Forty-Four
FORTY-FOUR
Byron
SOMEHOW, I’D MANAGED to forget that my secret was well and truly out. In my defense, getting stabbed, having a gun pointed in your face, and then shooting someone in the chest tended to have that effect on a person’s memory.
“There’s nothing between Nat Bell and me,” I said weakly, hating the way my voice sounded like a sick old man’s. “We hooked up before I ever met Mia. I didn’t know who he was; he didn’t know who I was. End of story.”
If anything, I should be worrying more that Zalen knew about Tony. Don’t worry, it’s fine , Bea had said—but there was a goddamned reason I’d gone to such lengths to keep it from him.
Zalen was still focused on the Nat thing, though.
“You’re all right with him staying at the house while he recovers, then?” he asked, with studied innocence.
In fact, I was not all right with Mia’s husband staying at the house. I wasn’t remotely all right with it.
“Sure,” I said, because the alternative involved making a scene. If I made a scene, it would be a lot harder to maintain plausible deniability about how little those casual hookups meant to me.
“Great,” Zalen said with false cheer. “Now, about that nameless teenager...”
“You aren’t supposed to know about that,” I growled, still sounding like someone bound for a retirement home. “How about you forget whatever you think you’ve learned, and we never mention it again?”
I couldn’t truly picture Zalen dragging Tony back to his parents. Especially since Bea seemed so blasé about the whole thing. As long as he hadn’t told any of the others, we could pretend it had never happened. The poor kid only needed a few more months in hiding, and then he’d be free once and for all.
“He was the one who found out where you were being held,” Zalen said, devastatingly matter-of-fact. “I figured you’d want to know that. He worships the ground you walk on, Byron.”
My throat tightened—wasn’t someone in this place supposed to give me a cup of water to soothe the dry ache... or at least some ice chips?
Bea, who still sat slouched in her borrowed chair, snorted.
“For god’s sake, don’t tell him that,” she said. “He’s insufferable enough as it is.”
I glared at her so hard my eyes burned. Crap—they really were burning, weren’t they? Looking away, I blinked rapidly, hoping neither of them would notice.
“Sorry, Bea,” Zalen said. “But I intend to remind him of what he did over and over for the rest of time. I imagine the others will, too.”
And... so much for him not having blabbed to anyone else.
“Fuck off,” I told him, still not looking at either of them. “Go away and let me rest. I’m an injured man.”
Zalen looked down at me as though he could see right through me. “Sure thing. I don’t know when the doctors will let the cops in to see you, but you should know that they’re already here at the hospital to take statements. You should also know that I made a somewhat less than factual nine-one-one call to get law enforcement to the warehouse faster. I told them I’d been held captive as well and had just escaped.”
I took that on board. It had been a smart play on Zalen’s part, if a technically illegal one. And it might just have saved our lives—or at least mine.
“Well, I wouldn’t know about anything like that, would I?” I replied blandly. “Since they must’ve been holding us in different rooms.”
“Good boy,” Bea said approvingly. “Now, I’m going to stick around and have a word with this doctor of yours. Zalen, you should go check on the other two. Especially if the pigs are sniffing around them.”
That was Bea... the picture of respect and decorum.
Zalen gave a small wince at the insult to St. Louis’s finest, thankfully out of her line of sight.
“Yes, you’re probably right.” His dark eyes fell on me, concern and affection that I couldn’t deal with shining from them. “Unless you need anything first, Byron?”
“Not a damned thing,” I told him, as though it was the truth.
Once he’d gone, Bea leaned forward, taking my hand in her cool, wrinkled fingers.
“Anything else you want to tell me before the police and doctors start swarming this place, whelp?” she asked.
I closed my eyes against the burn that wouldn’t go away, my throat clogging. There wasn’t... and yet, somehow, words were forming behind my lips without my permission.
“I shot a man,” I whispered.
Bea went still. The soft sound of her breathing paused for a moment before returning, even and steady.
“Was he threatening you? Or someone else?” she asked.
I nodded wordlessly, not willing to trust my voice.
“Then it was justified,” she said, with utter certainty. “And you’re not allowed to talk any more nonsense about how you didn’t protect your omega. Which reminds me, when do I get to meet this young man?”
I remembered the way Zalen had corrected her earlier— omegas, plural . Abruptly, I couldn’t deal with any of this. Not for a single second more.
“It’s complicated,” I managed.
“Somehow, I don’t really think it is,” Bea said, her tone laced with irony. “But you’re right. You need to rest, not flap your lips to keep an old woman happy. I’ll watch over things while you sleep; you just relax.”
Right. Because there was nothing more relaxing than lying in a hospital bed with an I.V. stuck in your arm, and your leg held together with bandages and thread. I drew breath to tell her so, but it suddenly felt like too much work.
I was fast asleep within moments.
The doctor came in at some point to ramble on about wound care, and infection, and the possibility of permanent nerve damage. In due course, the police showed up to question me about the kidnapping. I made very sure to identify Blake Berlusconi and SSG by name, while keeping the rest as vague as I could manage, citing injury and blood loss.
Bea ambushed the pair of detectives as soon as they opened the door to leave. “There won’t be any charges leveled against the victims, will there?” she demanded, her tone so belligerent that it verged on a full alpha bark.
“That will be up to the district attorney, ma’am,” said the female beta detective. “But just between us, it sounds like a clear-cut case of self-defense. I wouldn’t worry.”
