is my sister." Longer pause. "We're taking care of her." Since when does Nate talk this civilly with Rhys? "This won’t make it go away. You get that, right?" More listening. "Mhmm. You get four days." This is more of a warning. "Friday. We'll be in touch as soon as George is back." Sigh. "I will."
I take in the conversation on this end without moving out of my balled-up position. Four days? What's happening on Friday? Suddenly, two arms pick me up behind the legs and shoulder blades, and I'm airborne. My eyes fly open, settling on Nate's face, and a squeak escapes my throat. My body is expecting the familiar pain to set in, but after a few steps, it registers. My back doesn't hurt—not like before. With all the emotional chaos, I didn't pay attention to my healing injuries. The physical tension leaves my body, and I cover my face with my hands. This is all too much.
My brother depositsme on a barstool at the kitchen island and places my phone in front of me. I'm numb. The panic, the fear, the guilt...it's all gone. Did my mind finally break completely?
Out of the corner of my eyes, George gets busy with the kettle, and a few minutes later, a steaming cup of Earl Grey is placed in front of me. My bodyguard remains leaning against the kitchen counter by the stove while Nate sits down next to me at the island, rubbing his hands up and down my spine.
"Rhys is asking for a break, baby sis."
My bottom lip begins to quiver, yet the emotion behind it is not there. It's like the connection between the limbic system and the rest of me is severed. When I remain mute, he continues, "You and I have put him through a lot the last few weeks. I'm as much to blame. We've been selfish assholes." A non-comical snort escapes him.
The rational part of my brain still works. He's right. I’ve only thought of myself—what I needed.
"The guy can only take so much, and as much as I tried not to like him, I do. And I get it. He loves you. He hasloved you forever. I would lose my shit, too, hearing what he did yesterday. Hell, I packed everyone on the plane without a real excuse and left them standing at the airport. And you’re only my sister, not my soulmate." Nate pauses, waiting for me to say something.
I can't. Rhys wants a break. It doesn't mean we're broken up. He loves me. It's just for a few days.
My brother continues, "I told him we would call him Friday after George gets back. That gives him time to collect his thoughts, and it gives us four days to find as many answers as we can, including who Francis-Fucking-Turner is. Then, you and Rhys will work it out. One way or another."
"You think he’ll still be there?" My voice sounds like a recording.
"He’s angry and worried, but he made me promise to tell you one thing."
I turn my head toward Nate, eyebrows raised.
"He loves you, and you're stuck with him."
Those few words bridge the gap between my body and my brain. It's like a wave of emotions crashes down on me, and I'm suddenly drowning. Sadness, guilt, anger, fear, worry... I can't filter through them fast enough.
I cover my mouth with my hands in an attempt to muffle my cries. Nate reaches out and pulls me close by the back of my head until my face is against his shoulder.
"Give him time," he murmurs next to my ear.
I nod against the fabric of his shirt.
He holds me until I regain some control and pull back. George is still in the same spot, watching me with a wrinkled brow.
"Okay. Let’s get to work, then." Nate lets go of me and gets up.
After forcingdown breakfast which consists of tea for me and half a gallon of coffee for Nate, he follows me to Brooks's office. He remains standing in the doorframe for several minutes before slowly setting one foot in front of the other.
Seeing him struggle to be in here, I hold my breath. I pick up a stack of paper from the floor. "Do you want me to bring everything downstairs? Or—"
"I'm fine." His words are clipped, and it's clear that he isn't.
