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The safe house is forty-five minutes from the hospital, so the guys are currently briefing me on the finer points of my trial while we drive. It’s such an info dump that I know I’m not soaking it allin. Some of the details float off into nothingness. Maybe I’ll catch them later.
What I do snare, is a cognizance of the day Liam was shot. KORT had sent men to retrieve me, but due to the leak in the O’Reilly family with Deidre and Maureen, a couple of hit men were there for me too. That was the scuffling I heard in the woods afterMordred’sguy shot Liam. KORT apprehended me by knocking me out, but Wells helped deliver me to the hospital, where I was drugged. He was pissed off but resigned that it was the least of all the evils awaiting me. I didn’t imagine his voice or the fact that he was my masked man from so long ago.
I’m glad to know that the shot on Liam had nothing to do with the trial. While Wells was out with Ty and Gage, he’d gotten the call from KORT, alerting him that they’d be taking me when I returned to the house with Liam. Wells, Ty, Gage, and the men from KORT had unexpectedly walked into the ambush Deidre and Maureen set up. Thankfully, they had arrived in time to save Liam’s life.
I hear the regret in their arguments as they rationalize all the reasons this trial was what they deemed safest for me, all the reasons my mother agreed, and all the anguish it caused them despite knowing I was physically guarded. My heart felt so forgiving when I gripped on to each of them at the safe house, so grateful that they had shown up and their arms were snug around me again.
It’s still there, but the ache is too. The remembrance of begging for my husband and being told he didn’t exist. The grief, believing Liam was dead. The devastation of feeling betrayed and forsaken. I may know how to erase myself, but I’m not sure how to erase that pang.
While I silently lament in Wells’s lap, they continue cataloging events, including today’s rescue. O’Reilly was the one responsible for organizing a team to save my parents, so Wells was free to come for me. Neither of them was hurt beyond bumps and bruises from rough handling, although I’m sure my mother is traumatized.
When we pull into the hospital parking lot, I freeze, refusing tomove until my clarity is restored. Their gazes are all trained on me, waiting. I bite my lip, tears welling in my eyes, oscillating between an irresolute anger and beholden love.
“I’m all mixed up. I know I did some shitty things, considering you were all essentially doing as I asked. I wanted this seat, told you I could face the trial, begged you all to believe in me.” The first tears of contrition fall. “And I burned our fucking home to the ground, but then again,youhad sold my life. My most beloved memories.” My gaze flits to Wells. “You would’ve walked into a town you could be killed for returning to,for me,though. I wouldn’t have asked you to do that had I known.”
I whisk the anguish from my cheek as my face heats, my eyes scanning the men gaping at me. “I love you all so much. I have no right to hate you, too, but I do hate what KORT did to me. They may have pitted us against each other, and you all may have suffered, too, but you did ittogether. You had each other. I was alone. Sofuckingalone.”
It’s evident they aren’t sure how to respond when a jumble of croaked apologies and empathetic murmurs fill the cab of the truck. Wells clutches me against his chest, nose nuzzling my hair with a coarse, remorseful exhale.
I shake my head. “I’m not asking for apologies. I’m asking you to understand that I’m not quite the same. I have no idea how this shaped me, or what I’m feeling, or how to act. Just don’t give up on me.”
“To the ends of the earth,” Wells whispers, his raspy tenor eliciting goose bumps along my neck. “I love you exactly as you are, Little Storm. Always.”
The other three all straighten, mouths slack to counter, but it’s Ty who speaks first, his hand gripping my forearm with a compassionate squeeze. “Fuck no, Freckles. We’d never give up on you, no matter what. You never gave up on us.”
“Youfeltalone,” Gage adds, plainly affronted. “But wewerefucking there with you for every agonizing minute. Forced to fucking watch with our damn hands tied.”
That response makes me chuckle. Empathy isn’t Gage’s strong suit, but his devotion is clear all the same.
Liam’s brows reach for the heavens, his hazels twinkling beneath. “I’m gonna have to play the I-took-a-fucking-bullet-for-you card, High Society. There’s no walking away for me. Ever.” He tilts his head, arm hooked over the seat while his face scrunches in rumination. “We were all shaped by this, but that which doesn’t kill us …”
“Makes us stronger,” I finish.
It’s that sentiment propelling me forward as we trek into the hospital. In spite of the fiery sting in my chest and ribs, and the gnawing headache making everything teeter unsteadily, I refuse to be examined until I visit my parents.
My mother bursts into violent sobs the second I cruise through the door. All that anger I was harboring for her dissipates at the display of her pain and relief.Her love for me.
I croon a quiet, “It’s okay, Mom. I forgive you,” in her ear, which evokes a more dramatic wailing and a tighter hug.
On the ride here, Wells casually tagged my mother a victim. That candid judgment unraveled my rage toward her. She’s been at the mercy of KORT since I was first cradled in her arms, long before she understood any of this. Her entire motherhood journey has been tainted by wariness and fear and impossible choices. I can’t fault her for agreeing to disconcerting measures to keep me safe and close. It’s what my father would have asked of her, which is why she trusted Wells.
Surprisingly, as my father exchanges a sentimental hug with Wells, he seems to comprehend the powerful reunion between my mother and me, his eyes tracking our every movement. The sight of his awareness is so overwhelmingly heartening that when Wells steps away, I launch myself into my father’s arms, folding into him like I did when I was a little girl.His little girl.His right index fingercurls into my sweatshirt, his arm tugging me closer, a gesture requiring vigorous exertion for him—one that has tears flooding my eyes.
He’s really here with me.
I don’t waste the opportunity, my lips quivering through my deference. “Thank you, Dad. For it all. For everything you taught me, for all the tools you gave me, for the way you and Mom have loved me. I love you both so much. I’m safe, and I passed my trial because you believed in me and because you believed in Wells.” My gaze lands on my husband, who’s staring back at me with utter adoration. “Thank you for trusting him with me.”
My father’s glassy eyes flit between Wells and me, and he drones a melodic murmur in approval, the right corner of his mouth twitching with joy. The room—busting at the seams with my mom, the nurses, and my guys—erupts in a cheer, a symphony of rejoicing laughter and applause. I lay my head on his shoulder, snug in my father’s lap, spilling the happiest, most grateful tears I’ve ever shed.
When Dr. Barret arrives—the demented cocksucker who tried to convince me I was stuck in a coma hallucination—insisting I be examined, I snarl. Yep, like a savage beast. I don’t give a fuck that he works for The Order and was simply complying with a directive. I hate him.
But Wells and my mother poke and prod until I begrudgingly agree to be checked. Sliding off my father with a kiss on his cheek, I hug my mother and step into the hall, my gaze parking on Daniel O’Reilly.
Ignoring the grumbling doctor, I strut over to O’Reilly, meeting him toe to toe. “You saved my parents.”
“Of course I did,” he says, emotion swimming in the blues mirroring mine.
“Not of course.” I dab at the corner of my eye, collecting the drippings of my gratitude. I’ve had so many twisted-up thoughts about him these past couple of months, but that one simpleof courseunkinks them. “I know them taking me, raising me, hiding me is unforgivable in a way, no matter their intent. I’ve thought a lot aboutit. You have every right to hate those two people in there for what they stole. A lesser person may have believed they got what they deserved when they were captured and left them there.”
