Page 11 of Oathbreaker

She looks almost as bad as I do. Okay, not really, but the dark circles under her eyes weren’t there two days ago, and her expression is shrouded—like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. And I hate myself a little knowing it’s because of me.

Stepping out of the shadows like I did probably wasn’t the best move, but I wasn’t brave enough—or physically strong enough—to get into the Sapphire Room. I followed Banks first because he was the easiest to find. Badass hockey player living in a big house—with a wife or live-in girlfriend and…a baby.

Watching him carrying in that car seat was jarring—because in my mind it’s still five years ago. My life is picking up where it left off. The hard part is going to be understanding that everyone else’s moved on.

This isn’t the time to think about all that.

“When was the last time you slept?” I demand, forcing myself into a sitting position.

She knits her brows together, giving me a pointed look. “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who’s hurt—are you bleeding again? Where are you bleeding? Sit up, let me see.”

I didn’t even notice the blood on the sheets and try to twist to get a look at the bandage from my kidney surgery, but it hurts too much.

“I said, let me see.” Firm fingers on my shoulder, holding me upright as she checks the wound. “This is opening, Colt. What have you been doing?”

“I thrash in my sleep,” I admit. “Nightmares and shit. They wake me up.”

Her eyes find mine worriedly. “Do you need?—”

“What I need is to see Dash and the others, explain and?—”

“You’re in no position to see anyone. They’re going to kick your ass when they find out you’re alive.” Her hands are on her hips now. “The best thing for you would be to come home with me.”

“You, uh, live on your own?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

She scowls. “What kind of question is that? I’m not in college anymore. I have a job, responsibilities, a life. There have been a lot of changes since you’ve been gone… things you don’t know.”

That stings a little, but I nod. “Then tell me.”

“We will, but first we have to come up with a plan to break the news to the boys because this is going to hit everyone hard. And somewhere in there, you’re going to have to tell me how you came to be at the cemetery when I was there.” Big green eyes burn with intensity and curiosity, and probably a touch of annoyance.

“I was following you,” I say blandly. “How else?”

It’s almost comical, the way I can see how much restraint it requires for her not to lose her temper.

That’s my girl, the fiery redhead I fell in love with. Long before I was willing to give those feelings a name.

“Let’s pack up your stuff.” She looks around. “Is this all you have?”

“My entire life reduced to one duffel,” I admit with a lopsided grin. “It makes packing and moving a cinch.”

She purses her lips. “It’s not funny, Colt.”

I sigh. “I know, baby. But all I can do is crack a few jokes and try my best not to dwell on the last four years.”

Her expression softens but she quickly turns away, pulling clothes out for me. “Sweats, okay? I think those will be easiest for you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I’d like to say I yanked them on and dressed myself, but the bleeding must be indicative of an infection or something because I’m weaker than I was a couple of days ago. So, standing up to put on my damn pants is apparently beyond the realm of my current capabilities.

“You need help.” It’s not a question, really.

My girl kneels in front of me, gently putting my feet into the sweat pants, lifting them to my knees, and then offering me her shoulder as I stand so she can support me as I pull them up.

This isn’t how I pictured our reunion.

And it pisses me off.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, at least managing to pull a T-shirt over my head.