“Hey, that was mine!” she balks.
Through the crumbs, I mumble, “Sharing is caring, honey.”
I almost expect her to mouth back, but I slip my thumb over her clit and anything she was going to say is lost in the moan that rolls in her throat. “You too sore, or you think you can take me again?” I whisper in her ear.
Her answer is broken off before she can say anything by the ringing of her phone. She whines, squirming against my hand. “Leave it.”
I pet her soft slickness, wanting to make sure I don’t wear her out, and the phone silences. The peace lasts only a moment before it rings again. “Ugh, sorry,” she huffs. “Hang on.”
She picks up her phone, glancing at the caller ID, and rolls her eyes. “Brody, don’t tell me you can’t fend for yourself for a weekend.”
At Brody’s answer, the smile melts off her face, replaced by horror. “What?”
I can hear the fear in her tone, instantly sitting upright and letting the blanket fall to my lap.
She’s talking, and I’m only catching her side of the conversation, but I can tell something’s seriously wrong. She’s shuffling around the room, searching for something, and when her eyes meet mine, I know.
She needs to go. Our bubble just popped.
I get up, instantly in mode to help her handle whatever’s going on. I grab a T-shirt from my bag and slip it over her head. She barely takes the phone away from her ear to let it settle over her shoulders. I find her sweatpants and hold them out for her to step into.
I yank my own jeans up and toss another shirt over my head, shoving into my boots. She’s got flipflops from somewhere and is heading toward the door.
“What did the paramedic say?” she says, her voice shaky but amazingly strong.
Shit.
* * *
Shayanne hasn’t spoken. Not since she hung up and said that they’re rushing her dad to Great Falls Memorial.
I put the pedal to metal and pull her to my side, curling my arm around her shaking shoulders. She’s crying softly, and I hold her, praying that her dad is okay. I don’t particularly care for the man, but Shay does and that’s all that matters.
At a red light, she leans toward the glove box and grabs a napkin to wipe the tears from her eyes. I hand her a ponytailer from the gear shifter. “It’s Sophie’s. She leaves her stuff everywhere,” I say by way of explanation, but Shayanne doesn’t seem to even hear me. She takes it silently and mindlessly does some magic twisting trick that leaves her hair in a careless knot on her head.
She feels distant, like she’s a shell of her usual self as she’s disappeared into her own head. I still don’t know what’s happening, but whatever it is, we’ll handle it together.
As soon as I shut the engine off, she’s pushing me out of the truck and making a run for the emergency room doors. I follow close behind, jogging to keep pace. She damn near falls against the desk, immediately blurting to the receptionist. “Paul Tannen? My brother said they were bringing him here.”
The lady behind the counter looks cool as a cucumber compared to Shay’s wide-eyed panic. “By ambulance or on his own?”
“Ambulance,” Shay says. The lady does a bit of clicking, but the doors open behind us and a tornado of Tannens rolls in.
“Hang tight, Dad. We’re here,” a deep voice says.
Shayanne and I turn to see Paul on a gurney, surrounded by her brothers. Paul’s shirt is pulled open, his soft, pale belly exposed except where there are wires running to a beeping machine. An oxygen mask covers the lower half of his face, but he looks pale and clammy.
She runs for him. “Daddy!” Her voice is too loud, too high-pitched. As she takes his hand, it’s softer but pained. “Daddy?”
He pulls at the mask. “I’m fine, Shayannie. Brody’s just overreacting is all.” His bluster is right, pure cowboy bullshit, but he’s obviously weak. He looks at her sweetly, and I can see the father he once was. For all the wrongs he might’ve done, he has done some things right. Shayanne is proof of that.
Shayanne goes to reply, but Paul’s eyes find me in the deserted room. “Bennett? What the hell are you doing here?”
It takes less than half a second for his eyes to tick to Shayanne and then back to me.
“Stay the hell away from my little girl, Bennett! I’ll fucking kill you . . . no, Shay—” His fury is cut short as he gasps for air, gripping at his chest.
