“I got here about an hour ago. I came back from the store when I got the notifications,” Dermot explained quietly before he exhaled. “Fuck, King. She looked like she was half dead. She was soaked to the bone, still wearing clothes from practice, and trembling. I am guessing she sat underneath the shower for a while. I also think she threw up and may have passed out on the bathroom floor. Her phone was in there.”
He was rambling.
“Fuck!” Kingston snarled as something hit my bedroom wall. Hard. “This is fucking bullshit. Where is her phone? Yates has already contacted the legal team, but I need to see who the hell—”
King was cut off completely by something he saw.
“What?” Dermot demanded. I could feel his heartbeat jump under my ear as I melted further against him, wanting to fuse myself against his massive frame. He would keep me safe.
“Look what they sent her!” he bit out and then grunted, “Where is Yates? I need to get him this—”
“Already here,” his familiar voice sounded from the door. “Give it here. I am almost done getting this shit taken down. I want to see if I can track that number, though.”
“Where are the twins?” Dermot asked, his voice tinged with heartbreak that I didn’t fully understand.
“Sterling is keeping Lincoln and Stratton downstairs for now. They lost their shit a minute ago, and I know if they see her like this, it will be ten times worse,” King bit out.
Those were the last words I heard for some time.
* * *
When my consciousness finally resumed, my hand ran up Dermot’s chest, not opening my eyes yet. I didn’t really care when and where we were. Everything felt soothing and numb, the space moving at a fuzzy, almost sloth-like pace.
Exactly how I wanted it.
The post-panic attack haze. Probably not healthy, but essential to survival until I could wrap my head around the emotions hidden underneath all of it.
Finally forcing my eyes open, I found Dermot sleeping, and a cursory look around the silent room told me we were alone and that it was early evening. The last bit of light was showing through the windows, and I considered closing my eyes and going back to sleep. On the other hand, I could hear voices downstairs, and while I wasn’t ready to focus on them yet, it did urge me to get up. I slipped from bed, moving from Dermot’s muscular cage of a body, and made my way towards the bathroom.
I looked down at my stiff sports bra and boy shorts, my hair in matted tangles. Trying to ignore any evidence of the disaster that had occurred earlier, I brushed my hair and braided it back out of my face before scrubbing my teeth methodically.
I could feel how dehydrated I was, and I felt a bit dizzy as I made my way towards my wardrobe, quickly changing out of my stiff clothes into fresh cotton boyshorts, a bralette, and an oversized top with matching shorts. I let out a tired sigh at the effort all of that had taken as I crawled back into bed and wiggled up against Dermot, his arms instantly closing back around me as a soft rumble escaped his throat.
“Baby girl,” Dermot murmured in a thick accent, making my throat tighten at the nickname. I mean, I loved ‘lass,’ but this felt more intimate, and I found myself nuzzling into chest more before I looked up at him. His eyes were almost an olive shade, filled with sadness and understanding as his large hand trailed up and down my spine slowly, keeping me as close as possible.
“Thank you,” I croaked out, my throat dry and sore.
Thank you for literally everything.
Dermot frowned, sitting up before handing me a water bottle. I followed him up and drank it slowly but completely. I winced slightly as the liquid hit my empty stomach, making Dermot’s grip tighten on me. When I tried to bring my knees to my chest, feeling self-conscious, he pulled me towards him, not giving me an inch of space, and I found myself needing that.
I sunk back into my pillow, my knees draped over his legs. He was propped up onto his side, looking down at my expression and running his fingers along my stomach in a soothing pattern. I let out a small exhale and closed my eyes.
“How long?” he asked, his voice soft but edged in anger. Not at me, though. I knew that.
“Since this past January. It just kept getting worse.” I inhaled, feeling shaky.
“Not anymore,” Dermot promised. “Yates managed to get most of it down already. They also may have your phone…” He winced. “They are trying to figure out who has been sending you shit.”
I nodded knowingly. “It’s my own fault, D. I was… am… I am so ashamed and embarrassed that it got this far. I feel so stupid, and I just wanted it to end. I figured if I kept ignoring it that it would go away.”
“It will now,” Dermot promised, cupping my jaw gently.
My eyes flickered down to his lips and the slight scruff against his cut jaw. I liked the feeling of how close we were and his hands on me. I shivered as his grip tightened slightly, drawing my eyes up to his gaze.
“Dahlia, don’t look at me like that.”
It was a warning, but I wasn’t listening to it, because I saw the blatant heat there. What was the point in hiding how I felt about Dermot when I had essentially laid bare the rest of my secrets? It was nerve-wracking and freeing, but more than anything, I wanted to end today knowing that I had cleared everything.