Chapter 19
TWO DAYS LATER
GAGE
By the time we pull into the driveway of my place, the twenty minute silent treatment Bishop has given me without even acknowledging my presence has ticked by so slowly that it feels more like twenty hours.
I didn’t know time could move that slowly, or that silence could scream in my ears so fucking loudly.
There wasn’t any point in trying to engage her in conversation, not when she’s been acting like this since the moment everyone agreed the safest place for her was with me.
Two fucking days ago.
Of course, at the hospital, I had the rest of the Hawkes around to engage with and to help keep the silence at bay.
We had plenty to discuss, from the initial findings from the police regarding the explosion, to Gabe’s recovery, and the new security protocols that involve every vehicle, business, and residence being swept with the same bomb-sniffing dogs they used for the second tower opening before anyone goes near them.
I’ve stayed busy while Bishop has only spoken with the girls, cutting out anyone she sees as involved in the conspiracy to keep her locked up.
But now that we’re truly alone, the quiet is downright stifling.
She can’t hold out forever.
That’s what I keep telling myself. At some point, she has to break. It might be a tirade and verbal attack worse than the physical one she threw at me in the ring the last time we shared it, but it would be better than this.
Anything would be.
I put the car in park and turn off the engine, but Bishop doesn’t budge from the passenger seat. With her arms crossed over her chest, she looks absolutely ticked off and ready to attempt an escape at any moment.
“So, this is how you want to play it?” I can’t even get her to look at me anymore, but that doesn’t mean she won’t have to listen. “I know you’re pissed, Bishop. I know you want to go home. I know you want to go back to work. But we all agreed this is the safest place for you.”
Finally, her head slowly turns toward me, her eyes narrowing in a way I am smart enough to recognize is dangerous. “You all agreed being the key takeaway there. I didn’t agree.”
“Because you are so goddamn selfless and worried about everyone else that you’re going to kill yourself. That’s one of the things I—”
Shit.
I barely stop myself from saying something really fucking stupid that I can never take back.
It isn’t the first time. Not even the second or third since she woke up in that hospital. The words I’ve wanted to say, that have sat on the tip of my tongue somehow feeling like thousand-pound weights, are still there, though. Somehow kept in when every part of me wants to come clean.
Because that wouldn’t solve anything.
Baring my soul would only result in an even more pissed off Bishop who would fight me harder every fucking step of the way.
At least she’s talking again.
She may be angry.
She may be volatile.
But she’s safe.
That’s what matters.
And I just need to keep reminding myself of that each time my frustration threatens to boil over, like it is now.
I sigh and scrub my hands over my face, then push open my door, step out, and nudge it shut behind me when what I really want to do is slam it.
The cool, damp air and the light drizzle hitting me doesn’t do anything to dampen the heated aggravation coursing through me as I make my way around to the passenger side door and tug it open.
Her inability to see, for even one damn second, that we’re all trying to protect her is going to make the next two weeks…difficult at best.
She stares up at me now, unmoving. That flicker of defiance across her bourbon eyes tells me she is going to resist.
“Don’t make me reach in there and pull you out, Hellcat.” I shake my head, releasing a sigh heavy with all the weariness I’m feeling after the last several days. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
It’s the last thing I ever want to do.
And it kills me that this is hurting her.
Not physically but emotionally.
To her, being kept away from her job after something so catastrophic happened might as well be the same level of torture she warned me about at Sunday family dinner.
She scowls at me. Those lips that are capable of saying such intensely beautiful things and kissing me so fiercely twist in a way that makes me wish I could slam my mouth against hers and wipe it all away, but all I can do right now is wait her out.
The misty rain starts to dampen my hair and clothes and she finally reaches over, unbuckles her seatbelt, and climbs from the car with a defiant huff and a wince she tries to cover by looking down instead of at me.
“Don’t call me that.”
We’re back to that, are we?
It shouldn’t surprise me that she’s thrown those walls right back up, that it feels like we’re back exactly where we started.
As far as Bishop is concerned, I’ve betrayed her by suggesting this arrangement and insisting it needs to happen, by ignoring what she wants in favor of what she needs right now.
