Chapter 4
Reece
Ipeel the bandage from my skin, cursing when the tape rips out my chest hair. “Motherfucker.”
“That’s it, Viking. I’m coming in!” Aurora yells from outside the bathroom door.
“Don’t you dare.”
Two weeks have passed since I was shot, and they’ve been painful—agonizing.
I left the hospital a week ago and have been recuperating at Ethan’s apartment with Aurora. She was reluctant to leave when the guys went away for a few games. They weren’t happy, but they agreed to let her stay with the twins and Charlie here.
It’s been a whirlwind. In a combined effort with the FBI, HSI, and ATF, twenty-three properties were raided in what the news is calling Black Friday, in reference to our SWAT-style approach and uniforms. I don’t have all the details—I suspect that’s intentional—but the evidence has resulted in over fifty arrests, primarily for sex crimes.
Jax had a few peaceful days before the media storm hit. Luckily for him, his father was never charged with anything. There’s only intense speculation, given the LAPD’s corruption, our presence at Kyle’s home, and that Hugo, Kyle’s ex-partner, is now the center of the investigation—even dead.
Hugo’s gruesome death didn’t seem to faze Jackson. He only requested we not disclose details of the case, or his abuse, to Aurora.
Distracting her isn’t difficult, since she insists on giving me all her attention.
And it’s not only her. Charlie had the nerve to call my sisters when I went into surgery, and now they won’t quit texting.
Then, there’s the nurse Jax hired for no reason, and let’s not forget Ethan, who checks in ten times a day.
I hate being fussed over. I can’t stand it. I’m no good at accepting help. I’d rather suffer in silence than be pampered.
Which is why I’m locked in the guest bathroom, struggling to change my own bandages.
I reach over my shoulder and tug on the gauze affixed to my skin. The door handle rattles, and I shake my head at Aurora’s persistence.
A strip of tape comes loose, and I yank at it, wincing as it catches my wound. “Fuck.” I drop my arm to my side, already exhausted.
The door pops open, and she grins triumphantly.
I glare at her in the mirror. “How the hell did you get in?”
She holds up a bent credit card. “You learn a few tricks when you grow up in the Valley.”
“You did not learn to shimmy locks growing up. I doubt you even left your house.”
“Okay, it’s from losing my key when I lived with Emily. I wasn’t on the lease, so…” She glances at the incision on my upper arm and grimaces. “It’s looking better,” she lies and steps forward. “Let me help you with the rest.”
I turn away from her. “The nurse will help me.” It’s not true. The nurse left my stubborn ass after I refused all treatment.
She cocks her head. “Seriously, Reece? Are you intentionally provoking my jealousy?”
I smirk, but it’s half-hearted. “Tinker Bell, you can go, okay? I’m taking a shower once I remove these damn bandages.”
“Fine. I’ll shower with you.”
“No, you will not.”
“Why?” Her flirtatious tone shifts to disappointment and frustration.
“I’m not about to be injured and unable to use one arm the first time we’re naked together.”
“I’m six months pregnant by a six-foot-five-inch former defensive hockey player. I look like I swallowed a beach ball.”
“No, you do not.” I chuckle at her dramatics. “Maybe a basketball.”
“See? We’re even.” She moves closer and extends her hand. “I’ll remove these bandages and help you wash.”
I bat her arm away. “Go, Aurora. I mean it.”
The semi-playful atmosphere comes to an abrupt and harsh end.
She draws a steadying breath and releases it slowly. “How did you picture us married if you won’t let me help you? Or shower with you? Or sleep with you? You won’t even tell me when you’re hungry. We’re going to your sister’s wedding. Who will I be to you?”
“You don’t have to go.” Hell, I don’t want to go.
Her jaw tightens and her voice rises. “I want to go. What are you not getting? I want to be with you. I want to care for you. Now, answer the question.”
I drag my fingers through my hair while I contemplate a response. “It’s not you. It’s them. They won’t understand this arrangement, and it’s not worth the hassle.” Once the words escape my mouth, I realize how bad they sound. “That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that. You’re worth it.”
Her eyes glisten, and she heads for the door. “I’ll leave you alone.”
I scramble for something to say. “When I picture us married, I picture caring for you, not you waiting on me hand and foot.”
“And I picture loving you freely.” The door slams shut.
I manage to remove the gauze and shower, and then I decide to let the incisions air out.
Yeah, that’s what I’m doing. It’s definitely not because I couldn’t get the bandage on my shoulder to stay properly, or because I threw the roll of medical tape across the room.
One-handed, I stumble into a pair of boxers and shorts.
I yank a clean white T-shirt over my head, wrestle my useless arm through the sleeve, and then wrestle some more with the flimsy sling.
I’m reminded I could have chosen a ten-thousand-dollar bionic arm brace and made this recovery a hell of a lot easier on myself, but I stubbornly refused.
When I leave the bathroom, I’m overworked, overtired, and overstimulated, the cotton grating against my hypersensitive skin.
Still, I search for Aurora, expecting her to be reading on the couch or napping in Ethan’s room. She tried to tell me about her newest book, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open—something about a psychopath who collects the hearts of his girl’s enemies and stores them in glass jars.
