His reply is immediate, letting me know he’s getting ready to leave the gym. That’s good—it means I won’t be alone with my thoughts for much longer.
Back in the kitchen, I clear the untouched dinner Link prepared and clean the spilt water. All of my concentration focuses on the menial tasks. I refuse to let my imagination take over.
My brother’s knock—the one I typically dread—is a welcome sound. I throw the soiled paper towels in the trash and hurry to open the door.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, stepping inside. And then he really looks at me. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head and shrug my shoulders in one frustrated and confused gesture. “Everything.”
“Where’s Link?”
I feel the prick of tears surging forward. “I don’t know. I did something really stupid, and now he’s gone. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
My ears ring, the noise high-pitched and growing. My head twitches, trying to shake it off. That makes it worse. A black ring forms in my vision, getting bigger and bigger, overtaking my sight.
My heart beats like hummingbird wings.
“Rocky?” Joe’s voice is garbled.
I stumble, suddenly unable to keep myself upright. I feel light-headed, or maybe heavy-headed. The dark closes in, and then I feel nothing.
~*~
When I wake the light is bright. I wince against it, closing my eyes. My brain hurts. My body is sore.
It doesn't take me long to understand I'm no longer in my apartment. The antiseptic smell burning my nose and that low hum of busy activity—the clicking of computer keys, low murmured voices, and beeping of machines—it all tells me I'm in a hospital.
Because I passed out.
Shit.
I squint, holding my hand up to block the light. There's an IV taped there. My gaze follows the tube to the bag of fluids hanging above my head.
“You're awake,” Joe says as he slips past the curtain separating my bed from the others. He's carrying a Styrofoam cup and the scent of coffee hits me, rolling my stomach.
“What happened?”
“You fainted.”
I lift my free hand, fingers prodding the ache on my forehead. There's a bandage there.
“And bumped your head on the table on your way down. It gave you a little gash, nothing serious. Two stitches and the doctor said it shouldn’t scar.”
He presses the call button at my hip, making the answering nurse aware that I'm awake.
Like I was sleeping.
“What is this?” I ask, showing him the front of my hand where the IV needle disappears into my skin.
“Just fluids. They ran tests to make sure you weren't drunk or on drugs. When they got the results they said you were dehydrated. Your blood pressure is higher than it should be too. Both of which are not good for the baby.”
My eyes dart to his. His face is somber. Disappointed.
“We'll talk about why you lied to me later. It's not important right now.”
“I didn't lie to you. I didn't know at the time. We just confirmed it at the clinic yesterday.”
“We.”
I nod, instantly regretting it. Pain shoots through my head, settling in my neck. “Link and I,” I breathe through the throbbing. And then I remember Link taking off. Hurt and heated.
“Did you call him?”
Joe glances away, sipping on his coffee. His posture is perfect—marine-perfect—feet shoulder-width apart, back straight. “I did. A few times.”
I glance toward the curtain. “Is he here?”
He hesitates for a moment before shaking his head. He looks as pained as I feel. My stomach churns again. Why isn’t Link here?
“Is he on his way?” It’s barely more than a whisper, but he hears me.
“No. He didn't answer his phone. I left messages, I texted him, but...”
“But?”
“He hasn't responded.”
“Not at all?”
“No. Rock, did he leave because of the baby?” His voice is low and angered.
“No,” I say emphatically. “We had an argument—that’s all—and it had nothing to do with the baby.” I push myself to a sitting position, swinging my legs over the side of the hospital bed right as the nurse comes in.
“What are you doing?” Joe scolds.
“I'm going to find Link.” My head spins with my quick movements, and a whimper sneaks past my lips. I shiver against the urge to be sick.
“Hold on,” says the nurse whose nametag I can't read through my swimming vision. She places her hand on my arm. “You need to go slow. Let's start with sitting up.” She props the pillows behind me, leaning me back. The cushions give me enough support to stay upright without much work on my part. She goes about checking my pulse, oxygen level, and blood pressure.
“BP’s still high. The doctor would like to examine you now that you're alert. He'll be in shortly. Can I get you anything? Some crackers or ginger ale?”
I dismiss her with a wave of my hand. Joe gives her a look, letting us both know I embarrass him, but I ignore it.
“Link wouldn't disregard something like this. We had a fight, but he'd come to the emergency room. He’d be here with me if he knew...
“Something is wrong.”
“You need to calm down,” the nurse explains. “Being upset only raises your blood pressure more.”
The baby.
Joe said it wasn't good for the baby.
I lay my hand over my belly. I keep forgetting there is a life in there, one I’m responsible for. “Is the baby okay?”
The doctor pulls the curtain aside, and I repeat the question to him.
Thirty-One
Link
I’m quiet as I go inside the apartment. The lamp beside the couch is on, and stretched across the couch—is Joe. He swipes a hand over his face as he tries to wake up and squints at his watch. It’s late, or early depending on your point of view.
He sits up, planting his still booted feet on the floor. “Where the hell you been, man?” His voice is gritty and unused. He must have been here a while.