Bishop slams her door closed, and the sound seems to reverberate around us like a thunderclap. Maybe because we’ve sat in silence for so damn long.
I’ll take loud and angry over silent and angry any day.
“Thank you.” I tug open the back door. “I’ll get the bags.”
I pull out the two large duffels her mother packed for her and brought to the hospital this morning. With them slung over my shoulder, I motion for her to walk toward the shop.
Her body is so taut, her shoulders so rigid in front of me, that I cringe on her behalf because that can’t feel good. I’m still achy from getting thrown against the goddamn SUV during the explosion, and she got it far worse than I did.
Being tense won’t do anything to help her recovery, but I’m not sure Bishop is capable of relaxing without being forced to.
She reaches the door and moves to the side to give me room to unlock it. I snag the key, twist it open, and let her enter first. Her eyes immediately drift to the stairs that lead up to my apartment, but before she can even think about trying to ascend them, I let the bags slide to the floor.
The thumping sound makes her turn back, but by then, it’s too late.
I slide my arms around her and lift her up as gently as I can before she can object.
“Hey!” She smacks my shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”
Stalking across the shop past my bikes, I glance down at her. “Carrying you up the stairs.”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
“I know you are, but it doesn’t mean you have to.”
Doing those stairs herself would likely cause her discomfort she doesn’t need to suffer, plus this gives me an excuse to get my hands on her.
A selfish act on my part.
With her this close, her jasmine scent wraps around me, and she lets out a long sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. But she doesn’t fight me or my old on her. Probably because it would hurt too much.
That thought weighs heavy on my chest as I start up the stairs.
Bishop raises a brow. “Are you going to treat me like an invalid the entire time I’m here?”
“Are you going to treat me like I’m an asshole the whole time you’re here?”
“You are an asshole.”
I can’t help but grin at her despite the fact that she clearly meant that as an insult.
“That is true, but not about this. I’m right.
And everyone in the family knows it. So just accept the fact that you’re going to be here for a couple of weeks.
That I’m going to take care of you. And that you’re not going to be allowed to work. ”
All the reasons she’s so damn angry with me.
I reach the top of the steps, and she shoves against my chest until I set her down on her feet.
She quickly backs away, annoyance written all over her hard features.
Almost immediately, she starts pacing the small space, just like she did the last time she was here—only she didn’t hate me then. She wanted to be here. But she had the same nervous energy, the same frustration, only now it’s directed partially at me.
Even though I do love restraining her, being her jailer is a completely different animal and not something I would have ever suggested if there were any other way. But the family needs to know she isn’t going anywhere and no one can find her.
That means she stays put and I remain the bad guy.
It’s okay.
I can handle being the bad guy, but it doesn’t mean I don’t hate seeing her restless and so filled with anxiety over being kept out of the loop regarding what’s happening with the investigation. But her obsessive tendencies would mean she would never heal the way she needs to.
She reaches up and releases the band that’s holding her braids up in a bun at the back of her head, letting them spill down over her shoulders as she paces. “I can’t do this, Gage.”
I lean against the brick wall, crossing my arms over my chest to keep myself from reaching for her the way I want to. “Do what?”
“Do nothing. For days, for weeks.” She throws her hands up. “God, even the last two days have been hell being cooped up in the hospital. And all of you keeping what you’ve learned from me is only making it worse.”
Which we are all very well aware of.
But if she knew what we found out over the last few days, there’s no way I could keep her here. There’s no way I could keep her contained. And I refuse to allow her to hurt herself.
I’ll use anything in my power that could prevent it.
I watch her pace the small space between my bed, my desk, and my dresser. She loops her hairband around her wrist and tugs at it as she walks, a nervous habit I’ve seen her do a hundred times over the last several weeks.
“You need to relax.”
I barely manage to bite back the Hellcat I naturally want to tack onto the end of that statement.
Even without it, her glare cuts my way, practically slicing me open. “What I need is for you to stop telling me what to do.”
I hold up my hands in surrender because if I were in her position, I would be objecting the same way. “Fair enough.”
This isn’t going to be easy.
We all knew that as soon as I suggested it.