That’s an idea. We have three of Hugo’s guys in lock-up. Maybe cutting out their hearts will improve my piss-poor mood.
Instead of Aurora, I find Charlie making an espresso using the fancy new machine Jax bought. God forbid his boyfriend use a twenty-dollar drip coffeemaker.
“She’s not here,” my partner says before I ask.
“What do you mean she’s not here? Where the hell would she go?”
“The twins took her to the beach house.” He brings the tiny mug to his lips—pinky sticking out slightly—takes a sip, and sighs longingly.
I attempt to shake off the irritability, reminding myself I wanted to be alone. But now that I am, I only feel worse. “Why? And aren’t you supposed to be watching them?”
He tilts his head back with a dramatic groan. “They’re so annoying. One never shuts up, and the other glares at me with murderous intentions. Which wouldn’t be so terrifying if I hadn’t witnessed him murder someone.”
“You’ve seen me kill plenty of people.” I open the fridge, grab a water bottle, and stare at the cap before using my teeth to twist it. I squeeze too hard, and the liquid spills down my chin and fingers.
Charlie pretends not to notice, but his eyes are grinning. “Yeah, but you didn’t enjoy it. I heard Dante growl, ‘Wrong house, wrong night, motherfucker’,” he mocks, his voice dropping to lethal levels. “Then, pop! He shot the guy in the forehead with my gun.”
He’s oddly excited and animated for someone who claims to be annoyed.
“You wiped the security footage, right?”
“Yes, of course.” He waves me off. “I’ve never seen him smile, not even in New York—”
“Wait.” I scrunch my brows. “When did you see him in New York?”
“Surveillance.” His face twists, as if that’s obvious, as if he wasn’t supposed to be watching Aurora and Jax. He continues to ramble while opening a bag of dark-roasted beans. “But I swear on the Jedi Code, I saw his teeth sparkling in the pitch-black while he was breaking necks and taking names.”
He abandons the coffee and busts into a karate move, apparently mimicking Dante, and I glance around the room, wondering if I’m being pranked. Who is this person? What meds am I on?
My gaze gravitates to the miniature cups stacked on the espresso machine and lining the sink. “Exactly how many of those have you had?”
He dumps the bag into the hopper, the smell perking up my senses.
“Only five. They’re small.”
I release a long breath and pray for patience. “Why’d Aurora go to the beach house?”
“Probably because you’re an asshole.”
“Thanks,” I mumble before I chug the water.
“No joke. I’ve been through this with you. You’re a good dude. You’d take a bullet for anyone on the team—shit, for any random person walking the street—but you’re terrible at self-care. You’d smack any of us for acting the way you are.”
I crush the empty bottle in my hand to ease my frustration. “I’m fucking tired.”
He faces me, shoulders squared. “Then go to bed. Have an espresso. We’re all tired. I’m tired of people—period. I’d much rather be trailing perps than playing chauffeur and answering questions like I’m fucking Google.”
“Then get another agent to do it.”
He ignores me. “Aurora has to be tired. She’s pregnant and taking care of your dumb ass, all while making sure we’re fed and not bored. She went through something traumatic too. She could be huddled in a corner crying, but she’s not. She’s staying busy.”
Agitation swarms in my chest. “Why do you think I’m miserable?”
He scoffs. “Feeling sorry for yourself won’t fix a damn thing.”
A beat of silence. I want to argue with him, but he’s not wrong. I have to push through this hell. Embrace the suck.
“Fine,” I huff. “What is she doing at the beach house?”
“Meeting a contractor and bringing our team pizza.”
“They can order their own pizza.”
“She’s being nice. You remember what nice is, right? Besides, they’re cleaning the place up.”
Again, I’m struck with confusion. “Why?”
He holds my gaze. “Because Aurora is family to you.”
I’m at a loss for words, struggling to fight the guilt. Fuck, I need to get over there. I need to do something.
“And your sister already knows about Aurora. You didn’t think she’d demand to know the person you’re bringing to her wedding?”
A jolt of adrenaline courses through me, and my gut churns. “You told her?”
“Bennett, our commander, has had how many partners? Four? Five? Yet we welcome each one with jazz hands and pom-poms, because this job is lonely. Good for her for trying. I didn’t recognize it at first, but it’s clear you love Aurora, and we’re going to rally around you whether you like it or not.
Fuck your parents if they can’t accept her…
and Jax…and Ethan.” He throws his hands up and shrugs.
“Y’all could be fantasizing about each other, but instead, you’re living it out. Who cares?”
“I’m not fantasizing about anyone except Aurora.”
He turns on the coffee grinder, drowning me out, and I toss the water bottle and grab another.
When he’s through making his sixth shot of caffeine, I ask, “What did my sister say?”
“She didn’t believe me. She said there’s no chance her broody brother is dating a model, especially one married to Jackson O’Reilly.”
My lips curve into a smile, and I can’t help but chuckle. “Wow, great to know she has faith in me.”
“She’s going to shit her pants when y’all show up.” He shoots me a side-eye. “By the way, your shoulder is bleeding. It’ll be a bitch when the blood dries and you rip off that shirt.”
“Shut up and make me an espresso. I need you to drive me to Santa Monica.”
“Awesome,” he deadpans. “Just what I want to do.”