Page 32 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

TWENTY-SIX

ADALENE

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I groan, rolling my head away. I wish I could just turn it off.

I barely noticed the sound when they first hooked me up, but now? Now it’s the worst sound I’ve ever heard— a reminder of where I am, what I’ve endured.

I pinch my eyes closed, the fluorescent lights ahead fuzzy as my lash line fills with unwanted tears. I’m so fucking tired of crying, and even though my mind’s numb and angry, the only emotion I can seem to express is despair.

I could barely look at Stetson, Gus, and Faith when I woke up in the hospital parking lot as they all tried to coax me up and out of the safety of the van. But worse than that, was looking at Mateo.

Does he look at me and think I deserved my punishment?

My heart tells me no—that’s not the man I consider one of my best friends—but Rafael’s voice echoes in my head, and the memory of Mateo all those years ago saying basically the same thing. What did I do to cause this?

Scalding hot tears skitter over my broken and swollen cheeks, burning a path to the crook of my neck, and the nasty mat of hair pooled beneath me. Nothing. I did nothing—I still don’t really know why this happened. Why me?

The door clicks open, the bustling noises of the rest of the hospital pouring in, along with a wave of cologne.

“Dale, are you okay? Are you in pain? Do you need me to get the doctor in here?” The tender tone of Mateo’s voice cracks my heart, the sensation of blood flooding my chest almost enough to drown me. I turn away from where I know he’s standing, sobbing harder.

“I’ll never be okay,” I whisper, more to myself than him. But the sharp intake of breath tells me he heard me.

“Yes, you will.” There’s a firmness in his voice that only pisses me off.

I roll my eyes to his, teeth barred in a snarl as the heat of anger pours through me.

How does he know? “You going to fix me Mateo? You think anything you can do, can fix me? Can make me safe again? Remove the memory of them, him…” I bite my tongue, the remainder of that sentence too bitter to release, even in my current state.

And instead of seeing sadness or pity on his face, like I expect, there’s an edge to his gaze—a hardness I’m not used to. This is the man who’s kind and thoughtful to every person he meets. He’s fair, if not a little too easy to please, and always puts everyone above himself.

He’s not the angry kind.

In fact, I’ve only ever seen him angry once. And that time was my fault too.

I roll away, the shame too much to bear.

“Talk to me, Dale. Be sad, angry, hurt. Whatever you need, but don’t shut me out. Don’t shut us all out.”

I croak out the only words I know to say, “I’m sorry.”

It’s silent for several seconds, and if I didn’t feel the heat of his gaze boring into me, I’d think he left. And then he shuffles closer, his hand resting on the bed next to my hand—but not touching me.

Does he think I’m dirty? Disgusting? I don’t blame him.

“What could you possibly have to be sorry about?” He bites out the words, and I cringe.

I make a sweeping motion over my body, opening my mouth before closing it again.

“None of this is your fault,” he hisses, his hand shifting closer and I swear it feels like he’s quivering.

Fighting the shame, I turn to look at him. “Did I bring this on myself?”

His face screws into a look of confusion, before dropping, his eyes glittering with anger as they skate across my skin.

“Never, Dale. You’ve never done anything to deserve this.

” He bites his cheek, his eyes arresting mine, and then he hesitantly slips his hand around mine, gently squeezing.

“You could never do anything to deserve this.”

Angry tears begin to fall unbidden past my eyes once more. “But in high school, when that guy?—”

Mateo’s hand flexes, a look of true horror crossing his features as the memory seems to fill his mind. “You didn’t do anything then to deserve what happened to you. Ever. And any asshole who made you feel that way, deserves a permanent place in hell. And groveling at your feet until he gets there.”

I can’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbles out of me.

His words are so ridiculous, and yet his face is deadly serious.

Even as I laugh, the sound hoarse and broken, his determination doesn’t slip.

His hand squeezes tighter, like I’m the one holding him up, and he steps closer still, his eyes fixed on mine.

“If you’ve walked around for the last ten years, thinking that I thought that of you, Dale, I have even more to make up for than I thought. Not only does no one deserve that, but you—” His eyes are so full of heat, that I close my mouth, caught off guard.

This is not how I expected this to go.

Before I have the chance to say anything else, the door opens, and I can see Stetson’s head pop around Mateo’s shoulder. “Can we come in?” she whispers, and I feel the renewed ache of tears forming a lump in the back of my throat.

Mateo’s fingers flex once more, before he moves to step out of the way.

But for whatever reason, I feel safe with him—maybe it’s the fact that I know he spent every day searching for me, omitting sleep even, according to Stetson.

Or it’s the fact that even though I feel disgusting and abused, when he looks at me, I don’t feel so broken.

Whatever it is, I clamp my own fingers around his, pulling his retreat to a stop.

His eyes find mine, and then he nods, stepping behind me, but not out of the room.

Stetson, bless her, doesn’t comment, but instead rushes to the bed, her hands extended. Faith’s quick on her heels, tears already flowing over her bright red cheek bones, as she looks at me. They stop at the foot of the bed, clearly as lost for words as I feel.

“Pregnancy is turning you into a mush ball,” I state, indicating Stetson's worried face. Her expression instantly hardens, and Faith, bless her, sniffles, eyes widening in surprise.

