66
Liv stoodon her front porch, wondering if Zeke’s notion of a surprise was the same as hers. “Bringing me home is my surprise?”
“Wait for it.”
She stared at his broad back as he unlocked the front door. Even though she’d showered and changed into a new set of clothes that Zeke had retrieved for her, she still felt . . . off. Unsettled.
Over the years, she had been involved in any number of cases. Some big, some small. Some so routine she could’ve dealt with it blindfolded, some so disturbing the images still visited her in the dark of night.
But having violence hit so close to home felt almost surreal, as if it had happened to another person. Yet it had a realness to it that made her insides quiver and hands sweat.
The door clicked open, and Zeke glanced back. Smiling, he threaded his fingers with hers. And just like that, her world recalibrated and she was back on course.
Would his smile always mend her wounded thoughts? Would his touch always set her pulse on fire?
As they stepped over the threshold, the answer seemed to be there. Right there for her to embrace. But thoughts of her son held her back.
How would Brodie feel about sharing her with someone else? A man, not his father?
Until this past year, when Callie had moved in, it had just been the two of them. Together, they had survived the loss of a beloved father and husband, survived the first day of school, and the first falling-out with his best friend.
What would it be like to bring another person into their lives? Their home. Someone who might have a different way of doing things. Someone who might not enjoy Avengers binge night.
Endless questions kept swirling around her mind until they stopped in front of Brodie’s bedroom door.
“I hope you don’t mind, but my brothers and I—we did some things.”
Her gaze flickered between him and the door. “What sort of things?”
His hand closed around the handle. “Might be best if you see for yourself.”
Bracing herself, she nodded as Zeke eased the door open. Liv stepped inside. And stared.
The room looked . . . right. Like it had never been trashed. The window, his bed, the computer—they all appeared untouched. She rushed over to the closet. Clothes—familiar clothes hung on hangers. Underwear and pajamas lay stacked in dresser drawers. Toys lined his shelves and desk.
The picture. The one Callie had retrieved from her basement prison, the one of Brodie, Tyler, and Jimar, sat upright next to her son’s computer.
“How on earth—how did you do all of this?”
“The tradesman you hired had already fixed the window by the time we arrived, and I found the replacement clothes and bedding in Callie’s trunk when we retrieved her vehicle from the mall parking lot.”
“The toys and computer?”
“Phin and Cruz. They like to fix broken things.”
She scanned the smooth, freshly painted wall above Brodie’s bed. “The message?”
“Rohan.” He smiled. “When he’s not lost in cyberspace, he’s actually quite handy in the physical world.” When she continued to stare, he said in a rush, “Your aunt helped us put things back in place. If we got it wrong, let me know and I’ll—”
“You didn’t get it wrong. You got it perfect.”
He released a heavy breath, as if he hadn’t been sure of her reaction.
“When?” she asked.
“Last night while you were sleeping. It seemed a shame not to put all that brawn and mental power to work. Ash helped me with the posters.”
“Y’all must be exhausted.”