Chapter 3
RYKER
The hospital is a madhouse.
Press is everywhere.
I called Olivia.
What? Why?
Because it’s 3am, and she’s your agent, your cousin, and a lawyer.
Who the fuck did you want me to call to deal with this shit?
Your parents?
Go home, Hendrix. Go get your kid.
I’ll leave when Liv gets here.
—Text from Hendrix to Ryker
The dim lights in the cold hospital room do nothing to hide the damage that’s been done. It’s in every shallow breath Delaney takes. Every wince. Every bruise.
I’m not sure how long we’ve been here, but it feels like hours as a nurse with a tight-gray bun and pale-blue scrubs, who looks like she could be older than my great-grandmother, settles Delaney back in after having taken her for an MRI. “Can I get you anything, Ms. Rousseau?”
Delaney closes her eyes and shakes her head. Barely a shake, but she winces again.
“Okay, then.” Tight wrinkles frame her face as she smiles softly. “A doctor should be in soon to speak with you.”
Another tear slips from the corner of Delaney’s bruised eye as the door closes behind the nurse.
“Lane . . .” Gently, I take her hand in mine, as careful as I can be not to hurt her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call your sister?”
Ashton’s going to kick my ass for not calling already. Then Jamie’s going to try to kick it for upsetting Ashton. But Delaney said no.
No to Ashton.
No to Jamie.
She didn’t want anyone called.
She sent Kaleigh home, not that she went. I’m pretty sure she’s sitting in the lobby with Hendrix, waiting for an update. One I promised to give as soon as we got it. But this stubbornly beautiful woman turns her bruised and battered face my way and shakes her head. “Don’t call Ashton.”
I swear to God, I want to rip this hospital apart brick by brick until I find Roger Dennings and fucking kill him for even thinking he had the right to touch her.
His handprint is bruised into the skin of her delicate neck.
Angry and swollen. Two black eyes. A split lip.
A split cheek a plastic surgeon is coming in to look at.
Two bruised ribs. And what I’m pretty sure they’re about to tell us is a concussion.
And who knows what he’s done to this woman’s psyche?
“Lane . . . She’d want to know what happened,” I try to reason. “You need your—”
“No. Let her sleep. She’ll find out tomorrow.” Her voice is soft, and her eyes are closed. I’m not sure I actually even hear her voice until it cracks. “She’s a million months pregnant and can’t do anything tonight anyway. I just want to go home and get in my own bed. Will you take me home, Ryker?”
Carefully, I push her hair away from her face and wipe another stray tear away. “I’ll get you out of here just as soon as I can. I promise. We just have to wait for the doctor to clear you first. Okay, Bambi?”
Her gentle laugh followed by her wince hurts my fucking heart. Those gold-flecked doe eyes open and focus on mine. “Haven’t heard that one in a long damn time, pretty boy. You never did tell me why you called me that.”
The very first time I walked into that bar and saw this woman and those doe eyes, she reminded me of that damn Disney deer.
Not that I’ve ever told her that. I liked teasing her.
Liked the way it would make her smile. Liked the way she’d give it back to me with Pretty Boy.
Ridiculous or not, it was a nickname, and in my mind, that was the first crack in the walls this woman had up whenever I was around.
“Pretty sure I told you you’d have to go on a date with me to find out,” I tease, hoping it helps and point at my face. “I’m still pretty, even with the black eye, right?” I joke, not that there’s anything funny about this night. But I’d do anything to keep her from crying again.
She turns her head away and says something too low for my hearing aids to pick up. “Delaney—” Gently, I turn her face back to mine, careful not to hurt her. Hating that I missed what she said. “What did you say?”
“Shit. Sorry.” she tries to sign with shaky hands.
Shame she signs please instead of sorry.
This woman has been out of my life more months than she’s been in it. It’s not like she’s had a lifetime of using ASL. She’s not good at it, and she forgets more than she doesn’t. But she tries, and she’s so damn cute when she fucks it up.
“Don’t worry about it.” I lock my eyes on hers. “Now that I can see your lips, I can read them.”
Her cracked, swollen lips.
This beautiful woman should never know what it’s like to have a hand raised to her in anger, and I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the first time. Just the worst time. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” she murmurs. “Just remembering that first time you came into the bar. It feels like a lifetime ago. You were so cocky. Definitely a pretty boy . . . It’s crazy how much can change in just a few months.”
“Yeah, it is.” I run my thumb over a cut on her hand and remember the first time I saw her.
Her name tag said Lane, not Delaney. The short shorts she filled out incredibly.