The paramedics interrupt, rushing Paul onward. “Everyone back.”
The doors swing shut as the gurney passes through, and time stretches silently, an instant feeling infinitely full of dire possibilities.
Shayanne breaks down, tears tracking down her face in rivers. Brody lays a hand on her shoulder, but he glares at me.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Bennett?” He’s in denial. His dad saw it instantly, but he doesn’t want to. Especially not now.
Shay sobs loudly, her hands coming up to cover her face. “Come here, honey,” I say gently, though it might as well be a sledgehammer for the effect the words have. She turns and buries her face in my chest as I wrap my arms around her, comforting her.
“Get your hands off her before I beat the shit out of you,” Brody snarls. His chest is puffed up, his eyes a bit wild and flashing, and both of his fists are clenched at his side. It feels like we’ve been here before, but things are different now.
I don’t move except to rub soothing circles on Shay’s back, forcing myself to stay calm and not react to his imminent threat. My voice is quiet but hard, broaching no discussion of the current state of our affairs. “Not now, Brody. You can beat me up later. Right now, she needs me.”
The promise of a future beatdown seems to surprise him, or maybe the reality of the situation is just sinking in, because his bravado falters. Brutal takes control, stepping between us to move Brody back. He angles Brody toward a chair, which he sags into.
“Bobby, will you get us all a coffee? Think it’s gonna be a long night,” Brutal says.
Bobby is looking between us all like we’ve sprouted second heads or he’s entered the Twilight Zone. Hell, I know the feeling. This was coming, sooner or later. But I wouldn’t have sprung it on them like this. I would have preferred to walk up to them, man to man, in a neutral place . . . or really, anywhere other than here and under these circumstances.
Nothing to do about it now, though. The cat’s out of the bag, and we’ll have to make do without shitting kittens.
The waiting room of a hospital is heavy place to be. I’ve never spent much time in them, but the uncertainty of life clings to every corner, shadows of death no matter how bright the lights might be.
Shay sits in my lap, our coffees forgotten on the chair next to us as time drags on. Brutal’s sitting two chairs down, and Brody and Bobby sit across from me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead about a thousand times over and then burned to a crisp just for good measure.
Shay looks up. Quietly but with more strength than she should possess, she asks, “What happened, Brod?”
His brows furrow, and he looks pained. His dark eyes are bright as they flick to me. I know he’s trying to decide how much he wants to say in front of me, but he gives in for Shayanne.
I know the feeling, man.
“Dad came home early, said he wasn’t feeling good. Knew it had to be bad for him to be home on a Saturday night, but I thought he’d just lost big.” The bitterness is apparent. “He sat down on the couch and was watching TV. I was in the kitchen and heard a thud. I went running in there, and he was on the living room floor.” His eyes are glassy, looking through us like he’s back home in that moment again.
“I thought he fucking died right there.” He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair. “I thought . . . Jesus, the other day, I thought he was just overheated. But maybe not? Don’t worry, baby girl. He’s a tough old bastard. Too tough to die.”
Brutal takes over. “Brody called out and we came downstairs. Called 9-1-1 and you. And here we all
are.”
It’s about as much acknowledgement of the elephant in the room as I expect. The elephant? Oh, that’s totally me. I might as well be wearing a huge hat and carrying a banner that says, Yeah, Shayanne was fucking me at a hotel all weekend and we lied about it too.
A woman in scrubs appears, her voice calm and professional. “Brody Tannen?”
He stands up, his reply pitching an octave high in worry. “Yes?”
We all reflexively stand too, trying to be ready for any news, good or bad, she might deliver.
She looks at us and smiles compassionately. “Just Mr. Tannen for now. He’s asking for you, if you’ll follow me.”
Brody disappears behind the double swinging doors. And then there were four.
“What the hell, Shayanne?” Bobby snarls, and she flinches but glares at him. I settle her back in my lap, holding her tightly, protecting her. Not from her brother, because I know he wouldn’t actually hurt her. But from his words, which are just as sharply painful, especially right now. They’re all going through something, but I won’t let him take the fear and adrenaline of the night out on Shay.
