15 - Kodiak
15
Kodiak
—
The adrenaline wears off, but the lump in my throat remains. Even though this crisis has passed, it’s only the beginning of a long road to recovery.
For all of us.
It’s not just Frankie’s nightmares that twist me into knots of protective fury. It’s Monty’s hands on her. It’s his fingers stroking her hair.
It’s him.
I can’t believe she passed out with her head on his lap. Does that mean she trusts him?
No fucking way. She was panic-stricken and not in her right mind before exhaustion took her.
Every fiber of my being screams to rip her away, to shield her from the man who’s caused her so much pain. But a territorial pissing match isn’t what she needs right now.
Leo and I stand at the kitchen counter, uncertain how to proceed. We need her off the floor and settled somewhere comfortable, but the state of her fragile mind is worrisome. How will she react when she wakes?
Monty looks up at me, his expression creased with guilt and concern. It infuriates me that he has the power to affect her like this, to send her so deeply into a panic attack with a touch of his hands.
Hands that are still touching her.
I swallow my anger, knowing we must work together for her sake.
Teamwork. Fucking yay.
“We need to move her.” The pulse in Leo’s neck stands out, a rapid beat of turmoil. “She can’t stay on the floor.”
With a tight jaw, Monty nods.
“Let’s get her to the couch.” Leo bends down to gather her in his arms.
“I’ll carry her.” Monty shifts, careful not to disturb her.
I want to protest his involvement, to intervene, but I know it would only cause more chaos. For now, I have to let him lead, no matter how much it burns.
He slides his arms beneath her, lifting her with a tenderness that momentarily softens my anger.
We maneuver as a unit, a fragile alliance forged by necessity. Monty escorts us out, holding my entire world against his bare chest.
Leo and I follow, our eyes never leaving her. I watch Monty’s every move, ready to break his teeth if he causes her more distress.
The maze of hallways, excessive living spaces, and outdoor trails took a couple of days to memorize, but I know the layout of the property now. The next turn leads to the front entrance and…
A hint of cigarette smoke. The creak of wood flooring. Footsteps so light they aren’t meant to be heard.
I grab Monty’s elbow, silently halting him. His eyes dart to mine, and I hold a finger to my lips.
Leo, already sensing my alarm, stalks ahead and creeps around the corner.
The instant his hands relax, I do, too.
“What do you want?” he asks whomever lurks out of view.
“I’m looking for Mr. Novak.”
“You have an update, Carl?” Monty remains beside me, not showing himself.
Given the stab wound on his neck, it’s a smart move.
“Yes.” Carl clears his throat. “All media personnel and visitors have been escorted off the premises, and the island is now secure. We have completed a thorough sweep of the area and will maintain a vigilant presence throughout the evening. You can rest assured that there will be no further disturbances tonight.”
Frankie stirs in Monty’s arms, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
My protective instincts flare immediately, and I place a hand on her thigh.
“Thank you.” Monty dismisses the guard, tucking her closer.
As the sound of the front door shuts behind the guard, she looks around, disoriented and confused.
The clarity in her eyes isn’t there yet. She’s still fuzzy, trying to piece together where she is. I’ve been in her position. It’s a terrible feeling.
“What happened?” She doesn’t notice Monty’s bleeding wound, her focus too scattered to catch details.
My heart aches for her, and I know we need to be gentle.
“You had a panic attack. But you’re safe now. We’re all here.” I meet Monty’s eyes and shape my lips around a command. Couch.
She blinks, trying to absorb the information. Her lips tighten, and her hands shake as she grips his shoulders. The fear hasn’t fully dissipated.
When we reach the living room and she sees the couch, her body tenses.
“No…not the couch.” A sharp, panicked cry cleaves from her chest. “Not the couch.”
The fucking couch in Denver’s video. It needs to be set on fire.
“Okay, okay.” Monty turns away and steps in front of me to catch my attention. “It’s dark outside.”
He thrusts his chin at the nearby window.
Carrying her to the guest house after nightfall could trigger another panic attack, as it might remind her of the night she was abducted.
I exchange a quick glance with Leo. The distrust we feel for Monty is mutual, but right now, she needs safety and rest.
“Plenty of beds upstairs.” Leo veers toward the staircase, motioning for us to follow.
As we ascend to the second floor, I stick to Monty’s side to stay in her line of sight.
“I don’t remember…I don’t remember anything.” Her eyes dart around, trying to anchor herself to the present.
