Page 13
Chapter Thirteen
Sutton
M en were idiots.
I’d known this fact for a long time. Longer than most facts children learn at a young age. But never had I felt the conviction so strongly as I did in this moment: driving a beast of a Harley at questionable speeds along the fringes of Big Sur with one of said idiots half-consciously holding onto my back.
I wanted to go faster, but I couldn’t. Ty wasn’t strong enough to hang on the way he needed to for me to go faster. Then again, going slower was killing him.
I should be used to the catch-22s encircling this man by now. The fact that he was both my father’s friend and yet irresistible to me. That he could demand my submission but only to the degree that allowed him to serve me. And that he could both punish and pleasure me with the same hand.
And yet, here I was again, surprised by each new contradiction that made my heartbeats jump a little faster.
Especially how I both hated him for protecting me and loved him for it.
Not loved him like love love.
No. Definitely not. But secretly, indiscreetly, I loved him for the way he cared for me because no one had done that for me before. Not even my father.
If Dad were alive, maybe he would argue that, of course, he’d give his life for me. Except he hadn’t. He’d had the choice time and again to give up his military life to be in mine, and he’d always chosen the fight.
My dad was a hero. He’d just never been mine.
I took the turn off the highway that led to the garage, and then slowed with a stifled curse as Tynan’s weight almost toppled the bike.
“Hang on. We’re almost there.” I pulled straight and then floored it for the home stretch. Hopefully, whoever he called when we were in the garage was there waiting because there was no way I could lift this brute of a man.
I’d always known men were idiots, but the difference with this one was that he was the first man to have been an idiot for me.
The garage looked different at the end of the drive. Every other day we’d come, our positions had been reversed. Our power, too. Tynan had always been in front, and the building represented nothing more than a purgatory. A place I waited to know more about my friend and was tormented by the presence of my guardian.
But today, it was a haven, and there was no measure for the breath that released from my chest when the garage bay door started to open, a slender redhead in all black rushing out to meet us.
No sooner did I stop the bike than Tynan started to slide off the side.
“Jesus Christ, Ty—” the other woman swore as she caught him.
I was off the seat in another second, grabbing his other arm and wrapping it around my shoulder.
Even with the two of us, we struggled to keep his deadweight upright. There was no way we could carry him anywhere.
“Come on, Ty,” she grunted. “Stay with us, old man.”
I felt the urge to punch her for that.
“He was stabbed. I tied his jacket as tight as I could…”
“Got it. Doc’s on the way, but we need to get him inside.” She squinted. “Wonder if we leave him on the bike and roll him as far as we can?—”
We both turned at the sound of a vehicle speeding up the driveway. The pitch-black SUV squealing to a halt beside us.
A Goliath pale man with pale hair and even more colorless eyes slipped out from the driver’s seat.
“I’ve got a gurney,” he called and opened his trunk.
It was hard to see anything over Tynan’s shoulders, so I settled for not seeing. I didn’t care what was happening as long as someone was going to help him.
“Just stay with me, alright? We made it back,” I breathed next to his ear, wondering where the swell of tender words had come from and why I couldn’t stop them. “And you were the one worried about me. Stupid man.”
“Alright, we need to get him off the bike,” a low, soft voice said from closer.
I blinked several times, feeling an unfamiliar burn in my eyes. I looked at the two people on the other side of Tynan. Strangers. But he’d called them—he trusted them. And for that, I could, too.
“Lay him back along the seat, then we can slide him onto the gurney.”
My heart felt like a weapon, firing over and over and over again into my chest, a fresh round of pain accompanying each of Tynan’s weak groans.
The pale blonde man straddled the back wheel of the Harley, guiding Tynan’s body back.
“Put his leg on top of the handlebars,” he told me, and as I moved mine, the redhead angled his left leg and arm onto the gurney.
“On three, we move him.”
I gave a nod, the whole of me stiff like I was prepared for a fight.
He was going to be fine. He had to be fine. Miraculously, the doctor’s low count filtered through the fog in my brain, and on three, every ounce of my strength exploded, along with some ounces that hadn’t existed until now.
We moved Tynan onto the rolling bed, and the relief I felt when we did it was quickly mitigated by the doctor’s low curse.
“What is it?”
“Pulse is weak. He’s lost a lot of blood,” he said, his cold blue eyes never even glancing to me as he worked, stabilizing Tynan on the bed. “Rob, I have O negative blood bags in a cooler in the trunk, along with all my mobile supplies.”