Brutal sighs. “Not the best way to spill this particular news, Sis.”
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and stretching his legs out in front of him before letting his eyes slip shut. He looks like he could be taking a well-earned break after a long day, not a care in the world. For all his casual appearances and previous acceptance of me and Shay, I’m wary of him. Of the three brothers, he’s the one most likely to ‘accidentally’ kill me with a single punch.
Shayanne nods, even though Brutal can’t see her through his closed lids. “I know. Brody called and we just . . . came as fast as we could.” His meaning dawns, and she gives him a long look. “You knew about this weekend?”
Brutal cracks one eye and peers at her. “It’s Fall Festival in Great Falls and you spent damn near twenty minutes telling me how sick apples make Sophie less than a month ago. Didn’t figure she’d want to spend the weekend surrounded by the smell of apple cider, even if there was a mani-pedi involved.” He glances at her nails. “Pretty.”
“Thanks.”
They seem okay, and Brutal doesn’t seem like he’s about to sneak attack me, especially given the news that he figured out my secret plans for the weekend. It strikes me as surprising that he knows Sophie can’t stand apples. I didn’t even know that, and I eat dinner with her more nights than not.
Bobby is still looking between us like it’s not computing, but he’s taking his lead from Brody. “You knew about this?” he asks Brutal, tipping his head our way. When he nods dismissively, Bobby turns back to Shayanne and me, his ire lighting him up inside. “You saw what this did to Dad, right? He was talking, doing better. Until he showed up.”
It’s more accusation than she can take right now. She’s made of steel, but her heart is fragile and her brother is shitting all over that. Thankfully, Brutal says something before I do.
“Bobby, for now . . . shut up,” he growls. I see it then, the mask of calm he’s thrown over his stress, the disguise he’s using to hide how hard tonight has already been. He’s holding it together, but it’s taking everything he’s got.
His words are just as much for me, and I nod in response.
Once upon a time, me and my brothers were where they are right now. A life of hard work, big meals of butter-laden foods, and time caught up to Pops. He’d died peacefully in the front yard underneath the tree he planted for Mama. And we’d been left to pick up the pieces. We’d had good training, love, and Mama on our sides, though.
The Tannens don’t have any of that.
Once upon a time, maybe they did. But they’ve been making their own way for so long. They’re held together by sheer stubborn will, spit, and duct tape.
Even so, losing a parent is hard. Losing your only remaining parent is unfathomable. Even if it’s Paul Tannen.
The door opens again and Brody’s back. His face is red, his jaw clenched, his breath jagged as hot anger rolls off him.
“You.” He’s locked on me like a cat chasing a laser beam, knowing it’ll inevitably catch it and looking forward to the domination and destruction it’ll wreak.
Apparently, this is happening now despite Brutal’s edict.
I’m prepared for it, though. Brody needs this. He needs to rage, to fight, to scream at the unfairness of it all. And he’s only got a few options on how to do that. I’m his best target. Hell, I’m his only target.
As soon as I saw Shay, I knew I had to have her and that this was going to happen. They talk about water under the bridge, but the bridge between the Tannens and the Bennetts has had too much sewage flow underneath it for anything else. When they found out about Shay and me, hell was gonna come looking to be paid, but the angst of the night only makes it that much more necessary.
I hold up a hand, silently telling him to wait a second. I shift, picking Shayanne up and setting her in the chair next to Brutal. I give him a look, begging him to look after her.
His answering glare tells me everything I need to know.
With that, I stand and face Brody Tannen.
He’s a man in pain, a man filled with fear—of losing his dad, of losing his sister, of taking on a mantle that already weighs heavily on him. A man I respect for the work he does and the love he has for Shayanne. A man I hope will someday respect me. Because I love his sister, and I’m not letting her go, no matter what.
“Fucking Bennetts.” My name is as much a curse as the F-bomb is.
I lift my fists, knowing this has to happen. I give him my right side, hoping he’ll take the open target and praying his left arm is weaker as I give him the free shot.
