46. Thea
46
THEA
Fatigue hit me like a Mack truck as Shep carried me into the kitchen. “I can walk.”
“Nope,” he muttered.
“Shep…”
“Just give me this, Thorn. Need to know you’re okay.”
A sigh left my lips, but I burrowed my face into his neck. It was more than just knowing I was okay. Shep wanted to make sure I wasn’t bailing on him. A stab of guilt hit me straight in the solar plexus.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered against his neck. “I promise.”
Shep slowly lowered me into a chair at the kitchen table. As he released me, his hands came to my face, and his thumbs ghosted under my eyes as if searching for any remnants of tears. Then they trailed lower, over the curve of my cheeks, one to my bottom lip and the other down my neck. It was as if he was memorizing the feel of me.
“I know.”
His gaze flicked down to my lap, and he frowned. He grabbed one of my hands, lifting it for his inspection. There were smears of blood on my palms, along with crescent moon-shaped wounds. “What happened?” His finger ghosted—featherlight—over the injuries.
I winced. “I think I did it when Brendan came into the bakery. I didn’t realize I’d broken the skin.”
A muscle along Shep’s jaw fluttered wildly. “Stay here.”
His voice had gone gruff, all Mr. Control. But I didn’t argue. I was too exhausted to move anyway.
A few seconds later, Shep reappeared with countless items in his arms. He set them on the table and then moved to the sink to wash his hands.
I studied the array of goods. Hydrogen peroxide, ointment, Band-Aids, gauze, tape. “It’s not that bad. I can just wash my hands?—”
Shep turned to me as he dried his hands, cutting off my words with a look. “We don’t want them to get infected. And if I remember correctly, you did the same thing for me.”
I snapped my mouth closed as he strode across the small kitchen and pulled out a second chair. The scent of cedar and sawdust swirled around me, soothing more than any ointment ever would. Because it was Shep.
Sitting, he picked up a piece of gauze and coated it in hydrogen peroxide. Then he took one of my hands in his, palm up, and studied the wounds. “I’m so sorry this happened.”
“Shep—”
He swept the gauze across my palm. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“You can’t be with me every moment of every day,” I said softly.
“I want to be.”
“Shepard…”
The use of his full name had Shep looking up.
“That’s not the answer. Being together twenty-four-seven isn’t healthy for either of us.”
His mouth turned down in a frown. “I don’t want him to blindside you again. Don’t want him to get you alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. And I never will be. Because I carry you here.” I pressed my free hand to my heart, not caring if I got blood on my shirt. “You’ve made me realize my own strength, my bravery. You’ve made me a fighter.”
“Thorn,” he whispered.
“It’s true. And I know Brendan. He won’t risk doing something publicly. He’ll do it behind the scenes.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Shep gritted out.
“You can’t control what he does or doesn’t do. We just have to deal with whatever happens.”
Shep’s amber eyes lifted to mine. “And we’ll do it together.”
Warmth spread through me at that. “I love you.”
His mouth curved. “Love hearing those words on your lips.”
“Better get used to it.”
Shep returned his focus to my hands, cleaning each wound and coating them in the thick ointment before covering both my palms with massive Band-Aids.
“Don’t you think this is a little much?” I asked.
He glowered at me. “We’re not taking any chances.”
I knew he meant it as much more than a possible infection on my palms. I opened my mouth to assure him that I was okay when a knock on my door cut me off.
My body reacted on instinct, pushing from my chair, muscles tensing.
Shep curved around me in an instant. “It’s Trace. I called him on my way over here.”
The tension left me on a single exhale. Trace. Not Brendan. Everything was okay.
Shep’s lips ghosted over my temple. “You’re safe.”
“I know.”
Shep didn’t release me right away, and I knew it was a battle when he finally did. I could feel the tension thrumming through him. But when the second knock sounded, he moved for my front door.
“Thanks for coming,” Shep said as he ushered his brother inside.
Trace moved down the hallway toward the kitchen, his gaze missing nothing as it did a quick sweep of me and my surroundings. “I’m so sorry this happened, Thea. ”
“Me, too,” I said. “Do you want a drink or?—?”
“I’ll get them. You sit,” Shep ordered.
I stuck out my tongue at him. “Bossy, much?”
Trace chuckled. “He always has been. Tried to boss me all the time when we were teenagers. Even though I was older.”
“You narced on me the one time I skipped class in high school,” Shep shot back.
Trace grinned as he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “Payback’s a bitch.”
I looked back and forth between the brothers. They had the kind of closeness I’d always craved growing up. And now, with time, I knew I’d be a part of it, too. I’d have funny stories with the Colsons, inside jokes. All of that was worth fighting for.
Shep slid the pitcher of lemonade I’d made yesterday onto the table along with three glasses and a platter with cheese and crackers. He took the chair next to mine and pushed the snack plate toward me. “You need to eat something.”
I grabbed a cracker to appease him, but when I looked up, it was to find Trace studying me and Shep. His expression was a mixture of happiness and longing. I didn’t know much about his previous marriage or why it had come to an end, but it was plain to see that he missed the sort of closeness that Shep and I shared.
That longing had my heart aching for the man who was so incredibly kind. It had to be hard to be so focused on taking care of your daughter and the town, but not to have someone giving that care back.
Trace cleared his throat. “I have to ask, did Brendan make any threats against you when he came into the bakery?”
The little bit of cracker I’d eaten soured in my stomach. “He just said that it would be a shame if people found out about The Mix Up’s poor service and that he’d be seeing me. That’s his version of a threat.”
Shep’s knuckles bleached white as he gripped his glass tighter. “There has to be something you can do. He’s stalking her.”
Trace scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “For an order of protection, we need to prove threats were made.”
“He’s torturing her,” Shep growled .
“I know,” Trace assured him. Then he turned back to me. “Anson was able to get me the LAPD’s records on the case. They won’t know who pulled them or why, but at least this way I can see what evidence was gathered.”
My stomach twisted as I remembered all the fruitless conversations with officers in LA, all the times I’d been made to feel that everything that had happened was my fault.
“They did a crap job of thoroughly looking into things,” he went on.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered.
“Anson has Dex on it now. He’s going to see if he can find any proof that links Brendan to the cyber-attacks against you.”
I straightened in my chair. “Do you think that’s possible?”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I’d given up on Brendan ever being brought to justice. I just wanted him to go away. But having him live with the repercussions of his actions? Having the world know the truth? That was more than I’d ever dared hope for.
“If anyone can do it, Dex can,” Trace said. “Anson’s told me about what he does for the FBI. The guy has serious skills. And I definitely wouldn’t want to cross him. He’s got a finely honed need for justice.”
Shep’s eyes narrowed on his brother. “You mean he’s a vigilante.”
“That would be the word. But he’s a vigilante on our side.”
Shep jerked his head in a nod. “You tell him we’ll get him whatever he needs.”
“Shep—”
He turned back to me, his hand going to my face and cupping my cheek. “Brendan is done tormenting you. And he’s going to get what he deserves. I’ll make sure of it.”
My stomach bottomed out. As much as I wanted Brendan to be served a healthy dose of justice, I knew what he did to people who crossed him. He ruined them.