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"Matty," I tried again, taking his cold hands in mine. "You're safe now. I've got you."
Slowly, his eyes focused on mine, but what I saw there made my chest ache. The fear was expected, but there was something else—a profound emptiness, as if something fundamental had shut down inside him.
"He's never going to stop," Matty whispered, his voice small and hollow. "He's going to keep trying until I'm dead."
"That's not going to happen," I said firmly, squeezing his hands. "I won't let it happen."
Matty just shook his head, pulling his hands away and wrapping his arms around himself. "He got in here."
And the prospect on the gate that must have let him in would be lucky to still be walking after I was done with him. If Digger hadn't been watching the cameras, it would have been too late.
I wanted to argue, to reassure him, but the broken look in his eyes stopped me. Instead, I sat beside him and pulled him against my side, relieved when he didn't resist.
"We're going to figure this out," I promised. "My club has resources, too. And we're a hell of a lot more motivated than some hired gun."
Matty didn't respond, just stared vacantly at the blood splatter on my floor. I needed to clean that up, but I couldn't bring myself to leave him, even for a moment.
Daisy arrived a few minutes later with fresh clothes and a medical kit. She took one look at Matty and her expression softened with understanding.
"Hey, sweetie," she said gently, kneeling where I had been. "Let's get you into something clean, okay?"
Matty looked at her blankly, then down at his own clothes. There was blood on them—the intruder's, not his—but he seemed only vaguely aware of it.
"Okay," he whispered, his voice childlike and distant.
Daisy glanced at me, concern evident in her eyes. "I'll help him change. Why don't you clean up a bit too?"
I nodded, reluctantly moving away from Matty. In the kitchen, I scrubbed the blood from my hands and changed my shirt. When I was done, Matty was dressed in clean sweats, his hair combed neatly by Daisy's motherly hands. But his eyes remained vacant, and he clutched Patches to him like a lifeline.
"I'm going to make him some tea," Daisy told me quietly. "Maybe call the doc. He's in shock."
I nodded, watching as Matty rocked slightly, his fingers stroking Patches' worn fur in a repetitive motion. Daisy squeezed my arm before heading to the kitchen, and I sat beside Matty again, careful not to crowd him.
"You're safe now," I said softly. "I promise." It wouldn't hurt to get the doc here for him. Doc Jennings was retired, and because we'd saved his teenage granddaughter from a lowlife that was intent on crossing state lines with her, he came out to extract bullets or to sew up knife wounds whenever we needed him.
Matty looked up at me, his eyes wide and childlike. "Is Tik Tac okay?" he asked in a small voice.
"He will be," I assured him. "Concussion, but nothing permanent."
"The bad man hurt him," Matty whispered, hugging Patches tighter. "Because of me."
My chest tightened at his words and the childish cadence of his speech. This wasn't even the nervous young man I'd married two days ago. This was something else entirely—a protective regression, his mind retreating to cope with the trauma.
"Not because of you," I said firmly. "Because of your godfather. None of this is your fault, little one."
His eyes welled with tears. "I'm scared, Daddy."
My heart jumped at the name. Without hesitation, I gathered him into my arms, cradling him against my chest. "I know you are, baby. But I've got you now."
Daisy returned with a steaming mug of tea, her expression softening as she took in our position. "Here, sweetie," she said, setting the mug on the coffee table. "It's chamomile with honey. It'll help you feel better."
"Can you call the doc for me?" I asked Daisy without taking my eyes off him. Matty stared at the mug as if he didn't know what to do with it.
"It's okay," I encouraged. "Daisy makes the best tea."
With trembling hands, he reached for the mug, but nearly dropped it. I steadied his grip, helping him bring it to his lips. He took a small sip, then another, his body gradually relaxing against mine.
"Thank you," he whispered to Daisy, his voice still small and childlike.