Page 31 of Make You Mine

Declan

Twice in two days—either she’s trying to kill me, or I’ve well and truly pissed off the universe. Funny, really. I left this place thinking I’d be bringing my wife home; I didn’t expect I’d be marching her straight back with a fresh set of life-threatening injuries.

The NHS ought to name a bloody wing after us at this point.

Not that it really matters.

The night has been utter chaos.

Once Chelsea dropped—slack-jawed, lifeless, clutching the shovel she planned to use to bury my wife—Amerie dragged herself up the stairs, blood slicking her hands, shaking like a leaf in a storm.

She found me where I’d been left, bound to the bed frame like some helpless wanker, and with trembling fingers she managed to undo one of the knots.

That’s all she had in her before she crumpled to the floor and lost consciousness.

But it was all I needed.

I ripped the filthy gag from my mouth and tore at the other knot tethering my left wrist to the bedpost. The second I freed myself, I was at her side, scooping her up with panic clawing at my insides.

Her skin was cold and clammy. There was blood everywhere—hers, mine, Chelsea’s—I couldn’t even begin to tell what belonged to whom. I only knew she wasn’t waking up.

I called 999 as I searched the rest of the house for Willow and Emmett, still half in shock, still unsure if I was hallucinating the whole thing.

I found them in separate rooms. Emmett was crawling on the floor in the kitchen.

Willow was tied up and stowed away in the guest bedroom’s wardrobe, a strip of duct tape over her mouth.

Minutes later, the house was swarming. Paramedics, police, all of them shouting and bustling about, trying to take statements while checking pulses, while Willow cried and Emmett wailed and all I could do was bark at them to get Amerie in the bloody ambulance before answering another question.

They assessed us all for injuries. But Amerie…

she was the one that needed to be rushed off to A I see the flicker of calculation behind his eyes. Whether to push or retreat.

Eventually, he gives a stiff nod, mouth thinning.

“We’ll… be in touch,” he mutters.

He turns and walks off, his pace too fast to be casual. I watch him go with a clenched jaw and eyes burning. Only when he rounds the corner do I let out a long breath, roll the tension from my shoulders, and toss the untouched coffee into the bin.

I’ve barely taken three steps toward Amerie’s room when my phone buzzes in my pocket. The name flashing on the screen makes my lip curl.

Cormac Doyle.

I stare at the name for a beat, then swipe to answer. It’s been twenty-four hours since we last spoke. May as well get it over with, seeing as there’s been another bloody emergency and I’ve got to tell him I won’t be in again.

“Jesus Christ, you mad bastard!” Doyle’s voice blares over the line with all the subtlety of a stampede.

“Swear to god I nearly spat out my Weetabix when I flicked on the telly and saw your bloody house swarming with coppers and paramedics! What the hell happened over there? Nanny went off her rocker, did she? It’s always the quiet ones! ”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Cormac?—”

“And was it her? That’s what I want to know! The same one from that Gareth Morris cock-up years ago? Looked familiar, didn’t she?”

“Cormac, I’m not up for a chat.”

He huffs. “Well go on then. What’s the damage?”

“I won’t be in. I’m taking a leave of absence. Couple weeks at least.”

He pauses a moment. “You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

“But Scotland? Declan, don’t be daft?—”

“Scotland’s off. Find someone else.”

“Have you gone mental?” he snaps. “I already told Lionel you were en route. He’s expecting you at the hotel by tonight. It’s why I rang. Booked your new flight for late this morning!”

“I said find someone else,” I repeat.

There’s a beat of silence, then his tone turns venomous. “If you think you’ll be able to bugger off and still keep your name on that partner track, you’re sorely mistaken.”

My jaw flexes. “I don’t give a single fuck about the partner track.”

“Declan—”

“My family comes first, Cormac. You can piss off with your threats.”

And with that, I hang up. I tuck the phone away, exhale slowly, and finally head back down the corridor. I’ve got a wife and two kids waiting for me, and they matter more than any bloody job at a soulless company.

I stop just short of the doorway, one hand braced on the frame as I take them in—the three of them, huddled together in that stark white hospital bed like they’ve been stitched back into one another after nearly being ripped apart.

Willow’s perched delicately on the edge, her small form barely denting the sheets, her curls still a bit tangled from sleep and the chaotic night we’ve had. Emmett’s tucked neatly into Amerie’s arms, his thumb loosely caught between his gums, but his eyes are wide and alert as he stares up at her.

And Amerie… she’s sitting upright, beautiful and mesmerizing even after all she’s been through.

Even with the bruise on her collarbone that makes my blood boil, and the rigid way she cradles Emmett that tells me she’s compensating for the pain in her shoulder.

But she’s smiling and her dark eyes are alight and she radiates warmth in a way no one else does.

All three of them are sights to behold—smiling, giggling, murmuring little jokes to each other in that language only a mother and her babes can speak.

And for a moment, I just watch. Let it fill my lungs like fresh air after drowning. The quiet laughter. The warmth. The bloody miracle of it all.

I clear my throat when I’ve gathered myself, and three sets of eyes flick up to meet mine.

Amerie smirks at me, and even with all she’s been through, her gaze is steady, her expression so full of love it about undoes me.

Her dark eyes soften as they sweep over me, as though she’s taking inventory and finding comfort in the familiar.

I step forward, a slow smile creeping across my face as I reach the bed.

“Alright then,” I say, crouching slightly to press a kiss to Emmett’s fuzzy head, then to Willow’s curls, and finally to Amerie’s forehead, lingering there a beat longer. “I see you lot are getting on perfectly well without me. Should I be worried?”

Willow giggles and leans into Amerie’s side. “Mommy says the stuffed rabbit does help her feel better.”

“Ah, well.” I sink into the chair beside the bed with a groan more theatrical than necessary, rubbing my lower back like a man twice my age. “You were right then, Widget. The bloody thing does have magical healing powers. I’ll have to give it a raise.”

That earns a delighted squeal from Willow, and even Emmett lets out a gurgle of approval. Amerie chuckles low under her breath, and I can tell it hurts her ribs to laugh, but she doesn’t stop. She reaches for my hand, threading her fingers through mine.