Rob .
I didn’t have time to wonder what it was short for.
“We’re going to take him through the garage to the elevator.” What elevator? “Need you to hold this.”
An IV bag landed in my arms, and a few seconds later, he had the IV started in his arm.
It was the sounds that crashed over me next. In what should’ve been silence, there was the track and rattle of the wheels on the gurney. The ding of the elevator tucked away at the other end of the hall in the garage that I’d never seen before.
The doctor adjusted the bed, lifting Tynan up until he was partially seated so the gurney would fit inside the small chamber. Inside, the sounds in the silence were the worst.
The tick of the doctor’s jaw.
Tynan’s labored breathing.
The pounding thump of my pulse.
I couldn’t bear it any longer. I needed to break the sounds…I needed to know…
“Is he going to be okay?” The question calmed the ambient roar.
“Yes.”
There was no qualm—no uncertainty in the doctor’s voice. And yet, he’d still hesitated before answering.
The elevator doors opened again, and a distant corner of my mind gnawed with curiosity at the underground hallway. The long stretch with unmarked doors. The low lights. Security keypads beside each of the doorways. Was this some kind of bunker? Why was it built like this? And for what purpose? What secrecy?
Tynan made a low noise when we stopped in front of one of the doors. I tried not to focus on how his blood had already soaked through the bandage wrapped around his middle.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said low, another rush of anger charging through me seeing the softened lines of his face.
He’d never looked so soft before. Not even when he cooked for me. Not even when I caught him sleeping on the couch. It was like all the stone inside him had melted. And I hated what that meant. I hated that it was because of me.
The door opened to another hallway, longer than the first. And then there was another door, this one having no security feature, as the doctor opened it and wheeled us inside.
His home.
I didn’t even make it through the door before I knew where we were.
I knew by the scent. The stillness of sandalwood and pine—his scent I knew all too well from tussling with him each morning—and the sharp aroma of lemon, which was from the special dish soap he’d brought to the house to use.
How stupid was it that I could identify a man and his home because of dishwashing detergent?
But then there was the rest of…everything.
The photos on the wall. His unit—the other men who worked at the garage who I’d run into from time to time over the last couple of days. In the photos, though, there was one more of them. That man had a separate photo right next to one of my father, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.
“We’ll put him over here. There’s more space than in the bedroom and better light,” the doctor said, striding to the dining table that was in his way.
I jerked my head from the photos and nodded.
The door had opened up into the cabin’s living room. Neutral sprawling furniture. A bonsai tree in a small pot just beneath the TV. That was Tynan. The kind of man who patiently clipped away at the small plant, trimming and taming it so it was simultaneously whole yet wholly his.
With a few swift movements, the doctor slid a few chairs out of his way, the sound jarring me that I wasn’t attached to the gurney and should help.
Within a few moments, he and I cleared all the dining room furniture to the side of the room, leaving space for the wheeled bed.
I stayed unmoving then, gripping the handle of the bed while the doctor moved swiftly, locking the wheels and then opening his backpack. Gloves. Gauze. Alcohol. Bandages. Scissors. I couldn’t process everything that came out of what seemed like a medical magician’s bag of tricks, but as long as it fixed Tynan, it didn’t matter.
“Untie his jacket. I’m going to lift him, and then you’ll pull it free.”
I nodded, my teeth finding purchase in the side of my cheek when my fingers sank into the soaked leather. I didn’t know leather could absorb moisture like this. Had never really thought about it, I guess. Or maybe it only soaked up blood. Maybe leather, like loyalty, was the kind of thing that only absorbed blood and tears.
“Ready?”
I set down the IV bag and quickly undid the double knot I’d tied earlier around him.
“Pull,” the doctor grunted, maneuvering Tynan’s weight until I worked the jacket free.
The scent of metallic leather infiltrated my nostrils, blood and oil mixing like the crudest paint, creating a canvas of pain and suffering.
“He’s lost so much blood,” I said thickly, staring at the blood-drenched side of his shirt.
The doctor came over to me, and I looked up at him. He seemed so cold—unfeeling—until he spoke.
“He’ll be fine.” And then he pushed me to the side.
Fine. Again, he was sure, but I didn’t believe him. Not when there was far less blood with Randy.
“What are you doing?
“Cutting open his shirt.”
I should’ve moved more, but I couldn’t seem to find my bearings.
