Page 130 of Restitution

“Are you okay?” Stacey whispers against my ear as she rises onto her tiptoes.

I’m guessing my worries are written all over my face. She can probably feel how sweaty my palm is. Even the dogs are fussing around me, nudging me with their noses.

I attempt a nod when Stacey stares at me, and she squeezes my hand. “I’m here.”

“I know,” I reply quietly, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles, and the crowd squeals so loud Stacey blushes.

Someone wolf-whistles from afar, and I rein in my fierce possessiveness. I want them to stop looking at my girl. As beautiful and amazing as she is, she’s mine – I’m the one she loves.

Fuck, my heart is hammering in my chest, and all I can think about is hiding, smoking a joint to take the edge off the pending panic attack clawing at my insides.

I can’t control them. The frequency. The intensity. Sometimes I’ll be sitting doing nothing and I’m hit with a wave of worry about something that shouldn’t even concern me. It’s fucking annoying.Stacey is asleep most of the time it happens. I’ll sit on the balcony with my head between my legs and count down from fifty. Then I’ll pace, smoke, punch something, and when it starts to fade, I’ll wrap myself around Stacey and pray we make it out of all of this.

I’ve only had one seizure in the last few days.

I have a shot of happiness with Stacey. If I can survive the underworld’s backlash, then I could have a happy ending with my girl, our dogs and any children I’ve already knocked her up with.

Feeling like I’m in control of my body now that I’m free from Bernadette’s clutches is what I want. What I need. But all I have are a fuck tonne of unwanted thoughts and an impulsive need tohurtsomeone.

“You’re shaking,” Stacey says, stroking her thumb over my hand. Her voice is low enough that only I can hear, and as everyone starts to get out of the cars, she adds, “Name three of your favourite things.”

My eyes flicker to her; I know what she’s doing. My therapist gets me to do the exact same thing. I made Stacey do it after Crawley’s warehouse. My dad even got me to name things once when I was freaking out on the phone about kissing Stacey.

My heart twists at the memory. I was such a dick to him instead of being a good son. Even when I told him to basically die, he still loved me. He escaped a highly secured institution to save me, to save Stacey when she failed to show up for her visitation.

And now I have no idea where the fuck he is or if he’s still breathing.

“Three,” Stacey pushes as Russians flood the driveway.

I gulp. “You.”

She’s smiling in my peripheral vision. “Two more?”

I look down at Hopper and Milo, both watching me with their tongues out, lightly panting. “The dogs,” I say, picturing her dancing around the room with them, cuddling them in bed, her screaming as she was dragged across the wet, muddy grass when Milo ran for a rabbit.

“And my family.” I glance at my mother and Ewan. My sister’s probably hiding in the manor.

By not focusing on my breathing or my heartbeat, I realise they’ve calmed somewhat, and I don’t feel like I’m slowly drowning. I sigh so deeply, my stepdad glances at me with a flat-lipped expression – a silent,Are you okay?

I nod.

Someone blows out a puff of air beside me. “Shit, that’s a lot of people.”

I turn to see Dez – Tylar holds on to his arm. My shoulders shake with a silent chuckle. “He always needs to make a dramatic entrance, doesn’t he?”

Dez snorts. “I’m surprised there aren’t any fireworks.”

I guess Base marrying a mafia princess has some positives, considering he’s pulling up to the manor with hundreds of Russian soldiers who look like they could rip your soul from your body with one glance. Units surround the manor’s grounds, some outside in jeeps; others patrolling the crowd.

Bodyguards rush to the car as Base shoves open the door with more force than necessary. He’s suited up and wearing sunglasses for some idiotic reason, but he immediately flips them off his face and grins at me. “Kade Mitchell,” he says, slamming his door. “Who knew you’d ever be more famous than your fucking dad, right?”

I shake my head but fight a smile, some of the panic alreadyeasing off at the sight of him. Out of everyone, even Stacey, he understands what I went through the most. He was present. Took part. Affected. We kept each other semi-sane every time Bernadette summoned us to her room.

He grins at us. “I brought the party to you, oh famous one. Who the fuck are we killing?”

Even in the middle of a war, Base tries to lighten the mood. He can never be taken seriously.

“Fuckface,” he greets Dez, patting his shoulder. “Been a while. You look shorter.”