Chapter 3
Decker
“Hunter says he helped her. Saved her even. Brought her here.”
Like a broken record, I’m repeating every detail I know. It’s almost not worth the frustration that rises up each time I try to make sense of it aloud.
I’m not the only one rankled by Greedy’s presence and Josephine’s lackluster acknowledgment.
Kylian’s pacing.
Kendrick’s brooding.
Locke’s bouncing his knee, alternating between cracking his knuckles and turning his neck from side to side until it pops.
“Fifty-six,” Kylian informs us on his next pass, attention glued to his phone.
We said we’d give her an hour. If anyone expected any kind of buffer to that countdown, they’re going to be disappointed. Kylian’s been watching the clock on his phone so intently I’m not sure he’s even blinked.
“So what’s the plan?” Locke asks.
He looks at me, as they all so often do, but I’m at a loss. After the way Josephine basically recoiled when she saw us in her room… fuck. Knowing I caused her to react like that sends another kind of ache through me.
Josephine was taken, injured, admitted to the hospital, all because of her association with us. With me. To be the root cause of this situation, then to make it worse for her just by being near…
God dammit. This is all me. It’s on me. It happened because of me. The South Chapel asshats who took her did so to get to me—because they’ve seen us together, or they know she lives at the house.
The injustice of the scenario is cruel. She was only in that position because I forced her into it in the first place.
Any way it breaks down, this is my mess. My problem. My responsibility.
“We owe it to Josephine to get her out of here and help her work through any… fallout from this whole ordeal.”
I have no idea what that’ll entail, but I’ll see to it that Josephine wants for nothing and has every resource she needs to move past the trauma.
Care. Counseling. Extra time for her school assignments.
Financial support. There’s nothing I won’t do or give her, and yet it won’t be enough. It could never be enough.
“She’s here—in a damn hospital, recovering from who the fuck knows what—because those South Chapel douches thought they could get to us through her.
” Fisting my hands on my thighs, I suck in a deep breath to rein in the fury threatening to overtake me.
“I don’t care what Greedy says or what sort of savior role he thinks he’s going to play.
We need to get her out of here and get her home.
Do whatever it takes to make this up to her.
Then kick their asses and hand them their teeth on the field on Saturday. ”
Kylian grunts his approval, and Locke nods in agreement.
“You know his pops is big-time around here,” Kendrick offers, his elbows on his knees and one brow cocked at me.
That he is. I looked up Dr. Ferguson’s information on the hospital website when I arrived. He’s the chief physician at Lake Chapel General. Sounds more like an administrative gig, but still.
I eye Kendrick warily. This could go one of several ways with him. I knew he would be the hard sell. He’d like nothing better than to be done with Josephine and the fiasco that his text message started in the first place. We all know it.
He doesn’t know the extent of what she did for me a few weekends ago, though. Or what’s transpired between us since then.
The realization slams into me with the force of a roughing the player penalty hit.
She’s changed me.
She’s changed us.
In the weeks we’ve known her, she’s changed at least three of us in unexpected ways.
Even more surprising: I don’t want to go back to how things were before.
I want her fire. Her playfulness. Her sass. Her spark.
She calms Kylian like no one ever has.
She lifts up Locke when he’s down, peeling back the layers of pain and resentment he wears like armor.
She pushes me, tests the limits of my patience, and obliterates my sense of control. Who I am, how I carry myself, takes on a different shape when she’s near. I’m a rubber band that’s been stretched a little too far. Paint that’s been watered down until it’s a different color completely.
When I’m with her, I’m practically unrecognizable to myself. I should hate it. I should want nothing more than to get her out of our lives for good and forget she even exists.
Only I want the complete opposite. That’s the truth I’m beginning to accept. She’s worked her way into parts of me I didn’t think existed anymore. Warm parts. Soft parts. Emotions I’ve never experienced before bubble to the surface when I’m with her. That alone has significant implications.
Dr. Ferguson’s position has surely influenced the level of care Josephine is receiving. And probably the blind eye that’s been turned at the number of non-blood related visitors in and out of her room.
“You’re sure this isn’t part of some bigger scheme to get in our heads before the game on Saturday?”
I hold Kendrick’s gaze, searching for the heart of his question. Is he concerned about Greedy and Hunter pulling one over on us, or is he looking for any excuse to get rid of the girl?
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “But we’ve been a fucking mess since she went missing. All of us. I can’t even imagine what she’s been through or how this is going to play out. If we have a chance to get her back and make this right, we need to take it.”
“Fifty-nine,” Kylian declares, pocketing his phone. “It took thirty-eight seconds to walk from her room to here. I’m going back now, and none of you are going to stop me.”
His delivery is eerily calm and authoritative, albeit unnecessary. We all know better than to push. He’s clearly a man on the edge—none of us want to watch him tumble.
“I’m going, too,” Locke announces, rising to his feet.
He stretches his arms overhead and winces.
He tries to cover the reaction, tries to hide the pain.
It’s useless. I know him too well not to gauge his pain level from that move alone.
But I’ll let him conceal it for now. He knows damn well we’d all try to convince him to rest if he was up front about it.
Three days until game day, and we’re a mess.
I stand as well, looking from Kyl to Locke, then warily at Kendrick.
Hands still on his knees, he bows his head in a seemingly silent prayer. When he sits up and meets my gaze, his intentions are etched in every line of his face.
Without a word, I hold out a hand and pull him to his feet, slapping him on the shoulder once he’s upright.
“K, you don’t have to come with us if you—”
Kendrick cuts off Locke with a menacing glare.
“Is she your girl?”
Locke’s eyes widen, and he shoots a look at Kylian, then me. “Well, she…”
“She’s my girl,” Kylian declares as his phone alarm blares. He holds it up for emphasis before silencing it. The hour’s up. “She’s his girl, too,” he adds, jutting his chin toward Locke.
He doesn’t bother looking my way. I can’t make any sort of claim on her. At least not yet.
“Well, you’re my boys,” Kendrick reasons, nodding at me. “All of you. We’re a family. And family protects their own. Let’s go get our girl.”