It could’ve only taken a second or two, the way he sliced through the fabric of Tynan’s shirt like it was nothing more than tissue paper, but time stretched longer, counted by each gurgle of blood from the knife wound.
And then before me stretched a mountainous terrain of muscle carved up by running rivulets of blood.
The very last thing I should’ve felt was a bolt of attraction for the older man, who, even wounded and bloodied, was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.
Maybe it was because of what happened to me. My trauma. Maybe I was just messed up in the head, having had to be much older than my age for most of my life. Or maybe…maybe it was simply him. The man who took care of me at all costs.
No longer did I think of him as a massive knight who’d given me piggyback rides one birthday when I was six, but a leather-clad gladiator torn to pieces in a battle that wasn’t his to fight.
The door opened behind me, and I turned as the redhead—Rob—appeared, trailing behind her a massive stack of toolboxes that carted a whole host of medical supplies.
I seemed to blink in slow motion while the two of them moved at light speed. Setting up the IV stand. The transfusion line. Surgical table.
Slowly, I was moved to the other side of the bed by the influx of equipment.
The doctor moved Tynan’s left arm over his chest and said, “I’m going to disinfect the wound.”
I knew the announcement was for me—so I would know what he was doing. So, I wouldn’t ask again.
“What else do you need, Rorik?”
I blinked and slowly registered the doctor’s name.
“Two packages of hemostatic dressing in that case there.” He nodded to the topmost trunk and then went to the kitchen sink to wash up, ordering over his shoulder, “And eight bags of O negative.”
I shifted my weight, the feeling of helplessness settling like a cage of barbed wire around me, making me uncomfortable and edgy with even the steadiest breath.
I swore I’d never be helpless.
To make my father proud. To never end up like my mother. To protect myself. And yet here I was, feeling helpless for someone other than myself.
Rorik slid on a pair of gloves and pulled a sponge from an individually wrapped package and pressed it to the wound.
“Hold him.”
“What—” I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t for Tynan to get another jolt of adrenaline from the pain.
“Keep him steady,” the doctor ordered more clearly.
I flattened my palm to the far side of his chest, near where the doctor was working. His skin felt cold. Clammy.
The doctor grabbed another sponge package, and I braced my arm to hold him down.
“Sorry, brother,” the doctor muttered before he wiped the wound a second time.
For this round of pain, Tynan only had the strength to flinch and groan and try to turn toward me.
“You have to stay still,” I said low, my face closer to his now that he’d turned.
Tynan grimaced, and then his eyes worked their way open like a train over broken tracks.
“Sutton…”
The weakness in his voice gutted me.
“Stay still, you stupid man,” I muttered, feeling my free hand slide up and take his fingers in mine. “I’m right here.”
Only then did his eyes close once more, and I swore his hand gave mine an almost imperceptible squeeze.
“Gauze.”
I looked up, but the doctor was talking to Rob, who now stood next to him, gloved up and ready to help. Except she wasn’t looking for the gauze or at him or even at Tynan. She was staring at me—at the tattoo on my wrist.
“Robyn.”
Her attention jerked back to him, and she quickly peeled open the blue package of hemostatic gauze.
At first, I thought she was going to pretend like she hadn’t been caught staring, but then she remarked, “A wasp tattoo. Not a common choice.”
I turned my arm a little, staring at the familiar lines delicately stenciled on my wrist.
“Maybe it should be,” I said, keeping my eyes focused on the doctor, watching him carefully apply the gauze to the wound.
“Sutures,” he interjected.
Rob—Robyn—peeled open a pack of sutures and crimped the metal end in the needle holders before handing it to the doctor.
“Maybe it should be,” she agreed low, and I couldn’t help but flick my gaze to her then, surprised to see something like…knowing…in her stare.
Did she know what it meant?
Did she know something else?
“Scissors.”
A few clips, and just like that, the gaping hole in Tynan’s side was sealed.
“Do you think you can rouse him?” Rob asked, and I bit my tongue to hold back from snapping at her.
“No. He’s lost too much blood,” the doctor answered, peeling off his gloves and tossing them in a small red bag. “I’m going to start the transfusion now and then give him something for pain, but the transfusion alone is going to take a couple of hours.”
Rob stepped back with a wordless nod and then looked at me as she removed her gloves.
“Do you know the men who attacked you?”
I stiffened. Somehow, I’d forgotten there was something before this—something that caused this. Seeing Tynan injured had pulled my brain into an orbit around his trauma. Time and circumstance ceased to exist apart from how he was doing and what I could do to help.
