65
Liv’s mindwas on an acid trip.
Images plucked from the past couple of weeks whirled behind her eyelids, preventing her from reaching a deep sleep and transfixing her in a state of semiconsciousness.
What finally pulled her from her weird state was the feeling of being watched. She opened her eyes and reared up on a forearm.
“Easy,” Zeke whispered, moving away from the curtained window, “it’s just me.”
She blinked several times to lube her dry, sticky eyes. Next to her, Callie slept on, her arm flung over Brodie, whose body was contorted in a way only nine-year-olds could pull off.
Zeke moved around the spacious bedroom to her side. It had been strange to sleep under her parents’ roof again. To her surprise, Regina Thornton hadn’t changed a stitch in Callie’s room.
Muted plum-and-white graced the satin bedding and softened the curtains framing the windows, a white-legged glass desk dominated one wall, and black-framed sketches of structures yet to be built, each one more beautiful as Callie’s technique improved, created a mosaic on the opposite wall.
It was a beautiful room, a tribute to Callie’s impeccable taste and accomplishments. Maybe her mother’s reason for preserving the room wasn’t so surprising after all.
“How are you feeling?” Zeke asked in a low voice.
Careful not to wake her bedmates, she rolled over and sat up, assessing her body as she moved. “Good. I think.”
After the paramedics had treated Callie and Zeke, Liv pulled a pair of short leggings from her duffel bag for Callie to wear before they were shuffled off to the police station to give their statements. On the way, Liv contacted her parents and filled them in. Predictably, they were shocked and concerned. Even more predictably, her father had speed-dialed the family attorney.
Less predictable was her parents’ camp-out in the station’s waiting room. When she and Callie emerged hours later, neither parent had looked their normal immaculate selves. Stanley’s close-cropped hair stood out in odd places and his facial skin drooped in ways it hadn’t the day before. Regina’s red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips were devoid of makeup and her Gucci jacket was inside out.
Pierce had been there too, looking his normal, unflustered self. No telltale signs of misery, concern, or anger. Demonstrative emotion had never been his way. A skill he’d adopted from their parents, then perfected to a diamond-cut precision.
But last night, Regina and Stanley Thornton had set aside their societal obligations and simply been parents. One look at the utter exhaustion on their baby girl’s face had them running toward Callie and enfolding her in a tight cocoon of safety and familiarity.
Before Liv knew what was happening, Stanley had coaxed her and Pierce into their group hug. Shocked to her bones, Liv stood there, unmoving, until her mom’s hand snaked out and rubbed small circles on her back.
She couldn’t recall the last time her mother had laid a genuine, comforting hand on her. The remembrance made emotion ball up in Liv’s throat.
In true Thornton style, Regina had taken a deep breath, lifted her chin, and declared everyone would return to their house. Liv hadn’t wanted to. She’d wanted to hug her son and smother him in kisses, then curl against Zeke’s big, warm body and let him love away the day’s events.
When she opened her mouth to decline, Callie had clutched her hand with the same tenacity with which she clung to her father’s waist. Liv had never been able to deny her sister anything.
So the Blackwells—all of them—had brought Brodie home to her. The three of them had slept in the same bed because Liv couldn’t stand the thought of another separation. Not even for sleep.
Liv looked from Zeke’s shoulder to his ribs. “You?”
“A scratch, a bruise. Nothing to worry about.”
It was far from nothing. Alan’s bullet had left a furrow in his arm the size of her index finger and the toilet paper holder had indeed cracked a rib. He’d been injured because of choices she’d made. They all had—Brodie, Callie, Zeke. Who knew how far Alan would have gone in his vengeful obsession.
The irony of it all was that the threat hadn’t come from her job as a special agent. It had stemmed from her desire to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. But she’d failed on every level, putting her family and the man she loved in jeopardy.
Zeke grasped her hand and tugged her up. His thumb brushed over her cheek, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re wrong.”
Vision blurry, she spoke to his chest. “About what?”
“About whatever dark self-recriminations are churning in this,” his lips pressed against her forehead, “amazing mind.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. “I could have lost any one of you. I w-wouldn’t have survived it. I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, you would have. Had the worst happened. But it didn’t. Thanks to you, we located Callie, and you made sure the guy never had an opportunity to harm Brodie.”
“If I had stayed out of Claudia’s business, they never would have been in danger. You wouldn’t have been hurt.”