“It’s okay.” I lean in, softening my tone despite the frustration boiling underneath. “You don’t need to remember right now. Just focus on me.”
“Where are we?”
“You’re home.” Monty adjusts his hold on her and follows Leo into the first room. “You’re in the guest bedroom.” He sets her on the bed and brushes the hair from her face, taking too many goddamn liberties with his hands. “You’re safe. Just try to relax.”
I recognize the effort it takes for her to calm down, her breathing still uneven. It tears at me, especially since he’s in the damn way, hovering over her.
His presence is a necessary evil since I can’t kick him out of his own house.
“We’re here for you, Frankie.” I push down the resentment, keeping my voice soft. “Just take it easy. We’ve got you.”
Her gaze finally meets mine, and I see the gentle easing of recognition and relief. It’s a small comfort, but I’ll take it. We’ve been through hell and back, and we’ll keep fighting, no matter what it takes.
Slowly, she relaxes as she takes in her surroundings. But when her eyes drift back to Monty, she gasps. “Monty! You’re hurt!”
“It’s nothing.” The pain he’s ignored now pulses with renewed intensity, trickling fresh blood and twitching his eyes.
“That’s not nothing.” She reaches for him, gaining strength. “It’s a deep cut. What happened?”
He grimaces and looks to us for help.
We can’t lie to her. At the same time, we want to protect her from the truth.
“That’s a stab wound.” She climbs to her knees and positions him to sit beside her as she examines the injury. “Who did this?”
Her glare goes straight to Leo.
He coughs and stares at his boots.
I empty my expression.
She shoves back her shoulders. “I swear on the fires in hell, if you don’t tell me what happened, I’ll make sure you end up on life support, begging for every breath while I control the plug.”
“She’s back.” Leo’s lips twitch.
I grunt, hiding my amusement.
Goddamn, I love her viciousness.
“Woman, listen…” Stepping forward, I try to formulate the best way to tell her.
But Monty saves me from the task. “I sent you into a panic attack. It might’ve been a PTSD episode.”
“I don’t have PTSD.”
“We don’t know that.” Pressing his palm against the cut on his neck, he walks her through what happened in the kitchen.
When he finishes, she sits back on her heels, looking stunned, embarrassed, and ashamed.
“I’m so sorry.” She cups a hand over her mouth and slowly shakes her head. “I don’t remember. I don’t know why I would’ve—”
“Shhh.” Monty tugs her arm down, uncovering her face. “It’s not your fault. I triggered it. I shouldn’t have crept up on you. Blame me.”
“No. I won’t blame you.” Shadows of sorrow cloud her eyes as she peers closer at the wound. “You need stitches.”
He nods, knowing better than to argue with her in this state. “All right, but no hospital. We can take care of it here. There’s a first aid kit—”
“I know where it is.” Leo fixes me with a look, a wordless order to watch her, before leaving the room.
He’s familiarized himself with every inch of this estate, every item in every cabinet, including the attic space.
“I don’t remember any of it.” She stares at her hands on her lap, her eyes hazy and unfocused. “It’s a blur except for this feeling of…of being trapped.”
“Hey.” Monty sets a knuckle beneath her chin, lifting her face. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll call some psychiatrists in the morning and find someone who can make house calls to the island. We’ll get you the help you need.”
“I want Doyle.” She moves his hand. “No one else.”
“Who’s Doyle?” My brows knit.
“The psychiatrist she saw when her mom passed.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I don’t like him.”
“You don’t like him because he’s attractive.” Her eyes flash with annoyance.
“Now I don’t like him.” I frown.
“Great,” she mutters.
“I don’t like him because I don’t trust him.” Monty straightens. “He’s too friendly with you, too eager to make you dependent on him.”
“God forbid I have a friend.” She throws her hands in the air. “You don’t trust anyone. Doyle knows my history. He understands me. And he doesn’t keep my unfinished drinks on his nightstand for nine months.”
He flinches but quickly recovers. “This isn’t about me. It’s about finding someone who can genuinely help you, not someone who wants to fuck you.”
“What?” She clambers from the bed, eyes on fire. “You think everyone with a dick wants to fuck me.”
“They do.”
“Are you hearing this?” She turns her anger on me.
If this Doyle guy wants to fuck her, I’m taking Monty’s side. But for now, I withhold my judgment and say nothing.