Sound advice. I was worried about a lot of shit, but getting hauled in front of a judge for shooting a kidnapper who’d been holding a gun on one of his victims wasn’t high on the list.
“Good,” Bea huffed. “You should pin medals on these boys’ chests for what they did.”
The male detective gave her a tight smile. “You’re preaching to the choir, ma’am. We’ve been after Berlusconi for ages. No one in the legal system is gonna mourn that asshole.”
His partner shot him a quelling look, and he pasted on a thin facade of professionalism. “Sorry. I meant to say, no one’s gonna mourn that alleged asshole.”
In addition to Bea, I got frequent visits from Zalen, Mia, and even Emiel over the following days. Only Nat and Luca were conspicuous by their absence. I couldn’t blame them; if I’d been able to avoid my own company, I’d have done it, too.
I learned that both of them had been released—Luca with pulled muscles in his shoulder that didn’t quite rise to the level of a sprain, and Nat with a kidney contusion and mild concussion. Nat was already back at work part time, and somehow Mia and her staff had managed to keep the restaurant running smoothly during this critical period for its survival.
Mia visited me in the mornings before heading to work, and as the days passed, the haunted look gradually disappeared from her face. She was still tired—spinning too many plates at once, as usual—but dark circles no longer underlined her eyes.
I wondered, with a kind of sick curiosity, how she was handling the reality of having her sort-of ex-husband living under the same roof. Evidently, it was suiting her just fine... and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about that.
After five days of lying on a damned hospital bed, undergoing poking, prodding, and endless physical therapy, I looked up as Emiel walked into my room with a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Time to bust you outta here, asshole,” he said, efficiently circling the cramped space and shoving my personal items into the knapsack. “Home in time for Christmas, just like in one of those stupid movies. Look, it’s even snowing.”
I glanced out the window, confirming that, yes, it was in fact snowing outside. The weirdly warm fall weather had apparently decided to take a hike just in time for me to skid around on my half-healed leg like an idiot.
“Great,” I said sourly, still not used to this new, disconcerting Emiel who communicated in full sentences rather than angry glares and wordless grunts.
The following couple of hours were spent navigating piles of paperwork, culminating with me getting wheeled out in a fucking wheelchair like an invalid.
“You know how it is. We can’t let you fall while you’re still on hospital grounds and might sue us,” the beta nurse said cheerfully, pushing me through the atrium and out the glass doors.
He and Emiel transferred me into Luca’s little Nissan Leaf—apparently, someone had decided that getting me in and out of the much taller Bronco might be an issue. Once I was settled, Emiel folded himself into the driver’s seat like an elephant climbing into a phone booth.
The car hummed quietly to life, tires slipping a bit on half-frozen slush.
Once we were on the road, I gave into the temptation to needle the driver. “So, how’s the Nat situation going? Are you still enjoying having your boyfriend there for a sleepover?”
Emiel’s eyes cut to me briefly before returning to the road. “Not my boyfriend, is he? Just a friend.” I watched his heavy brow crinkle in profile. “Who happens to be a boy, I guess. He’s doin’ okay. Luca likes him.”
And why did that revelation make my stomach swoop and dip?
Emiel wasn’t done. “You three been mighty quiet about exactly what happened in that warehouse. But it’s clear enough you and Nat stepped between Luca and danger.”
Only when it was nearly too late , I didn’t say.
When the silence stretched, Emiel seemed to give up on getting any more details, thankfully. The drive was uneventful, and the house was quiet when we arrived. Snow was beginning to stick to the trees and grass in earnest, turning the place into a Hallmark postcard. Emiel shouldered my belongings and helped me inside from the garage, depositing me on the couch in the TV room.
“We’re home!” he bellowed.
A familiar gray cat was the first to respond. Princess trotted in to weave around Emiel’s ankles before sniffing cautiously at my feet. A few moments later, Nat darkened the room’s doorway, hesitating just inside.
“Glad you’re back, Byron,” he said, his tone cautious. “How’s the leg?”
I shrugged, playing at being unconcerned. “Another scar for the collection. How’s the kidney?”
Nat rubbed a hand restlessly up and down his arm. “Well, I stopped pissing blood a few days ago. So... can’t complain, I guess.”
The side of his face was still a mottled green and yellow-brown mess of bruising.
“Guess not,” I agreed, still with no idea how I was supposed to navigate this situation.
“You going to the restaurant this evening?” Emiel asked.
Nat nodded. “For a few hours, yes. I can’t exactly work front of house looking like this, but I can still do the books. Which, for once, are showing black ink instead of red ink.”
“It’s the lava cake,” Emiel said with certainty. “My lava cake saved your restaurant.”
Nat ducked his head, a half-smile tugging at his sensual lips. Had I ever seen him smile before? Christ—I hadn’t , had I.
I gave myself a sharp, internal shake. Because I should not be staring at the unbruised side of Nat Bell’s face while thinking what an attractive smile he had. Goddamn it, this was exactly why having him here in the house was a terrible idea.
“The lava cake definitely isn’t hurting our bottom line,” he agreed, before turning his full attention back on me. “Byron, I’m really glad you’re out of the hospital. And I’m aware what an uncomfortable situation this must be for you. I’m guessing you probably want to rest today—but when you’re ready, I think you and I need to have a talk with Mia.”
I couldn’t help the way my eyes slid closed, but in the aftermath of, well, everything , it felt like all the fight had gone out of me.
“Yeah,” I said on a sigh. “I guess we probably do.”