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Van and I exchange glances, neither of us certain how to broach the topic I know we’re both thinking.

I take a tentative attempt at it. “Sheriff Brewer told us what happened.”

She blinks. “He did? What did he say?”

I nod, my stomach souring all over again. “That Bron attacked you. Assaulted you,” I add quieter, barely able to bring myself to say it out loud.

“Oh,” she says softly.

“There’s no need to rush anything,” I continue. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“We’ll wait for as long as you need,” Van pipes in.

Everly shakes her head. “Thank you, but I don’t need to wait. He never got the chance to.”

Neither Van nor I interrupt her as she slips back to this morning and the horrors she had to face alone. We don’t look away or make a single movement as she opens her wounds and spills her pain into the room. Her voice remains steady, even like she’s completely detached herself from the ordeal.

And I don’t blame her.

The deeper she goes into what Bron did to her, the less I want to hear it. It has nothing to do with guilt, but everything to do with the bone deep fury begging me to find my son and put him into the ground.

When she gets to the part, the moment he has her on the ground, I involuntarily suck in a breath. My entire body jerks reflexively like I can somehow jump in and stop him.

Everly turns her head to me, her eyes filled with compassion I don’t deserve as she touches the side of my face.

“I’m okay,” she says ... assuring me.

Me.

She’s trying to soothe me when she’s the one I should be comforting.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, face turning into the palm brushing my cheek.

Everly shakes her head. “I’m okay,” she repeats. “Lauren got there just in time, and we got away.”

“You remember nothing about the clearing or what happened to Bron?” Van asks, drawing her attention to him.

“I barely remember the drive back.”

I kiss her.

I pour my gratitude and guilt into the gentle motions of our mouths meeting. I gather her up into my chest and press her as close as I can without merging our bodies together.

I stop when she reaches for the front of my jeans, struggling with only one hand, but getting the button unfastened.

“You need to rest,” I breathe against her mouth.

“Need you,” she argues, breaking our connection to capture Van’s mouth. “Please.”

The plea barely leaves her lips when Van groans low and primal. His mouth drags down her jaw and I replace him at her mouth. I cradle the back of her head and angle to deepen the kiss.

At her other side, Van has shoved her top up around her waist, baring her thighs, her panty covered mound. His hand skims up her thigh, stops at her hip bone.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” She kisses me in between words. “Sure. Don’t stop.”

That’s all the confirmation Van needs to free her of the scrap of fabric. To push her thighs wide and fill them with his shoulders. She gasps as he slides his hands up the backs of her thighs and lifts her to his mouth.