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“Mom,” I state, because she would have already heard about it all by now. No doubt the media have even tried to call her to interview her on the matter. It is a wonder my cell isn’t blowing up, although given she is just fresh out of surgery, she is probably in no state to call.
“Well, there isn’t too much she can do from her hospital bed,” Ben says, and Tennyson rolls his eyes.
“Any word on when she will be released?” Tennyson asks, and it is a good question. She was meant to stay just for the one stent to be put in and should be home already, but she had a second one put in today, and now she is under observation again.
“I'll speak with Dr. Wilson. See if we can get an update,” Harrison says, his teething gritting.
My doorbell rings, and I know that is the food I ordered. Us boys have been here talking for the better part of a half hour, and I need to get back to Katie, who I am hoping is now a little more relaxed.
“Let’s go. We will regroup tomorrow,” Harrison says, standing, and my brothers grab their things.
“I haven’t said this yet, but I am proud of you, brother. I’ve never known you to punch anyone, but that right-hand jab today was one of the best ones I have seen,” Harrison says, grabbing my shoulder and giving me a squeeze before pulling me in for a full hug. I huff a laugh and squeeze him back, knowing my brothers all have my back, and I will always have theirs.
I see them out and rub my eyes. It is bedlam. The police are involved, and Harrison is making a statement. This whole thing is going to blow up into a media shitstorm. But I got the girl, and I will protect her at all costs.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX - KATIE
I lie in his arms, feeling warm, safe, and secure.
“I didn’t mean to bring you and your family into trouble, Eddie,” I say honestly, because this is the last thing I wanted. We have been talking all night. After the long soak and some warm soup for dinner, we climbed into his bed and have been talking while staring at the flickering flames of the fire ever since.
“You didn’t. Steve did when he decided he could put a hand on you and demand money from me,” Eddie says as my head rests on his naked chest. I can hear his heart thump a little faster as he talks.
His family is rallying. But it isn’t just money. It isn’t even just his name—although those things help. It is the contacts, the professionalism, the research and time and effort his family is putting in. Yes, they are protecting their name. Yes, they are protecting Eddie. But they are also protecting me.
“Why were you so concerned with my white sofa today?” he asks me, and I sigh, not sure I have the energy to dig up yet another ugly story from my past.
“Long story short, I stayed in a short-term foster home for a few weeks. The couple was childless, and they had a nice place with a white sofa. I was the first child they had ever fostered and the first child who ever set foot inside their home. Needless to say, they weren’t equipped for children. I was about eight, full of energy and spunk, and so I was always into things. I was messy,” I say, a small smile on my face as I remember the younger me. I had fire in my belly, even back then.
“You weren’t messy, you were a kid,” Eddie says, and I strum his bare chest again, soothing this new wild beast who is now my protector.
“Well, as I said they had no real experience with kids. They had me for about two weeks, I think, and every time I went to sit down, the wife would scream at me not to touch the sofa because I was dirty and she didn’t want me to ruin it. I guess it is kind of burned into my brain. Now, whenever I see a white seat, I hardly ever sit on it. Even though I am no longer that messy, vibrant child.”
“You can sit on our sofa and paint your nails while eating chocolate ice cream. I don’t care,” he says, and my strumming stops. Did he sayoursofa?
“I am not as messy as I was back then, so I think we are all good,” I reply, continuing my strumming again. His small spread of hair across his chest is fast becoming my second favorite part of his body. He is broad and strong, and my head and hands both fit across his torso perfectly, his skin soft to the touch, his muscles contoured and perfect. But my favorite place is still the nape of his neck. I love playing with his hair. It is soft, with a bit of a curl. Even when he slicks it back when in Edward Rothschild mode, I still want to rake my hands through it and mess it up a bit.
“So what is it about police stations that make you so uneasy?” he asks, and I am usually not this open about my life, having buried it so deep over the years and trusting no one with any information about myself or my past. But Eddie has firmly unlocked that security door I had shut tight, and now the words and memories flow out. It feels cathartic. I have seen a few counselors over the years. All have been helpful in some small way. But talking to Eddie like this feels like we are baring ourselves to each other. There will be nothing he doesn’t know, and I am not afraid to tell him everything.
“I have spent many nights in police stations…” I murmur, thinking of my past.
“Behind bars?” he asks, and I snort a laugh.
“No. I have no record, Eddie. But when you’re a kid in and out of foster care, there are not many places open to manage relocations in the evenings or on weekends. Nine to five is managed via the foster care agency, but outside of that, I would be dropped off at police stations, sit on the hard wooden bench or in a quiet small back office for hours until they found someone who could take care of me for the night. Sometimes, I would spend the night there. I often wondered if the police officers just forgot I was there. I heard and saw things in those stations that no child should ever really see. Mostly on busy Friday and Saturday nights. The police officers themselves were mostly nice, especially when I was young, but I really never want to set foot in another police station in my life. Because if I ever saw a child like me in there, waiting for a person to come so I had somewhere to sleep that night, I would probably adopt them myself.”
“The system really needs to change. There has to be a better way for kids in this country,” Eddie says, and I can hear his brain ticking over, thinking about it all. “But I am glad you are here with me now. I am glad that you were strong enough to endure it all and be here now.” Not for the first time, his honest words take my breath away.
“I don’t know what to say…” It all sounds heavy, and it is hard to wrap my head around it all even now, but I trust Eddie. His fingers caress my bare back in a soft rhythm, his touch soothing. We are both naked, nothing between us, our legs tangled in what could be best described as a postcoital snuggle, but we haven't had sex. Just talked all night.
“I want you to stay here with me for the foreseeable future,” he states, his voice solid, confident, and certain. I stay quiet, wanting to give the question the due diligence it requires. I know he needs me close, just as much as I need him. I have no hesitation. There is no question, no doubt that being with Eddie is exactly where I want to be. It surprises me a little that I don’t feel more scared, that I have been on my own and independent for so long and it only takes me mere seconds to decide. But Eddie is my future, I always hoped to meet a man like him, but now I have, and I know this is where I need to be.
“Okay,” I say, my eyes glazing over as I stare at the flames that continue to dance. I breathe out my fear. My fear of letting someone else take care of me. After years of not having that as a kid, I never wanted to feel let down again. But I know Eddie has got me, and I want to fall into him and never leave. I like it here. It feels like what I always thought a home would. Warm, soft, welcoming. We felt together and cocooned at my apartment, but this is different. The level of security I feel here is new. My apartment is secure, I know that, but here, we are so high up, accessed by a private elevator only, and it’s so well soundproofed that I can’t hear anything from outside. Just the crackling of the warm fire.
“You will have a few days off work. I have already called Dr. Wilson and explained,” Eddie says, taking care of so much while I soaked in the bath earlier. That time was much-needed.
“But I just started.” I am a little panicked. I need my job. How the hell will I pay my bills if I don’t have a job?
“I made sure he understood,” Eddie grits out, and I remain silent, knowing that he has taken care of it all.
