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Taking my phone off the charger, I dialed the number for their anonymous voicemail from memory. When they were busy, it could be a few days. Still, they could access it from anywhere in the world. As soon as the option for a message came up, I selected it.
“I need help,” I said, not bothering with codes. “Call me when you get this.” Then I rattled off my number.
Pushing off the bed, I headed into the bathroom with the phone in hand. I hadn’t spent that much time in Little Bit’s space, yet there were touches of her everywhere. Her old room had been generic, save for the painting Rome made for her and the bear—I glanced back into the bedroom.
The bear was sitting on the nightstand right next to the bed, lovingly placed. The ratty old thing was probably one of Rome’s most prized possessions. The fact he’d given it to her the day she arrived said a lot about his feelings even then.
The organic splashes of color against the softer shades made the room feel more like an artist’s palette. There were touches for her dancing, for films, and touches like the bear. The photos on the dresser were another personal touch. While the shower heated up, I walked over to study them.
The one from Steph’s birthday raked right through my soul—everyone was in it except Little Bit. She’d taken the photo. It was Steph in the middle, surrounded by all of us making various faces. My gaze fixed on the happiness shining in Steph’s eyes though. It practically beamed out of her.
Surrounded by her success stories, the kids had always meant so much to her. She lived, and—I closed my eyes, sucking in a deeper breath. She lived, and she died for them.
For me.
With care, I put the photo back into place. There was one there of Milo and Little Bit when they were children. That had to have come from Milo. That baby…fuck, I’d carried her out of that place and taken her and Milo to Steph.
She’d been such a gregarious baby, sunshine to Milo’s more somber temperament. The sunshine was still there, hidden under layers of muck the world had flung upon her. That her uncle had tried to suffocate her under.
Eyes aching, I straightened it and then frowned at the one tucked into the back. It was of me. I had no idea when she snapped it, but my arms were crossed and I appeared less than impressed.
If I had to guess, this would have to be me listening to Jasper threaten me or rail on about something. I couldn’t even tell where we were in the photo, but I could imagine the exasperation and me shaking my head.
“I see you, Little Bit,” I murmured as I set the photo down. I saw her in all the images. Including the one of her and Freddie with their cheeks pressed together as they crossed their eyes and stuck out their tongues.
Absolutely ridiculous. But perfect for them both.
Despite the urge to look further, I forced myself into the shower. I needed to wash off the last couple of days. I needed to clear my head. I needed the plan forming in my head to coalesce.
Stripping down, I rubbed the left side of my chest. The rough layer of scarring under the tattoo hid the ache as I stretched the muscles. The nerve damage left some areas sensitive, while others were deadened to stimulation.
The shower didn’t take long. The shampoo and soap smelled like Little Bit. It soothed some of the jagged ends that couldn’t quite close over the gaping wound in my heart.
A part of me couldn’t believe I hadn’t bled to death from it yet. Trauma response. It didn’t matter how familiar I was with it. The trauma response kept me moving. Fight or flight.
Fuck, I wanted the fight.
There was only one toothbrush, so I used my finger to do a sketchy scrub with the toothpaste before rinsing out my mouth. Towel around my hips, I slid back into her room and glanced around.
Clothes sat on the dresser. A note sat on top of them. “Jasper had some stuff that should fit. We can go get your things later when you’re up for it. E.”
I dragged on the jeans, followed by the shirt. My leg protested. The muscles ached and so did my knee. The lack of regular exercise the last few days was throwing me off.
I needed to get to some liniment and stretch before I was too stiff to be useful to fucking anyone. The phone rang in the bathroom and I picked it up on the second ring.
“Hey, Doc,” Alphabet’s familiar voice was a welcome sound. “When and where?”
Bracing my knuckles against the counter, I bowed my head. “You guys have the time?” They had their own jobs, their own work.
“We’re making the time,” Bones said. It had been a while since we talked. Didn’t change the notes of the challenge as he spoke. Whether they had a job or not was irrelevant. They made their own schedule. Bones had always disliked authority. Not a great quality in the Army—or so they said.
“You said you needed help.” This was Lunchbox, his Irish accent more pronounced. Growing up a military brat, he’d lived all over the world but spent seven years with his grandmother in Ireland. The Irish stuck. “Tell us where, and we’re on the way.”
“Already would be there,” Voodoo threw in on the edge of a yawn, “but someone just said call and didn’t give us coordinates.”
Dropping my chin, I leaned back against the wall. I’d known they’d come. Known they’d back me. That was what we did.
“Braxton Harbor. Come to the clinic. Call me when you’re ten minutes out and I’ll meet you.”