I shut the door, flipping the lock, and shrug out of my coat. “I had to take care of some stuff,” I say. “Personal stuff,” I add, making it clear I don’t want to discuss it with him.
He doesn’t conceal the rolling of his eyes. He wants me to see he doesn’t believe me. “Are you fucking around on my sister?”
I appreciate him being here with Rocky while I wasn’t, but that’s a far jump to assume I went out to cheat on her. That’s not who I am, and I have no desire to be with anyone in that way but her. If he had any idea what I was actually doing, I think he’d prefer I was fucking around on his sister. I’d laugh, but I don’t find that shit funny.
“No. I wouldn’t do that to her.”
He scoffs. “So there is a line you won’t cross? No dicking around—that’s too much—but you don’t need to be there when she’s rushed to the emergency room?”
My head snaps in his direction. A wave of panic rushes me, nearly knocking me off my feet.
“What? When? Is she okay?” I’m firing off questions quicker than he can answer while I stalk to the bedroom door in search of her. The TV is on, illuminating the room. Rocky is on her side, asleep on the bed. Her knees are tucked to her chest, her back to me. Seeing her there, watching her back move with her intake of breath, appeases me, but not nearly enough.
“She’s okay now,” Joe whispers behind me. “Where the hell were you? I blew your phone up calling and texting.”
“What happened?” I ask instead of answering him. Where I was isn’t important. Rocky is the only one who matters. “Why did she need to go to the ER? Is the…”
“The baby?”
I look at him over my shoulder and nod. “Is the baby all right?”
His narrowed eyes hold mine for several beats. The longer he doesn’t answer, the more I feel the knife in my heart twist. A
ny reassurance I found in seeing Rocky is slipping away.
Please. Please don’t do this to me. I didn’t even get a chance…
“They’re both okay.”
The built-up pressure in my head fizzles and I sag in relief as soon as his words register. They’re okay—both of them.
Thank God.
Thank you.
Thank you.
“What happened?” I repeat.
“She passed out—hit her head and needed a couple stitches. The doctor said it was a mix of dehydration—probably caused by the morning sickness—and stress. Her blood pressure is too high. The doc is worried about her developing preeclampsia later in the pregnancy. She needs to go in next week and have tests done.”
That doesn’t sound like they’re okay. That sounds more like they’re okay for now.
She passed out because she’s sick and stressed. Because of me.
I press my palm into my forehead. I wasn’t here when she needed me.
Fuck.
I’m making the same mistakes I made with Livie just in a completely different way. Once again, I wasn’t there when I was needed.
“You can’t do this. You can’t take off and cause anxiety for her when you have an argument.”
An argument? I was mad at her, for putting herself in danger, but we didn’t argue. Did we? It’s all fuzzy now. I know I didn’t take off because of her, though. Not entirely. It was a mix of everything. It was Bates. It was Rocky lying to me in order to see him. It was Livie. I didn’t mean to upset her. I wasn’t in my right mind.
“You can’t ignore your phone either,” Joe says, his voice friendlier than it was a few minutes ago. “Not when she’s pregnant.”
She called me, and I shattered my phone. I shouldn’t have done that. What the fuck is wrong with me? She reached out to me, needing me and I ignored her. The loathing I feel for myself is overwhelming.
“My phone broke.” I shake my head, correcting myself. “I broke it, flung it at the wall. I’ll replace it tomorrow.”
“Are you here now?” he asks, catching me off guard.
“What?”
“Are you here now? To stay? Can I go home and trust you to take care of my sister?”
I deserve that.
I can’t be mad—he has every reason to ask after my absence, and every right as her brother. I wouldn’t respect Joe if he treated me any other way.
“I’m here now, and it won’t happen again.”
I swear it.
***
I undress, careful to not disturb Rocky, and slip into bed beside her. I need to be close. I need to hold her and apologize for what I did.
Her body tenses when I lay my hand on her hip. I pull away immediately. I didn’t realize she was awake. I wonder for how long, and I wonder if she’ll ever want me to touch her again.
“Rocky?”
She doesn’t answer right away, but I know she heard me. Her breaths come quicker now.
“I’m sorry,” I utter. There’s so much more I need her to know, but the words refuse to come. Nothing I tell her will change what’s already happened. I have to do better, prove myself to her.
“I thought you were dead—or dying—or something close to it.” Her voice is small, a mixture of anger and sadness. “Where were you?”
I can’t tell her where I went. I should, but I can’t. Not now, knowing where she was while I was paying Garrett a visit.
“I went to my house—”
“We checked the house. You weren’t there.” She rolls over, facing me in the darkness. “Your basement was destroyed, and you. Weren’t. There.”
I know I did a number on the house. I can only imagine how scared she must have been when she saw it.
“That was me. I did that when I went there. I was confused and pissed off.”
“Where did you go after that?”
“A drive,” I lie.
“When I woke up in the hospital, my first concern wasn’t for myself or the baby. It was for you, because I couldn’t understand how you wouldn’t be there.”