“They’re dead. Three of them,” I told her, recalling the bodies strewn through the bedroom. “What…happens now? Did you call the police?”
My voice tapered off, for the first time realizing the full magnitude of the scene we’d fled earlier.
Three dead bodies in the house I’d been staying in. If the police came—if they knew I was involved…after what I’d done…
“No. We’re going to take care of it internally.”
I practically choked on my relief.
She stared at me for another moment and then left her former question to fizzle, unanswered. “I need to make a few phone calls,” she said to the doctor. “Are you good?”
“Yes,” he said swiftly. “Does Harm…”
“He knows,” she confirmed and then left the cabin.
Silence settled like a haze. I remained with my arm over Tynan for no real reason except that I couldn’t seem to pull it away.
Meanwhile, Rorik had finished bandaging over the stitches he’d placed and then started the blood transfusion.
“You should go change. Get something to eat?—”
I flinched like the suggestion was an insult. “No. I’m fine.”
His nostrils flared, but he didn’t fight me. Good. Tynan would’ve fought me. He would’ve insisted. Or bribed. Or dared. He would’ve done whatever it took to get me to do what was best for me.
But I didn’t care what was best for me.
“He’ll wake up in a few hours?” I croaked.
“I gave him a strong sedative, but once that’s gone and his blood is replenished, yes,” he said, stripping off his bloody gloves into the trash and returning to the sink. “Robyn tends to push the limit when she doesn’t need to.”
I wasn’t sure what to think about the redhead, but I did identify with that particular personality trait.
“Thank you for your help…” The doctor looked to me to fill in the blank.
“Sutton Brant,” I said, regretting giving him my full name a second later.
“Jon’s daughter.”
My throat tightened. I couldn’t recall a time when I’d met so many people who knew my father. It was getting harder and harder to think of the man as a ghost when so many people kept bringing him back to life.
“Yeah.”
“Rorik Nilsen.” He scrubbed his hands with sanitizer and then extended one in my direction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Did you serve with my father?” I asked as I shook it.
“No, I didn’t have the honor.” His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, but the fuse was shorted. “But we all owe him for saving Tynan’s life.”
My inhale felt like shards of glass down my throat.
“I gave him something for the pain, so he’s going to be out for a little while if you want?—”
“No, I’m fine.” I walked around him to the sink, wetting a dish towel and bringing it back to the gurney.
I stopped short, stunned again by how deathlike Tynan appeared. Even hooked up to all the machines that beeped with life, it felt like a false sense of hope. A fool’s proof of life.
At the slight rise of Tynan’s chest, the air released from mine.
I went back to his side and gently placed the wet cloth to his chest. Careful to avoid the area directly around the bandaged wound, I wiped away where blood had stained his skin.
“You should go get something to eat or take a minute while I clean up?—”
“I’m fine,” I said a little sharper this time, looking up over Tynan’s sedated body to glare at Rorik.
His jaw twitched. “You may be fine, but you’re covered in blood.”
My head jerked down, and I saw the front of me was a canvas of Tynan’s blood. My back from having him resting on me during the ride. My front from moving him and then holding his jacket.
Shit.
I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “Right.”
“You can come back as soon as you’re done…” he suggested as though I needed to hear the words aloud to believe them.
Slowly, I pulled the cloth back, unable to take my eyes from his face. The urge to both kiss him and knife him again swept through me like two winds fighting to direct the storm that brewed inside me.
“It’s my fault he’s here,” I said, not really to him in particular but so that someone knew of my guilt.
“So, you stabbed him?”
My eyes narrowed to slits on the doctor. “He was protecting me.”
Rorik grunted. “Seems like it was his own choice then.”
“A stupid one,” I countered. “It was my fight.”
I went back to the sink to wring out the towel. For a minute, it seemed like the doctor had no counter for what I’d said. But then I heard his low, stony voice from over my shoulder.
“When you’ve got people who care about you, you’re never fighting alone.”
I ducked my head, acid chewing its way into my throat.
Tynan didn’t care about me. He cared about my father. He cared about duty. He cared about some misguided sense of responsibility and protecting me.
But caring about me…
I shoved the memories of the other night from my mind. A fluke. An aberration from reality caused by physical temptation. Nothing more.
“I’m just going to change and then I’ll be back,” I said, leaving the towel in the sink and then heading for the door.