Chapter 36
Cece
Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. Swallowing hurt.
Even lying perfectly still on the stiff hospital mattress hurt.
But the physical pain was nothing compared to the knot of fear twisting in my stomach—not for myself, but for Edward and Lucia.
Their faces, bloody and terrified behind strips of duct tape, haunted me each time I blinked.
I hadn't seen them since Rafe had carried me from the penthouse.
I didn't know if they were alive or dead, and the uncertainty clawed at me worse than the bruises around my throat.w
I forced my eyes open, blinking away the dull haze of pain medication.
Rafe stood at the window, his broad back to me, shoulders rigid beneath his wrinkled dress shirt.
Even from behind, I could sense the barely contained rage coursing through him—it was there in the tense set of his spine, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
"Edward," I croaked, my voice nothing but a painful rasp. "Lucia."
Rafe turned immediately, crossing the room in two long strides. The look on his face would have taken my breath away if I'd had any to spare. He reached for my hand, careful to avoid the IV line and the bruises that flowered purple and blue against my skin.
"They're okay," he said. "They're being treated in another wing. Edward has a concussion and some facial lacerations. Lucia's right arm is broken, but they're both stable."
My eyes filled with tears of relief. "I need to see them."
"Cecelia." Rafe's fingers tightened around mine, gentle despite the tension radiating from him. "The doctor said you need to rest. Your wrist is fractured and you have severe bruising around your trachea."
"I don't care." I tried to push myself up on my elbows, wincing as pain shot through my wrist. "They were hurt because of me. I need to see them."
Rafe placed a hand on my shoulder, easing me back against the pillows with a touch so tender it made my chest ache. "They're family," he said, the words simple but loaded with meaning. "They know you'd be there if you could. And they wouldn't want you hurting yourself more."
Family. The word settled over me like a blanket.
"At least tell me that man is locked up," I whispered, throat burning with each word.
A muscle jumped in Rafe's jaw. "He's in custody. Mac is personally overseeing the case."
Before I could ask more, the door swung open and a doctor entered.
"Mrs. de Luca," she said, her gaze moving from my chart to my face. "I'm Dr. Warner. How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been strangled and thrown around my apartment," I replied dryly.
"Well, your X-rays show a hairline fracture in your right wrist. We've set it in a brace rather than a cast to allow for some mobility.
" She tapped the tablet screen. "The bruising around your neck will look worse before it looks better, but fortunately, there's no permanent damage to your trachea.
You'll be hoarse for a few days, and swallowing might be uncomfortable. "
"What about her head?" Rafe asked, his eyes never leaving my face. "He slammed her against the wall."
Dr. Warner nodded. "The CT scan showed a mild concussion.
Nothing too serious, but you'll need to take it easy.
No strenuous activity, limited screen time, and plenty of rest." She turned back to me.
"I'd like to keep you overnight for observation, but given your stable condition, you can be discharged today if you'd prefer.
As long as you're not alone and someone can monitor you for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. "
"She won't be alone," Rafe said immediately. His hand found mine again, interlacing our fingers like he couldn't bear not to touch me. "Not for a second."
"I want to go home," I said, then hesitated.
Home. The penthouse where I'd been attacked just hours ago.
The place where glass had shattered across marble floors, where blood had spilled, where Edward and Lucia had been bound and beaten because they'd had the misfortune of being there when my stalker decided to pay a visit.
Rafe seemed to read my thoughts. "We can go to a hotel," he offered softly.
I shook my head then immediately winced at the movement. "No. I want to go to our home." I met his eyes, needing him to understand. "I won't let that bastard take that from us too."
He nodded once, then turned back to the doctor. "We'll take the discharge papers."
Thirty minutes later, doped up on pain medication that dulled the worst edges of my discomfort, I sat in a wheelchair being pushed toward the hospital exit.
Rafe had disappeared briefly to handle the paperwork and make a few calls, leaving me with a nurse who chattered about the weather as if I hadn't nearly been murdered that morning.