He pounds into me with two quick uppercuts to my gut, sending my breath wheezing out harshly. Okay . . . he’s got a good left, too.
Shayanne cries out, but I can’t risk a look her way. I have to trust that Brutal is a man of his word, even the unspoken ones, and that he’ll hold her back.
Brody wraps his arms around my torso, squeezing me tightly, and I know he’s prepping to pick me and throw me to the waxy linoleum. I drop my hips, just like I learned long ago when Mark would do the same thing to me, and we jockey for position. Finally, I drop an elbow to his shoulder, not to hurt him but to get him to let me go. He grunts and his grip slips.
I push him off me, and we take each other’s measure. Distantly, I can hear the lady at the front desk calling for security, her voice bored like this is a regular Saturday night occurrence.
“Just get the fuck out of here,” he barks.
Suddenly, Shay is between us once again. This time, she’s not holding us back from each other. Her attention is on me as she gives Brody her back. Her hands go to my chest, snatching my shirt. “What the hell?”
Her tears are dry, angry sparks taking their place. If they could, I’d bet her curls would be standing on end from all the fireworks rushing through her. She’s a cat with her claws out and her back arched, fire aimed at me and Brody because we’re right here, but even more so at the fear of what’s happening with her dad behind those doors.
Brody chuffs behind her, a hint of vindication in his smug face.
“I’m fine, honey.” I slip a tendril of hair that’s come loose from her messy bun behind her ear, answering the question she didn’t ask. “It was coming. We both knew that.”
She sags, her shoulders dropping from her ears, resolved to that truth. “I think you should go,” she says in a flat, exhausted voice. “I’ll call you later.”
It hurts. I don’t want to leave her. Not now, when she needs support. Not ever. Even though she’s being so fucking brave, so strong, there are things that nobody should go through alone.
But I understand. She does have family, and though they’re already in a bad spot, they’ve got each other’s backs. And my being here isn’t helping.
Well, it probably helped Brody a bit to have a punching bag for some of his shit, but
unless I want a repeat of that, and I don’t, I should go.
“I love you,” I say, knowing they’ll all hear me but not giving a fuck.
“I love you too,” she answers softly, honestly.
I’m just enough of a shit to admit to myself that I take some sick, twisted pleasure in her saying it in front of her brothers. Finally.
Chapter 18
Shayanne
The hours stretch out, made even longer by the fact that I’m just utterly exhausted. It’s the longest night of my life. At least, I think it’s still night outside. We moved to a waiting area upstairs when Daddy was admitted to the ICU, and there are no windows here.
Only the ticking of the clock on the wall, a sound so annoyingly painful I want to rip it down and chuck it across the room, tells me that time is passing. I dozed for a bit, but I haven’t seen Brody shut his eyes once.
He’s alternating between pacing and sitting in various chairs, knees spread wide and head hanging low. He hasn’t said a word to me since Luke left. Minutes ago, hours ago, days ago? Who knows.
The door opens, and we all look up, hope and fear warring that it’s news, some sort of update. Sophie comes in, struggling to carry a brown grocery bag and a smaller white paper bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other. Her belly isn’t doing her any favors, only adding to her load.
“Hey, guys, figured you need a pick-me-up. Coffees all around, and I got everyone some breakfast.” She’s chattering brightly, as if her appearing like a fairy godmother is no big deal, handing out liquid fuel and bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches on thick toast.
My brothers take her offerings without hesitation, a sure sign that hell has frozen over.
Okay, that’s not fair.
They know I’m friends with Sophie, and they listen to my stories about her since we’re best friends, but I tend to hang out with her at her house. It’s just safer, considering her relationship with James.
When she does come to the farm, it’s usually in her role as Doc’s vet assistant, and Brody treats her professionally, and on the rare friendly visit, they usually make themselves scarce. Insinuating herself into our family this way is not our norm, but they’re not even batting an eye. Not even Brody.
Racing Hearts: Bennett Boys Ranch Page 19