I cringe.
“I broke my phone when I broke my house.”
She sits up, running her fingers through her hair, agitated. “It doesn’t matter why you weren’t there. What matters is that instead of being concerned for the health of our child, I was scared that you were off playing vigilante and got yourself arrested or killed.”
I didn’t think it was possible to feel lower, but I do. She has no idea how close to right she is.
“You were so angry when you left. I begged you to stay with me, but it was like you were possessed—you couldn’t hear me. You had revenge on your mind and murder in your eyes, and nothing or no one else mattered.”
She slides off the bed, grabbing her robe off the hook on the back of the door. I have no reply. She’s right about everything.
“I know hearing what Bates said was like a fresh wound for you—that’s why I didn’t want to tell you. There are going to be a lot of reminders of what you lost along the way, Link. Some are going to cut you deeper than others. I understand that, but you can’t seek blood every time it happens. Try acting like the rest of us who just dream about revenge but know there are consequences that aren’t worth it if we act. You have to try, because I can’t live this way, worrying—”
Her voice gives out, garbling with emotion, and I ache to make it better.
“Worrying and wondering,” she continues hoarsely, “if I’ll lose you because your need to avenge your ex is greater than your devotion for the baby and me.
“At some point, you have to let go of your past and start living for your future, or else there won’t be one.”
I’m not sure if that’s an observation or an ultimatum, but I hear her.
Thirty-Two
Rocky
It wasn’t as difficult as I expected to talk Link into letting me come into work today. I thought he’d put up a fight after the whole ER trip last night, but I think that’s actually why he goes along with it. So he can keep an eye on me.
After I knew he was safe and I got everything off my chest last night, I crashed hard. I awoke this morning to breakfast in bed—or couch, since that’s where I ended up sleeping post rant.
Link apologized again, and again. What he doesn’t seem to get is that I’m not mad or hurt. I even understand why he does most of the things he does, and I’m often envious, but that doesn’t mean we can continue on the same path.
Everything is different now. We’re having a baby, and that takes precedence over all other things—including, or especially, revenge.
I don’t want to take our child to visit him in prison.
Or worse, the cemetery.
My fingers stop on the computer keys with the thought. I couldn’t bear it. It’s not possible to imagine a world without him. Not one I’d want to be a part of.
Joe pokes his head into the office. “How you feeling today?”
“A little tired from the late night, but good. I kept my breakfast down.”
He crinkles his nose. “Good. You need anything?”
“Actually, yeah. Could you grab me a bottle of water? Oh, and a bagel if there are any still out there.”
“You got it,” he says, ducking out the door.
I could totally get use to the men in my life bringing me food. Got to find the silver linings where they present themselves.
The door opens again, but it isn’t Joe like I expect. Link comes in carrying my second breakfast.
“Didn’t I feed you enough this morning?” he teases as he sets it on the desk in front of me.
“I’m making up for all the food I haven’t kept down this week.” I say it as a joke, but his smile fades.
I was hoping we could start fresh today and put everything behind us. Move on and move forward. Obviously Link wants to do what he does best, and silently stew over it all.
I’m not about to let that happen, so I use my number one best distraction tactic. My sexualit
y. It may sound wrong, but trust me when I say it feels so right.
I roll the office chair back and stand, pulling my shirt over my head in one motion. I’m wearing a great bra today, the one I picked up when I bought my new dress for our wasted club night. It pushes and lifts—not the best bra for physical activity, but it’s perfect for seduction.
“What are you doing?” Link husks.
The tone of his voice tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing, but I play along, explaining it to him.
“I’m stripping for you.” I pop the button on my jeans, sliding the zipper down slowly. Then, I turn my back to him and slowly wiggle out of my pants. I glance at him over my shoulder as I unclasp my bra, letting the straps fall down my arms.
His gaze is heated as it moves over me. I turn, letting the bra slip to the floor. My eyes hold his as I slide my panties downward and step out of them.
Link growls deep in his throat and reaches back blindly, locating the lock on the door and latching it.
I walk around the desk, brushing past him without a word, and lean my upper half over it. It’s all the invitation he needs. His jeans are rough and cool as he steps up behind me. I love the way it feels against my bare skin, and I shudder in anticipation.
He doesn’t remove his clothes. He unzips, releasing his hard cock, and caresses the head over my folds. It feels good, but we don’t have time to draw this out while we’re at work. Later, he can torture me all he wants, but right now, I need him filling me.
I stretch back, grasping him, and guide him inside of me. He releases a guttural moan that sends butterflies to my tummy and lust to my girly parts.
His hands glide up my back before sliding to my front. One grasps my breast, kneading it with a firm grip, the other trails down, over my belly button and keeps going. His fingers cup my pussy, giving him something to hold onto when he begins thrusting into me. He finds my clit. I’m throbbing there already, and when he circles it with the same pace as he’s driving into me with, I break apart.
Grit (Dirty #6) Page 13
