Chapter 9
Nine
Briar
We’ve all shifted to the living room and take our seats.
Or Colt, West, and I have sat, him in an armchair, me on the couch, West at my side, providing a human shield between me and my brothers.
“Dash wouldn’t have hurt me,” I say softly of him stepping in between us in the kitchen.
“He looked ready to commit murder,” he says, no hint of apology in his words before his expression gentles and he cups my jaw. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, baby. Not ever.”
Unbidden, my eyes slide to the side and my heart thuds hard at the look in Colt’s eyes.
Then West’s fingers on my jaw flex and my gaze jerks back…
And guilt.
Because he saw me looking.
“West,” I whisper.
“Later,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead.
I nod, knowing I have a fuck-ton of explaining to do, a la I Love Lucy or not.
God, Colt with his ill-timed sense of humor.
It’s like he has a death wish.
Hell, who am I kidding?
There’s no it’s like.
He’s spent the last four years in a Russian prison.
Clearly, the man has a death wish.
Especially since he’s not talking.
Royal sighs and perches on the couch arm on my other side. “You going to explain where you’ve been the last five years?”
“I’m trying to figure out how the fuck to start, man,” Colt mutters, tearing his gaze away from me and West and shoving a hand through his hair. “Half of this shit is classified. The other half isn’t exactly a pleasant memory to revisit.”
My chest goes tight.
And somehow sensing that, West laces his fingers through mine, squeezing lightly.
God, he’s such a good guy.
And Colt’s looking at me again.
Looking at me like I’ve just gut punched him.
Shit.
Royal settles his hand on my shoulder and I breathe through the guilt slicing through my insides. I’ve done nothing wrong.
Nothing.
So why do I feel like I did?
“I think the best place to start is at the beginning,” Royal says.
Banks pauses in his pacing of my living room carpet and turns to us. “So, you took the black ops job.” His words are quiet. “And things clearly didn’t go as planned.”
Colt’s gaze is on his hand for long enough that tension begins to ratchet up in the room.
Then he sighs.
“I had to go no contact during training, cut all ties to back home. But I wrote letters explaining what I could, trusted my handler to pass them on.” Another sigh. “Obviously, he didn’t.”
“No,” Royal says into the silence that falls. “He didn’t.”
Colt looks at him. Then at me. Then at Banks.
And the regret in his voice kills almost as much as what he shares next, some of it what I already know.
“I was supposed to infiltrate a Russian prison and extract a contact. I did the whole dumb tourist thing, breaking laws I supposedly didn’t know about and getting put into that prison.
Only when I got there, he was dead, and it was clear my cover was blown.
In less than an hour I went from a rescue and retrieve to being a prisoner for real and…
” He’s staring at his hands now. “It wasn’t fun. ”
West’s hand tightens around mine and I glance at him.
He jerks his chin toward Colt, mouths, “Go to him.”
The guilt in my belly is sharp and intense and it feels like it’s going to slice me into a thousand pieces.
Because, God, he’s such a good guy.
I lift our intertwined hands, press a kiss to the back of his.
Then I shore up my courage and move to Colt.
He jerks when I stop at the side of his chair, and when I sit on the arm like Royal did with me on the couch, his shoulders relax incrementally.
Going on instinct, I take his hand.
And he relaxes further, the words coming more freely.
“It was bad—sleep deprivation and beatings. They knew I had information, and they did their best to extract it. I held out as long as I could, and then I gave small shit I knew wouldn’t hurt anyone, knew would buy me time.
But I was running out of it, knew that if I didn’t get out and do it soon, I was going to die there. ”
Royal curses.
Banks starts pacing again.
I just hold Colt’s hand more tightly.
“Finally, a month ago, I caught a lucky break,” he says quietly. “You remember Igor?”
Banks turns toward us. “The kid we played with in college?”
Colt nods. “Yeah. Turns out he’s more than just a hockey player—back then and now.”
Royal’s brows fly up in surprise.
West is harder to read—his expression blank as he takes it all in.
“FSB,” Colt tells us.
“I thought he was playing in the KHL?” Banks asks.
“Cover.” A shrug. “Lucky for me because he heard about me, and he put his ass on the line to get me out. It was dicey. I thought it was the end for both of us more than once.”
My fingers convulse around his, thinking how close we were to truly losing him.
His gaze comes to mine.
“I’m okay,” he murmurs and for a moment, I have the old Colt. The one I fell in love with. The one who I could talk with until all hours of the night, discussing our dreams and ambitions, sorting our plans for the future, sharing everything.
Then he looks away, and the moment is broken.
“I was in bad shape when I got home—”
“No offense,” Royal mutters, “but you look to be in pretty bad shape now.”
Colt scowls. “I’m fine.”
“Right,” Royal says dryly.
“You got home,” Banks prompts.
A nod from Colt, though his scowl remains in place. “I got home, spent some time in the hospital, debriefed, and then searched you guys up.”
“Nashville,” I say softly.
Bright blue eyes come to mine. “Nashville,” he says.
“But you didn’t talk to Atlas.”
“I didn’t want to intrude. Atlas needed to focus on his woman, especially with all the press attention. I was going to follow you guys back here, but I had a setback and ended up in the hospital again.”
Plain words.
But plain words that say far too much.
His hand tightens around mine. “I’m fine, baby.”
My throat goes tight, and I nod.
“So, you were stalking us,” Royal points out.
“I’m a spy, it’s what I do.” Half of Colt’s mouth curves and my heart rolls over in my chest—another glimpse of the Colt of old. “Now I’m here, Banks has a fucking kid, Royal’s marrying a country singer, Dash a movie star, and Atlas has a goddamned girlfriend.”
“Believe me,” Royal says. “None of us saw the girls coming.”
“Maybe not,” Banks agree. “Still the best shit of my life.”
“Somehow I don’t think the girls are going to enjoy being called shit,” I warn him.
He flashes a smile at me. “I don’t know if you know this, but Aspen kind of likes me.”
Royal tosses a pillow at him. “Don’t know why.”
“Asshole,” Banks mutters, throwing it back.
Then the conversation turns to the old days and catching up on the new ones. I slip my hand from Colt’s and walk into the kitchen.
Then take a moment to finally breathe easily.
The worst is over.
Now we can move forward.
“I’m going to go.”
My head jerks up and I see West standing in the doorway.
Oh, my God. West.
I forgot him again.
I’m such a shit person.
“Walk me out?” he asks softly.
And God, after all the rest of it, how can I not give him that?
It’s not until we’re next to his car that he says, “That’s Frankie's father, isn’t it?”
My mouth falls open. “How’d you—?”
“It’s the eyes, sweetheart,” he says gently. “Does he know?”
“Not yet,” I whisper. “I know I need to tell him. I just…”
“Things have been a little nuts?” He touches the backs of his knuckles to my cheek. “Yeah, babe. I’d say they have.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, dropping my head to his chest. “I know this is a mess.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
I’m not so sure of that.
But I don’t say anything, just lean against him and let him hold me tightly.
It’s not until long moments later that he speaks.
And his words have the guilt slicing deeper.
“Do you want me to skip the road trip?”
“No. But thank you,” I lift up, and though part of me feels awkward (or maybe it’s that part of me feels wrong doing it), I brush my lips over his.
But when I drop down to my heels, I can see some of the tension has left him.
Not me though.
Because…
“I need to sort this out on my own.”