That only incenses her more, and she whirls back on Monty. “You’re so damn controlling. I need someone who can actually connect with me, not dictate what’s best for me.”
“I’m trying to protect you, darling.”
“I’m not your darling.”
“I want what’s best for you.” He grinds his teeth. “Even if you can’t see it right now.”
“And what do you think is best for me?” She pins him with the force of her glare. “You?”
He glares right back.
The room vibrates with the intensity of their argument, both of them too stubborn to back down.
Time to defuse the situation.
“You, back in bed.” I grip her arm, steering her there. “And you.” I point at Monty. “Shut the fuck up.”
He growls.
“Focus on getting through tonight.” I stand over him, folding my arms. “The rest will wait until morning.”
Leo returns with the first aid kit, instantly sensing the tense atmosphere.
“What’s going on?” He hands the kit to her.
“Nothing.” Her shoulders slump, her anger giving way to exhaustion. “Just Monty being… Monty .”
Monty releases a slow breath and pushes off the bed. “I’ll do this myself.” Grabbing the medical kit from her, he charges to the door.
“Wait.” She sits up, her movements shaky but resolute. “Stop. Please. I’m sorry.”
He reaches the threshold, not stopping.
“Always walking away from me,” she whispers under her breath.
At that, he pauses.
Turning back to her, he looks like he’s about to explode. “Frankie, I’m not—”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” She pats the mattress beside her. “Sit.”
Long seconds pass before he returns and sits beside her. “No stitches. Use the butterfly closures.”
“I disagree, but whatever.” Bracing a hand on his shirtless chest, she leans in with an intimacy that makes my skin crawl.
Her attention on his wound is all business, but her face drifts too close to his. I don’t like the way his lips part or how intensely he studies her.
I don’t like any of this.
Leo watches them with mayhem in his eyes, restlessly chewing on his thumbnail.
I know he’s waffling on whether to stay out of it or throw Monty through the wall. I’m leaning toward the latter, even if I can kind of understand Monty’s side of the argument.
I’m out of my element here. Emotions like this, the rawness of the fight and the need for comfort, are foreign to me. I only know abuse, fear, and manipulation. There was nothing normal or sane about my upbringing.
The only healthy relationship Leo and I have experienced is with her, and we’ll kill anyone who threatens it.
Sensing our unease, she looks up and quickly lifts her hand from his chest. “Everything is fine. Monty and I just have different ways of seeing things.”
“He upset you.” I crack my knuckles.
“Okay, but I upset him, too. Our disagreements don’t involve kin punishment or any kind of violence.” She makes a face. “The hole in his neck notwithstanding.”
“Yeah, I get that.” I feel a pang of something I can’t quite identify.
Respect, maybe. They butted heads without drawing blood.
“Emotions are all over place.” Her hands are steady as she opens the kit and gathers the supplies. “We’ve been dealing with detectives and reporters for three days. I haven’t really faced what happened over the past nine months, and I guess…” She shrugs. “I freaked out.”
“You had a panic attack,” Monty says quietly yet firmly.
“Hold still. This will sting.” She applies the antiseptic.
He lets out a sharp hiss.
“Butterfly bandages won’t work on this.” She cleans the cut with gentle precision, her laser-sharp focus telling me she compartmentalized her own pain to deal with Monty’s. “It’s still bleeding. The edges are jagged, and it’s so deep I can see down to your shriveled-up heart.”
“Then you can see the scars you left there.”
“Not through all the ice around it.”
His face hardens. “Use the bandages or fuck off.”
“Watch the way you talk to her.” Leo stalks forward.
“No.” She points at him. “Stay back. We’re just bickering.”
“You don’t need this, love.” Leo takes another step. “You took a huge emotional hit downstairs. You can barely sit up. You’re white as a ghost, and he’s fighting with you.”
“We’re arguing .” She sighs.
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
Monty glances at Leo. “The woman loves to argue.”
“I do not.”
“See?”
“Arguing is a productive form of communication.” She takes a breath. “As long as there’s respect on both sides, it helps everyone express their differing perspectives and clear up misunderstandings.” She meets Monty’s eyes. “And maybe find one thing we agree on.”
“Was any of that directed at us?” Leo asks me.
“No.” I cross my arms. “That was her passive-aggressive way to keep arguing with him.”
She flips us off.
Monty chuckles.
“Laugh it up, jackass.” She tosses aside the butterfly bandages and snatches the medical kit. “You’re getting stitches.”