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I didn’t blink the entire time he spoke. It was rare for Stefan to admit something so vulnerable.
“I don’t think my daughter is gone, but I do think she’s been changed by what she’s been through.” He stepped toward the door. “You should get some more rest.”
After he left, I just lay there, and I braced myself for things I knew it was time to face.
CHAPTERNINE
Around dinner time, Brenna came to see me. She stood in the doorway with a tray in her hands. “Hey.”
I sat up in bed and gestured for her to come in.
Her posture was a tiny bit stiff as she walked in and placed the wooden tray over my lap. “Jeana made Grandma’s cottage pie.” She announced that as if it would cheer me up.
I stared down at the tray of food and I found that it didn’t. Noticing Brenna lingering, I glanced back up at her. She looked hesitant, like she had something to say.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier,” I said.
The tightness in her body seemed to ease. “I didn’t take it personally, Maura. I just didn’t know how to help you.”
“Is that why you went and got Stefan?” I wasn’t mad at her for doing it. I was just trying to understand why.
“I didn’t go get him.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Like he’s done every day, he came to check on you.”
Even though it made me uneasy, it probably had been for the best that it had been Stefan to help me through that moment.
“Unfortunately, when Stefan showed up,” Brenna said, looking like whatever she had to say next wasn’t easy, “Jameson was with him.”
That unease I felt multiplied in an instant. “What did he see?”
“When you told me to leave, I ran into them in the hall. They heard you crying before I could say anything. They both rushed into your room. Stefan took one look at you and told Jameson to get out. Jameson didn’t argue and as soon as he was in the hall, Stefan slammed your door shut. Jameson stood outside your door listening, and when you started screaming…” She trailed off with a sad look on her face. “He grabbed onto the wall as if he needed it to stay upright. And the more you screamed, the more upset he got. It was like hearing your pain was breaking him.”
I exhaled heavily.What a fucking mess.
“If it means anything, I don’t think you should worry about him using what happened as a way to control you,” she said.
“First Dean and now you,” I grumbled as I took my tray off my lap and laid it on the other side of the bed. The idea of eating wasn’t very appealing at the moment.
“I have always hoped you, Jameson, and Louie would make things right, but that has never meant that I’m not on your side. If you decide to kill them tomorrow and need help hiding the bodies, I’ll grab a shovel. So would Dean.” She gave me a small smile. “You also don’t see what we see. During the day, if Jameson’s not working for Stefan, he’s helping take care of Louie. Then he’s here all night helping with the baby. I don’t know when he’s last slept.”
Needing a break from the current topic, I deflected. “What happened right after I was taken?”
“It was chaos. A lot happened and very quickly. I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version.” She scooted farther onto the bed and sat facing me, cross-legged. “Dean and Asher chased after you and the Aryans. Jameson stayed behind with Louie and reported to Finn, Vincent, and me that Louie had been shot. We called EMS, but doctors from the hospital got to Louie first and took him into surgery right away. Detectives Cameron and Brooks took Jameson down to the police station for questioning in handcuffs. Finn, Vincent, and I stayed at the hospital with Louie. Not long after that, Dean and Asher returned without you. Dean was freaking out. He wouldn’t sit still. He paced the halls. We all voted that it was time to call Stefan.”
“Who was the one brave enough to make that call?” I asked.
She smiled. “I volunteered. I figured he was less likely to kill his young niece.”
As I stared at her, a little bit of guilt washed over me.
“What?” she said, her smile dropping.
Realizing that I wasn’t hiding what I was thinking very well, I schooled my face. “I forget sometimes how young you are.”
A look of understanding took over her face. “Jameson, Dylan, and Rourke all had to kill at sixteen. Even you killed at seventeen.”
“Mine wasn’t a test to see if I could do it,” I pointed out.
“No, it wasn’t,” she said sullenly. “As terrible as the circumstances were, it made you more badass than the guys because you went off and did that voluntarily. It feels like an obligation when it’s a test.”