When Rafe returned, he had a garment bag slung over one shoulder. "Clothes," he explained, seeing my questioning look. "Izzy dropped them off. Said there was no way in hell she was letting you leave in a hospital gown."
A lump formed in my throat at the mention of my friend. "How did she know?"
"I called her after they took you into emergency. She called Evie, who called Liam, who called Tristan..." He shrugged, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Apparently our friends drop everything when we need them."
In the car, Rafe drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh as if he needed the constant reminder that I was still there.
The pain medication made everything slightly fuzzy, but I was clearheaded enough to notice his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, the tightness around his eyes, the way he kept glancing at me like I might disappear if he looked away too long.
"I'm okay," I told him, covering his hand with my uninjured one. "I'm right here."
He exhaled slowly. "I know. I just..." His voice caught. "When I heard you scream and then the call cut off, I thought…I couldn't…" He broke off, jaw clenched tight.
"But you came for me," I reminded him. "You always come for me."
His fingers tightened on my thigh. "Always," he promised.
When we pulled up to our building, I braced myself for the wave of fear I expected to feel. But looking up at the sleek glass and steel structure, all I felt was determination. This was our home. I refused to let it be tainted.
Rafe came around to help me from the car, his arm sliding around my waist to support me. We moved slowly through the lobby, where the security team carefully watched us. In the elevator, I leaned into Rafe's solid warmth, drawing strength from his presence alone.
The doors opened onto our floor and we made the short walk down the hallway toward our door. But when it swung open, I stood frozen in disbelief.
Our penthouse was full of people. Not police or crime scene technicians, but our friends.
Tristan and Liam were sweeping up shattered glass, methodically working their way across the floor where I'd fought for my life just hours before.
Kate moved between rooms with garbage bags, directing the cleanup with the same efficiency she brought to managing Tristan's chaotic schedule.
In the corner, little Millie sat on a stool, carefully sorting through a box of unbroken items, her small face scrunched in concentration.
And there was Izzy, gathering the larger pieces of broken furniture. She spotted us first, her mouth opening to say something, but she was cut off by a cry from across the room.
"Cece!"
Evie stood frozen in the center of the foyer, a broom clutched in her hands, her pregnant belly straining against her sweater.
The moment our eyes met, she dropped the broom with a clatter and rushed toward me, moving faster than I would have thought possible in her condition.
Before I could warn her about my injuries, she'd enveloped me in a fierce hug that sent pain shooting through my ribs and wrist.
I bit back a whimper, unwilling to pull away from the comfort of my sister's embrace despite the discomfort. Tears streamed down her face as she finally pulled back to examine me while her hands framed my face with such gentleness it made my heart ache.
"I'm okay, Evie," I assured her, though the bruises visible above the collar of my shirt told a different story.
"You stupid, brave idiot," she half-sobbed, half-laughed. "When Rafe called… I thought… we all thought—"
"I know." I caught one of her hands and squeezed. "But I'm still here. Still annoying the hell out of you."
She laughed through her tears, wiping at her face with her free hand. "We'll have quite the story to tell Mom and Dad when they get back from their tropical getaway next week," she said with a watery smile.
I groaned and looked at Liam, who'd moved to stand protectively beside his wife. "Can't you extend their stay by another week?" I begged.
"Already tried," he admitted. “But they’re not interested. Said they missed their daughters too much.”
Rafe's arm slid around my waist, his palm splaying against my hip in a gesture that was both possessive and supportive. He seemed unwilling to let me go, even surrounded by friends in our own home, and the warmth of his touch anchored me as more people moved forward to welcome us back.
Tristan clasped Rafe's shoulder in that silent way men have of communicating volumes without words. Kate hugged me carefully, mindful of my injuries in a way Evie hadn't been. Izzy punched Rafe lightly on the arm, then kissed my unbruised cheek.
"You look like shit," she informed me cheerfully. "But in a badass way. Very 'you should see the other guy.'"
I managed a smile that pulled at my split lip. "Thanks. I think."