Chapter 26 #2
Miranda nodded. “We’re aware. Cooper’s aware. Eli has been informed that he’s a fucking idiot and he should be in bed or in the hospital. Anywhere but out on the street trying to track this guy down.”
“Eli’s not much better off than you,” Wren said. “His throat’s a little bit better. Maybe. And his brain’s not broken, but he has a concussion.”
“Maddox is with him,” Miranda added. “Mostly trying to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”
“Why?” I rasped, wincing at the pain. I wanted to tell them to make him stop. If he wasn’t much better than me, how was he even on his feet, much less running around the city looking for the man who’d almost killed us?
Miranda gave me a long look, then shared a quick one with Wren, who shrugged and said, “Penance.”
I raised my eyebrows, needing more of an explanation.
Miranda filled in the gaps. “Knowing Eli, he feels responsible. He wasn’t honest with you.
He played a game, thinking he could only tell you what he wanted you to know.
If he hadn’t lied to you, you never would have been out there on your own.
You only left without backup because you didn’t think you could trust any of us once you found out Eli was lying to you. Right?”
I didn’t want to, but I slowly nodded, because she understood exactly. Eli’s secrecy had made me doubt all of them. They were a team. I was on the outside. It had never occurred to me that I could tag one of them in, as Wren had put it. If I couldn’t trust Eli, how could I trust any of them?
But still… “It’s not his fault,” I forced out. “He didn’t strap a bomb to my chest and tase me.”
Relief flashed in Miranda’s eyes. “Well, you know that,” she said. “And we know that. It’s going to take Eli a little longer.”
“You haven’t seen how bad you look,” Wren said, maybe too honestly. “You scared the shit out of him.”
“Maddox will keep him in one piece,” Miranda assured me. “And in the meantime, he ordered us to stay with you until it was safe.”
“‘Don’t fucking let her out of your sight’ were the exact words,” Wren said.
“Eli can give you orders?” I asked, too curious to spare my words.
Miranda let out a surprised laugh. “Technically, no. Technically, Eli is very much not the boss of Wren or me. Doesn’t work like that.”
“Who can order us to do things?” Wren asked, cocking her head to the side, looking up at the ceiling.
“Silas,” Miranda said, “though he’d have to come back to do that. Cooper, I guess.”
“You and Ryder can be pretty bossy,” Wren said, and she looked at me. “Those two are in charge if Silas isn’t around?—”
“But the rest of you only take orders voluntarily, so it doesn’t really count,” Miranda added.
“That’s true,” Wren said with a grin. “None of us are great at following orders we don’t want to. You fit right in.” She got up from the end of the bed and came around to the other side. Fluffing up the pillows against the headboard, she climbed in, making herself comfortable beside me.
It should have been weird, lying in bed next to a woman I wasn’t even really friends with, but something about Wren and Miranda felt welcoming. I wasn’t part of the team, but I wasn’t an outsider anymore either.
“Grab that remote,” she said to Miranda. “Let’s put on some TV. We’ll see if Sylvie can stay awake for more than ten minutes.”
The screen opposite the bed flashed, and I winced.
“Close your eyes if it’s too bright,” Wren said from beside me. “Just listen.”
Miranda flicked through channels, stopped on one. A smiling bride stood in a wedding dress salon, surrounded by an entourage. Miranda sat back with a satisfied smile and set the remote on the table beside her. “Perfect.”
Wren leaned forward and looked around me at Miranda, her face twisted in a scowl. “Seriously? There’s not, like, an action movie on or something? A good R-rated comedy?”
“I like this,” Miranda said, ignoring Wren’s pushback. “Look, everybody’s happy. The only problem they have is finding the right dress, and they’re in a store with a thousand of them. Problem solved. Plus, I get the fun of looking at pretty dresses without having to try any of them on.”
“Hmm. That’s a point,” Wren said, sitting back. She studied the very curvy bride on the screen, showing off a gown with more bling than fabric. “But that dress is…uh. Can a wedding dress be skanky?”
I cracked my eyes to peer at the screen and saw a bride with what looked like solid double-D cups spilling out of a corset-style dress made of mostly transparent lace. “That one is,” I said.
“She looks hot,” Miranda said as the bride turned for her family to see. “Stripper hot, but still hot.”
We all watched the mother of the bride have conniptions over the dress while the bridal salon staff tried to negotiate peace between the bride, who wanted to show her stuff, and the mother, who wanted her covered from head to toe.
“That one wouldn’t be my choice,” Miranda added as the bride finally agreed to try something else.
Beside me, Wren scoffed. “If you ever get married, I’m pretty sure you’re going to do it in an olive-green T-shirt and cargo pants.”
“I would not,” Miranda said. “They’d be black cargoes. Definitely. Weddings should be formal.”
“There’s formal combat gear?” I wondered aloud in a raspy whisper.
On either side of me, I heard a giggle in stereo.
“For Miranda, there is,” Wren said. She curled on her side, re-plumping the pillow under her head. “I think I could rock a wedding dress.”
“What would you get?” Miranda asked.
I let my eyes drift closed and listened to them talk.
“I don’t know,” Wren mused. “I’m short, so no ball gown. Maybe a minidress. I like that one.”
I cracked my eyes to see a tall, dark-haired bride walk out in a dress that was entirely polka-dotted tulle and cut a few inches above her knees. It was pretty. Kind of.
I let my eyes slip shut again and whispered, “No. Slinky.”
I sensed Miranda shifting in her chair, maybe to look at Wren more closely. “Syl’s right. You could pull off slinky,” she said. “You’ve got great legs and a nice rack. Not too big, not too small.”
“Says you.” Wren laughed. “I think they’re too small.”
“They fit your frame,” Miranda countered. “You’d kill in a slinky wedding dress, but you have to find someone to marry first.”
A bark of a laugh came from Wren. “Nah. I’ll just take the dress. It’s easier to find one of those. A husband sounds like too much trouble.”
If Miranda responded, I missed it. I woke later to find they’d moved on to a pottery show where everyone had British accents and were terribly polite—and still viciously competitive. It looked like they were making fish. Or teapots. I wasn’t sure.
Miranda coaxed me into eating some of the now-cold toast. I managed almost a whole piece and the rest of the tea before I drifted off, the throb in my head better but not gone.
Before I passed out again, I managed to ask, “Eli?”
Miranda just shook her head. “Mad’s got him. They’re still out there, looking.”
“Home,” I whispered, wishing I could get out a full sentence without pain.
“I know,” she agreed, brushing a loose strand of hair back off my forehead. “He’ll come home. I’ve learned with Eli that sometimes you just have to let him work it out. In the meantime, you rest. He’ll be okay. I promise.”
Miranda’s absolute certainty eased my worry just enough that I closed my eyes and drifted back into sleep, hoping that Eli would work out his penance sooner rather than later. I didn’t need him to feel responsible. I just needed him to come home.