The creamy skin dotted with tiny freckles.
Her bouncy ponytail. Those golden doe eyes and that smile.
Like the damn Bermuda Triangle, I was drawn to her.
Lost to her. And she wanted nothing to do with me. At least not then.
I’m not sure how many times I’ve thought about that day since.
Too many to count.
“Tell me, Lane. Where’d you think we’d be?”
“Where did I think we’d be?” she repeats, shaking her head, her soft brown hair, still sticky with blood, falling in her eyes.
“Well I absolutely didn’t expect to find out I had a sister.
Or that Ashton would get custody of Kyrie because her mom would go to jail, and that just a few months later, I’d help send our dad there too.
But here we are.” Her pink tongue darts out and tentatively runs over the cut in her lip. “It’s safe to say it’s been a year.”
“Yeah, Lane. It’s been a year.” I lean in conspiratorially. “What about me?” Her eyes grow wider. “You surprised I’m even hotter now than I was last spring? Can’t resist me now?” I tease because teasing and joking has always been what’s made this woman smile.
“Don’t make me laugh.” She rests a hand over her ribs, and I thank God it’s working.
“It hurts,” she wheezes and laces her fingers with mine.
“Thank you, Ryker . . . Thank you for saving me.” Another tear slides over her bruised cheek.
“Thank you for staying with me. Thank you for making me smile. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come outside tonight.
” Terror grabs hold, and a tremor shakes her small body as her smile slips from her face. “I think he would have killed me.”
“Don’t, Lane. Don’t think about that. He’ll never hurt you again. I won’t let him.” I don’t have any right to promise her that. This woman isn’t mine to make promises to, but there’s nothing in the world that’ll stop me from keeping this one.
I lightly run my fingers over her cheek as Delaney’s eyes fly to the door.
My gaze follows hers, and I clock two Kroydon Hills police officers walking in. Both in suits, with their badges on the belts on their hips.
Delaney’s hold on my hand tightens, and every protective instinct I’m already fighting to tamp down, roars to life.
“Delaney Rousseau?” The shorter of the two asks, and Delaney nods.
“I’m Detective Brooks, and that’s my partner, Detective Mitchum. We have a few questions we’d like to ask you, Ms. Rousseau.” The taller of the two steps closer. His eyes trailing over me, sizing me up. “And you as well, Mr. Beneventi.”
The way he looks at me is unsettling.
I respect the badge. Always have. But this guy looks like he’s got it out for us—or maybe just me. Like maybe he doesn’t think Delaney is the victim here.
Movement by the door catches my eye as my cousin Olivia enters the room.
Dressed for a day at the office in a sleek dark-green skirt suit and sky-high heels, with her hair and makeup done like she didn’t just get out of bed thirty minutes ago.
“Good evening, officers,” she says and signs as she smiles and looks me over before bringing her attention to the two men at the foot of Delaney’s bed.
“Have either Mr. Beneventi or Ms. Rousseau been placed under arrest and read their rights, gentlemen?”
“No, ma’am,” Detective Mitchum answers and surprisingly signs.
“Thank you.” Olivia nods as she comes to stand beside me, careful to angle herself so I can see both her and the detectives.
“My clients won’t be answering any further questions tonight.
Ms. Rousseau and Mr. Beneventi have had a long, traumatic evening.
I’m sure you understand. If you’d like to question either of them, you can call my office to schedule it, and they’ll be happy to answer your questions then. ”
Detective Brooks’s jaw tightens as he grinds his teeth so hard, I’m surprised they don’t crack with the intensity of the stare he’s throwing at my cousin.
I’m not sure who the fuck he is, but I don’t like it and stand, stepping closer to her. “Tomorrow, Ms.—”
“St. James,” Olivia fills in before handing him a business card.
“Olivia St. James. And considering it’s nearly four a.m. now, I’m going to assume you don’t mean tomorrow as in a few hours from now.
Ms. Rousseau hasn’t even been cleared to leave the hospital yet.
She’s experienced head trauma, and she needs her rest.”
She looks at me, clearly annoyed. “Have you been seen yet, Ryker?”
“No.” I refused to be examined because it meant I had to leave Delaney’s side.
“And as you heard, Mr. Beneventi hasn’t been medically cleared yet either. But my assistant would be happy to schedule something.” Damn, I love my cousin.
Detective Brooks’s jaw tenses as he looks from Liv to me, then Delaney before finally deciding he’s not in the mood to fuck with Olivia and nods. He holds her card up. “Fine. We’ll be in touch, Ms. St. James.”