Chapter 55 Derek
Derek
“Derek.”
His head jerked up to meet a pair of concerned blue eyes.
He tried to shake off his disorientation.
He must have fallen asleep. He glanced over at Rafe’s motionless form.
He swallowed hard. He was trying not to be too hopeful, but Rafe’d had some brief moments of consciousness over the course of the week.
Enough that they’d been able to get some liquids down his throat. Enough to keep him alive.
A soft hand rested on his shoulder. He turned and pressed a kiss to the kid-leather glove. “It’s time?” He lifted his gaze to Livy’s.
“It’s time.”
He smiled weakly. “At least we have this small bit of good news.”
There had been so much interest in the auction, they’d needed to secure a larger space to host it.
Fortunately, Ryker had access to numerous buildings and was able to lend them space.
Focusing their attention on appealing to upstarts had been a wildly successful strategy.
It was amazing how much the new money crowd wanted a taste of the aristocracy.
Even if it was just to hang a nob’s painting in their home.
Now Livy was leaving with her aunt and Dorothea to oversee the event.
Lady Rutledge and Rupert would meet them there.
Derek refused to leave Rafe alone, and of everyone involved in running the event, he knew he was the least essential for its success.
Unless they needed to scare people into spending money.
He didn’t trust himself not to lash out irrationally; his fear was still hovering just beneath the surface.
Some days he hardly felt human. He hardly felt at all.
“How’s he doing?”
Derek turned back to Rafe. “No responsiveness, nothing since yesterday.” But if Rafe had any more bouts of lucidity, Derek would be ready.
The doctor had said most didn’t last longer than a week if they couldn’t get down liquids.
They’d tried in those first days, but there wasn’t anything they could do when the man couldn’t swallow—and forcing it risked choking.
It had been agony, sitting there and watching his best friend waste away and not being able to do anything about it.
But then Rafe had woken. Derek’s eyes sank shut, that familiar, too-fast, inconsistent heartbeat racing through him. Lips brushed softly against his cheek.
“Breathe, Derek. One day at a time.”
He let out a slow breath and turned to Livy. “Thanks, love.”
He tilted his head up in invitation—in plea. Her hands came to cradle his face and gave him the reassurance he needed. Her mouth passed over his, slow, soft, the feel of comfort.
She’d been everything this past week. Livy and her aunt had taken up residence in the guest wing of Ironcrest House.
Lady Elliot had swept into the townhome and taken charge.
Both women had ensured Dorothea and Derek were taken care of, that the only thing they needed to focus on was Rafe.
The women brought them meals, forced them to bed, ensured everything was set for the auction taking place in a moment’s time.
Livy had kept Derek just above the surface, because he was constantly being pulled under, and some days he couldn’t find it in him to fight.
But Livy never gave up. On him. On Rafe. On anything.
Livy’s lips passed over his one last time, and she pulled away.
She was so bloody perfect, and he was so unbelievably lucky she’d stuck by him when he’d been the most unforgiveable of bastards to her.
It had been a revelation, that night. For the first time in his life, he believed.
Believed someone would stay, that Livy wanted to stay. Wanted him.
No doubts.
“I should meet the others downstairs.” She threw him a cheeky smile. “I’ll see you later tonight to celebrate having raised enough to fund the foundling home.” She squeezed his shoulder and padded from the room.
And then they would have a wedding to plan.
His attention went back to his best mate. A jagged band strangled his lungs, covered in barbs that sank into the organ, ripped away at the meat of him, made drawing in oxygen impossible. Rafe had to be there. I can’t do this without you.
Derek blew out a watery breath. He had broth on the bedside table. At the first sign of lucidity, he’d be ready. If Rafe thought he could leave Derek, he was sorely mistaken. Death would have to tear his brother from his cold-dead hands before he gave Rafe up.