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“We’re family, Truck,” Teller replied, his tone firm yet warm. “And family doesn’t walk away when things go sideways.”

The words struck something deep within Truck, settling into a place he didn’t often visit. He gave Teller a small nod, the kind that said he understood—really understood—what the man was saying. No matter what, they stood together.

Truck hit the large silver button on the wall, and the doors slid open with a soft whoosh. He stepped into the quiet corridor, hisboots echoing faintly against the linoleum. Passing the nurses’ station, he offered a polite nod to a tired-looking nurse before continuing to Charlie’s room. When he opened the door, the sight of her stopped him in his tracks.

She looked so small curled up under a heap of blankets, her trembling frame barely making a dent in the hospital bed. The stark white of the room only made her paleness more pronounced. Truck closed the door behind him softly, his voice low but filled with concern. “Charlie?”

Her eyes fluttered open, the weariness in them tugging at something deep inside him. “Hey. I thought you left,” she managed, her words shaky between shivers.

“Sorry. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he said, attempting a weak smile. “I went out front to talk to Teller.” He stepped closer to the bed, his brows knitting together as he took in the way her body shook. “What’s wrong? Why are you shaking so badly?”

Charlie gripped the blankets tighter, her fingers ghostly white against the fabric. “Adrenaline crash,” she said, her teeth chattering. “That’s what the doctor said.”

Truck dragged a chair closer to the bed, the scrape of metal against the floor muted by the heavy silence of the room. Sitting down, he reached out, his calloused hand covering hers. The tremors in her fingers vibrated through his palm, a stark reminder of how raw the night had left them both.

“When they release you,” he said, his voice steady, “we’ll go out front and wait with the others.”

Her brows knitted in confusion. “The others?”

“The brothers,” he clarified, his grip on her hand firm but gentle. “The whole chapter’s out there. Every single one of them, waiting for news on Hemlock.”

Charlie’s eyes glistened, her worry as clear as the tears she refused to let fall. Truck felt the weight of it like a stone in his chest. He wanted to take the worry from her, to shoulder it himself, but he didn’t know how—not when his own heart was heavy with the same fears.

For a moment, they sat in silence, her trembling slowly easing as his steady presence anchored her. He squeezed her hand, a small, unspoken promise he wouldn’t let her face this alone.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Charlie lay staring at the clock, each tick stretching time into something unbearable. The hospital’s fluorescent lighting hummed softly above her, the sound blending with the distant murmur of voices in the hall. She clutched the thin blanket tighter, waiting to be released—or for news about Hemlock.

Truck had excused himself again, muttering something about checking for an update. The door creaked open, and she turned her head, expecting to see his familiar frame or perhaps the nurse. Instead, a woman in uniform stepped into view, her presence commanding but calm.

“Miss Cote?” the officer asked, her tone professional but kind.

“Yes,” Charlie replied, her voice steady despite the tension curling in her chest.

“You asked for an officer?”

“I did,” Charlie said, sitting up a little straighter. “The girl who stabbed me and my friend Emile...” She paused, taking a shaky breath. “Ashley Mills.”

The officer nodded, confirming the name. “What about her?”

“She told me Crispen Allen was tied up. I don’t think she meant it to mean busy. I’m worried she hurt him. He might need medical attention,” Charlie explained, her words tumbling out faster than she intended.

“Was he at the house?”

“No,” Charlie said, shaking her head. “They lived together. I can give you the address.”

She quickly relayed the details—the name of the apartment complex, the gate code, the apartment number. “There’s a keypad to get inside,” she added, giving the code.

The officer scribbled down the information before lifting the radio hooked to her shoulder. “Unit 48, please respond,” the officer said into the device, her voice sharp and clear as she called in the details.

Charlie watched, her heart thudding in her chest as the officer confirmed the address over the radio. A strange mix of relief and dread settled over her as she realized the weight of what she had just done. It was over for now. At least until tomorrow. She knew the police would have more questions—probably ones she wouldn’t have answers for.

The officer turned back to her, her expression softer now. “Thank you for the information. We’ll let you know if Mr. Allen is okay.”

“Thank you,” Charlie murmured, her voice quieter now. She watched as the officer left, the door swinging open slightly behind her. For the first time in hours, Charlie felt like she could breathe, though her chest still ached with exhaustion and worry.

She didn’t mind that the door was left ajar. It felt better this way—less isolating. Less like a cage.