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If I were the universe, I would have thought this through a little better. Me? WillI’ll make you wish you were deadLeblanc? I can’t possibly be the man for the job.
It’s bullshit, though. I wouldn’t have thought a damn thing through. I’ve been fucking this up since day one.
And none of that matters. None of it. I’m the one with a very sick woman in my arms and her two siblings standing there, waiting for the adult in the room to announce that we have a plan and everything is going to be fine.
So. A plan.
We need to set parameters. First, I am not staying in this place. My team of people made this apartment as nice as it could be for Bristol and her family, but the complex as a whole won’t work for me. If Bristol needs an ambulance, they won’t hurry.
Plus, this is a magnet for shitty people. Not Bristol, obviously. People like that bastard with his gun. I made it as clear as I could that nobody should come around here. I have rotating security. It’s not enough. I want the odds of the twins having to watch me maim another foolish prick to be zero while Bristol gets better.
Because sheisgoing to get better.
She’s just not going to do it at a shitty public ER where they’re going to put her on a bed in some hallway and forget about her. They wouldn’t let me stay with her, either, because we’re not related. There’s no ring on her finger, and no ring on mine. I can lie about being her husband all I want, but I have no hard proof.
No. Fuck no. No thinking about that now. I can’t even begin to let that rage surface. I don’t know what it’s about, anyway. The fact that I’m not her husband, or the fact that I’m never going to be?
Not the point.
What I’ll do is take her to my place. Nobody can get in there. It’ll be safe for the twins. They won’t have to spend hours waiting in triage in a run-down emergency room. I won’t have to kill anyone where they can see.
Bristol can rest. I’ll call a private doctor to come see her. There’s a guy I’ve called to set broken ribs and put stitches in when fights at the warehouse get vicious. Called him a couple times for other things, too.
My heart misses a beat. It’s out of sheer terror, I think. Nobody in their right mind would let me be responsible for children. I could fuck this up.
There’s nobody else,a voice like Sinclair’s comments. I can just see that motherfucker shrugging, looking all calm, like he knows what he’s talking about.You’ll be okay.
Fuck. I guess he does know what he’s talking about.
Whatever, Sinclair. I’m not handing them over to some stranger. Bristol wouldn’t want me to.
There. That’s the plan.
My nerves disappear.
That’s the thing about being in a crisis. Doesn’t really matter what kind it is. A guy the size of a mountain in the ring. A high-stakes business deal. There’s no room to break down. You can only step up.
This won’t be a crisis for very long. I’m going to change it, starting now.
“Ben.”
His eyes get wider. “Is she going to die?”
“No. She’s going to be fine. Bristol needs some rest, and probably some medicine. That’s all. It’ll be easier to take care of her at my place, so that’s where we’re going to go. You brought your backpacks in from the car?”
“Yes,” they both say at the same time.
“Okay. Put a couple sets of clothes in your backpacks. Two outfits, plus pajamas.”
“What about my books?” Mia watches me with an intensity that reminds me of Emerson. “Can I bring that, too?”
“Yeah. Bring your books. Your top two favorite things. Pack light, because we’re getting out of here in five.”
Mia’s gone in a flash. Ben starts to go after her. He looks relieved as fuck until he gets to the kitchen door. Then he turns back, his brow furrowed. “Mr. Leblanc.”
“You can call me Will, Ben. It’s okay.”
“Will.” He grimaces. “Bristol’s going to be mad when she finds out what we did.”
