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Ray could imagine it. It both wrenched his heart and made him love Macey even more.
“Thank you for being there for her.” His words were too stiff, but he didn’t know how to let down his guard without pulling her close and begging her to love him. Pulling her close was why his brother had almost died and would be sedated for days and have to go through painful treatments and surgeries for months, not to mention being scarred the rest of his life.
His twin wouldn’t look the same as him anymore. That was a dagger to his heart.
“Of course.” She folded her arms across her chest and then burst out, “Ray, I’m so sorry. If we wouldn’t have been … I’m sorry for Tristan, for you, for your family.”
Ray forced himself to meet her gaze and to breathe evenly. “It’s not your fault. This is all on me.” He steeled himself from the inside out and kept his expression as blank as he could. He was responsible. He had to keep everyone safe. How had he failed again?
She swallowed and searched his gaze, but said nothing.
“We’re in your debt for catching Jobe. Thank you.”
She nodded tightly.
Ray couldn’t stand here much longer, close to her, looking at her, and not lose all control. He wanted her to hold him while he cried like Kiera had, but he wasn’t a child. He was the general of Augustine. A prince. A man who was strong and tasked with keeping the kingdom safe.
“Now that T is no longer being threatened …” He paused, not sure where he was going with this or if he should even go there. “And since we’ve found nothing that gets us any closer to finding Mum’s murderer …”
Her eyes widened and then got bright.
Please don’t let her cry.
“That makes sense,” she rushed to say, blinking quickly. “You don’t need me posing as Tristan’s fiancée any longer. I’m grateful the threat is gone. I’ll keep researching from San Diego and let you know if I find anything helpful with the murder.”
He stared at her. Was she saying … she wouldn’t really just go back to America. That hadn’t been what he meant. Had it? If she wasn’t here, at least he wouldn’t have to battle within himself every second. The torture of seeing her with T and knowing he’d never be with her would be gone. But that was selfish. Kiera needed her. His family needed her. He needed her.
“I appreciate that,” he heard himself say in a stiff, horrible voice.
She searched his face for a few heart-wrenching moments, then she spun and hurried out the exterior doors.
Ray watched her go. He should chase after her.
He clenched his fists.
What would that accomplish, besides more pain for both of them?
Ray sank into a chair. And he felt tears trail down his face.
He was strong. He had to protect his family and his kingdom.
But he was an absolute mess without Macey.
Ray made it through the next ninety-eight hours. Somehow. If one more person asked, ‘Where’s Macey?’ he’d implode. Poor Kiera. Malik had held her in the waiting room like a small child when she heard Macey was gone and started sobbing all over again. She wanted Macey, Lisa, and her mum. She cried so hard she threw up the red cream soda Malik had bought her.
Ray’s gut churned at the memory. He’d let Macey go and hurt all of them. Had he sent her away? Was it all his fault? Why had he been too weak to beg her to stay? Not for him, but for Kiera, for their family, for T.
Luckily, the media didn’t know she was gone yet. From what Ray had seen, they were consumed with T’s near-death bombing and assuming his fiancée hadn’t left his side at the hospital. Impressively, none of the nurses or doctors had leaked the truth.
He’d spoken with Sutton. Macey was ‘home safe’ in Sutton’s words. The man had been very stiff with him. Probably blamed him for hurting Macey. Ray blamed himself, hated himself. It was for the best that she was gone, but it hurt. Would T’s burns hurt as bad as the pain inside Ray’s chest?
He sat next to T’s bed late Sunday night, listening to the monitors beep and whoosh, when quiet footsteps sounded outside. Curtis had left his mountain, come late the first night, and Derek had made it the next day. They’d all been in and out of the room, hoping and praying for T.
Tonight, everyone else was at Steffan’s large home that was luckily close to the hospital. They were all resting. Malik was planning to come at two a.m. and send Ray to the house to rest. Ray didn’t want to leave T’s side. They weren’t sedating T any longer, hadn’t been for almost eight hours. Ideally, he could wake any time.
Looking over his brother’s face, he hated the red, angry, puckered skin. T’s face was swollen—raw and oozy and fleshy. He didn’t look like Ray’s handsome, charismatic, accomplished, teasing, princely brother.
They’d flown in burn specialists from the United States, and the man and woman were doing everything they could for T. There would be scarring, and it would take time, but they promised he’d return to full activity.
