Knowing the time is ticking all too fast, I turn off the taps and carefully reach out for my towel. Everything is still so sore. Every stretch, every movement, every little sneeze and cough tears through me. I’m starting to admit to myself that maybe I do need more than just two weeks of bed rest. Once again, the boys were right.
Stepping out of the shower, I pull my towel around me and gently dry myself off, hating how slowly I have to do each little task. I used to rush through things like this, but those days are gone. At least, for now.
A sheet of wet hair frames my pale face, and I cringe to myself thinking about how long it will take to do my hair and makeup.
Dropping the towel on the bathroom floor, I glance up to find my naked reflection staring back at me. I let out a broken sigh. This isn’t me at all. The bullet hole has properly closed up and is looking a million times better, but the bruising around my abdomen is still nasty.
“Winter?” Carver calls from my bedroom. “Where are you? You need to start getting ready.”
“Bathroom,” I tell him, not bothering to scramble for the towel at my feet. He’ll be here long before I can get it up around me, and there’s no point telling him to stay back because he won’t, not until he’s got eyes on me and can physically make sure that I’m still breathing. Hell, what does it matter anyway? It’s not like he’s never seen my tits and ass before. A guy like Carver would have seen more than his fair share of naked women. This is nothing new.
He appears in the bathroom door a second later and pauses, looking in and taking in my reflection through the mirror. I watch him back, my eyes scanning over the fitted black suit that makes him look like the man you don’t want to bring home to Daddy.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes glued to my stomach.
I watch as everything inside of him breaks. He’s been doing better the last few days. I’ve been trying to keep it from him, acting strong every time he walks into a room, and not allowing him to see the bandages, but this right here, this shit is confronting as hell.
My heart shatters watching the devastating emotions crossing his face, and just like that, he falls to his knees on the bathroom floor.
“Carver,” I whisper, hating how much this whole situation is fucking with his head. He used to be the one who would be strong for me. I was the vulnerable one; I was the one who needed him to keep the monsters away, but the tables have turned and I’ve somehow become his saving grace. I turn and walk to him, dropping my hands to his chin and forcing his eyes up to meet mine. “I’m okay. I’m safe.”
He shakes his head, his hands coming to my hips before he tilts his head into my waist and holds me there. “You’re not okay.”
My hands fall around his neck, my fingers gently roaming through his hair as I lower myself down, throwing caution to the wind and letting the pain consume me.
Carver’s grief is so much more important.
I fall into his lap and he holds me tight. “I’ll never be able to make it up to you,” he tells me, his head dropping into the curve of my neck as the guilt completely overwhelms him. “How will I ever make this right?”
“I. Don’t. Blame. You,” I tell him, sounding like a broken record. This isn’t the first time he’s broken down over the past week. It’s always in my room and always when we’re alone. I’m his safe haven, the one place he can let it all go, and while I love that he feels that he can be vulnerable with me, it’s also one hell of a dangerous game. I’m becoming way too attached to Dante Carver, and I fear that I’m only going to hurt myself. “Had you not taken that shot, she would have killed me. You did what you had to do. She pushed me right in the line of your shot, and I fell. This is on her, and the only way for us to make this right, is by taking away her power. She’s nobody, and when we’re through with her, we’re going to make sure that she knows that.”
His fingers move over my shoulder, rubbing back and forth as he holds me close. “I nearly lost you.”
“I was never going anywhere,” I whisper. “Do you really think I would have left this earth without somehow convincing you to a gang bang? Yeah right.”
Carver draws in a deep breath before slowly raising his head and allowing me to see the agony deep within his eyes, but for the most part, my stupid attempt at a joke has given him the strength to hold himself together. “Come on,” he says, pulling back just a bit. “Let me help you get ready.”
I watch him for a short moment, neither of us moving off the bathroom floor as my wet hair drips all over his expensive suit. “Are you good?”
Carver’s eyes soften and he nods. “Yeah,” he rumbles. “Good.”
I lean in and gently brush my lips over his. “Good, because you’re going to have to help me up.”
A small smile pulls at his lips, and in an incredible show of strength, Carver lifts us both off the bathroom floor, and he does it without even the slightest bit of pain tearing through me. He walks with me straight out of the bathroom, and as he is placing me down on my bed, King, Cruz, and Grayson stride through the door.
Cruz holds the black dress and heels he’d swiped from my closet back home, while Grayson holds all of my bandages and painkillers, more than ready to keep me safe. I’m surprised he didn’t bring an industrial-sized roll of bubble wrap. That would have been more effective.
King though, he’s just here because today of all days, he could really use the company.
Today, Dynasty buries Tobias King.
Grayson instantly strides across the room to bandage me up, while Cruz studies my dress, trying to work out how the fuck to get it on me without making me curse his name. King makes his way into the bathroom and grabs my hairbrush, blow-dryer, and makeup, while Carver just watches, completely out of his comfort zone.
Within half an hour, the boys have got me dressed and ready, and as Grayson carries me down the stairs, too afraid that I’ll trip, Carver subtly reminds me that the rest of Dynasty hasn’t been informed of London’s temporary state of … aliveness? And as it is, we’ll be keeping that one on the down-low until we can get in for a full council meeting. Hell, perhaps we shouldn’t tell them at all. If they knew just how screwed up I am right now, they could see it as a sign of weakness and use it against me.
Who am I kidding? They all saw the ambulance screeching out of my driveway. With Dynasty’s technology, it would have taken less than two seconds for them to figure out that I was the latest victim of a gunshot wound.
We get to the car and I scoot in beside King, glancing up into his warm, ocean eyes and slipping my fingers between his. “You know, you don’t have to be strong today,” I whisper into the silent car, trying to keep our conversation private, but in close proximity, I know they all hear.
“Thanks,” King tells me, looping our hands over my shoulder and pulling me in closer as his fingers trace the lines and curves of my brass knuckles. “But if anything, being strong is more important now than ever before.”
I let out a sigh, knowing that he’s right. King is now the head of his family, and along with that comes a shitload of ridiculously high expectations. There’s an unsaid demand of being stronger, wiser, and fiercer than his father before him. Nothing less will be tolerated by the other heads of Dynasty.