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” Stetson huffs, crossing her arms. The motion pulls her shirt tighter around her belly. I note how much bigger she looks, and I was only gone a few days. How’s that even possible?

“We were so worried about you,” Faith adds.

I shrug, the IV in my arm pulling taunt. “Well, I’m okay. Thank you guys for helping look for me, you didn’t have to.”

At that, Stetson and Faith’s faces twist into varying levels of frustration—Stetson’s blatantly angry, Faith’s hidden, but poorly. Guilt fires through me instantly.

“Yes, we did” Stetson bites out, stepping around the bed to stand closer.

“You don’t get to be the only friend who worries, who gets upset when something bad happens, who keeps all the hard things to themselves.

We’re done doing that, Dale. You guys are my best friends, and I’ll fight anyone who stands in the way of that. You included, you stubborn bitch.”

Although there’s a bite to her words, I know them for what they are. Stetson isn’t good with confessing her feelings, but she’s damn good at showing up, fighting for what she believes and protecting those she loves.

And even if I feel like I don’t deserve it, I know I’m on top of that list. I nod, my fingers trembling as I reach out to her.

“I’ve been better.”

Stetson nods at that, resignation in her face. Faith moves up on the other side, her own hand trembling as she reaches for my free one. “We’re here for you. Every step of the way.”

I squeeze her hand back, looking down at my toes as I whisper, “What if I’m never the same?”

“Then I can’t wait to love the new you, too,” Stetson states, her voice resolute. My throat bobs, thick with emotion at the sincerity in her words.

The door opens once more, Gus sticking his head in. His curls are especially unruly this morning, his eyes sharp but tired looking, the bags under them saying more than I know he’ll ever say out loud. It’s a knife to the heart.

I clear my throat. “You can come in too if you want.”

He eyes me, and then shakes his head. With him, I know it’s not personal.

I remember all those months ago, when he was here with Stetson, she mentioned he had a weird thing about hospitals.

And even though I don’t know the details, I’ve a feeling, what he’s doing now is even more than he thought he was capable of.

“I, uh, the police are headed this way. I heard a nurse talking about it.” His eyes flick to Mateo’s before finding Stetson’s. They’re like magnets—always finding each other.

“Thank you, Gus,” Mateo mumbles.

I turn to look at Mateo, confused by the nervousness lacing his words. Gus only huffs, the noise sounding awfully full of bitterness, before he straightens, letting the door click closed behind him. I look at Stetson next, and then Faith, eyebrows raised.

Stetson squeezes my hand once more, before letting go. “You’ll have to talk to Mateo about that.” And then she retreats toward the door, Faith following behind. They leave, more and more questions swirling around in my head, fighting for a spot on my tongue.

“What—”

“I’ll explain that later. Right now—” He pauses, stepping into my vision once more. “We found two of the men who attacked you.”

My heart rate instantly skyrockets, the machine beside me blaring with each accelerated beat. They were after me then, I barely escaped. I was being hunted.

“Dale, breathe for me, it’s okay.” Mateo leans forward, brushing a piece of hair from my face.

“You’re safe. My guy, he got jumped by two of them, but was able to get them.

He—” He licks his lower lip, cringing. “He killed them, Dale. You’re safe.

They can’t hurt you anymore. The police are here to take your statement, even though I told them to fucking wait.

” He bites out the last part, bitterness evident. Not bitterness, protectiveness?

My lip quivers, but I nod. Part of me knows I should be appalled that they’re dead.

But the bigger part of me, the dark part I never give the time of day, doesn’t even cower at the thought.

In fact, it writhes within me, full of disdain that I wasn’t the one to pull the trigger.

As much as I’ve always wondered if I could do what Stetson did with Gibson, exacting her own vengeance in the name of self-defense, I know now I could.

Maybe I wouldn’t have been able to before, but that part of me that had reservations is broken now.

Like a dam holding back the black inky waters of my own anger and demons, Marco and his brothers shattered it, and all I feel now is the current dragging me under.

My eyes snap up to his. “Wait, you said two. There were three.”

His head and shoulders droop, before he nods.

“I know, you said that right before you collapsed. But my guy stayed out there all night, and he never found anyone. Never even saw tracks for a third person. He found the house you were at”—he blows out a puff of air—“it was completely abandoned. Everything was cleaned out, gone.” I shiver, the memory of the basement one that’ll stay branded on my mind forever.

My eyes search his, and I open my mouth to ask him about the two that were killed—did Rafael get away? Or one of the others?

“What is it?” His brows push together.

“What, what did the two look like?”

His head quirks. “I don’t know. I can call my guy and ask.”

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. Rafael might not have been as bad as his brothers, but he still hurt me. He still kidnapped me, and abused me.

“I’ll never be safe,” I whisper, my mouth instantly feeling dry.

“Yes, you will. I’ll make sure of it. Until we can find the third guy, or can prove that he’s gone, you’re going to come live at my house.” There’s no room for argument in his tone, but when has that ever stopped me?

“I have a job,” I say, even though the thought of returning to teaching sounds like my own personal hell.

“And it’ll be there in the fall, or whenever you’re ready to go back. But you have to heal; you have to get better first.”

I bite down on my tongue, that annoyingly familiar rush of anger surfacing once more at the word “better”.

What if I’m never better?