by Tracy Wolff
“Jesus, Garrett, I’m sorry.” Kian circles me, arms outstretched like he wants to grab me. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
He’s my baby brother and I want to tell him it’s okay, want to tell him that it doesn’t matter, that I’ll be fine. But I can’t stop thinking of how easy it was for him to talk about the abduction. How easy it was for him to suggest I supplicate myself in front of the King when I’ve done nothing wrong.
He wants me to grovel to my father, wants me to beg him to make me heir again when the throne should have been mine all along? Even knowing that if I do grovel, it will just give the King more power over me. Just give him the ammunition he needs to hold the throne over my head for the rest of his life, threatening to take it away whenever the fuck he wants, and to hell with what I’ve sacrificed for it.
I won’t do it. Not for him, not for me, not even for Wildemar.
The suite door bursts open and I whirl around, the small part of my brain that is still rational expecting to see paramedics or a doctor. Can’t have me doing any more damage to the Presidential Suite, after all. Can’t let anybody know that Gorgeous Garrett is actually human.
The optics would suck.
But it’s not a doctor standing there at the entrance to the suite. It’s Lola, eyes wide and mouth open.
“You’re not here,” I tell her, suddenly afraid that I’m hallucinating. “You’re on a plane back to America.”
“I didn’t go,” she answers, walking slowly, steadily, toward me.
“Get back.” I’m not in control yet and I’m terrified that I’ll somehow hurt her by mistake. “Get out.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And then she’s charging straight for me. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s okay, Garrett.”
I shake my head. “It’s not okay. It’s not.”
Her face crumples, her gorgeous blue eyes filling with tears as she nods. “You’re right. It’s not. But it will be.”
“No.” It will never be okay again. The memories can’t be put away, the rage can’t be shoved back down, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make the pain stop.
She reaches for me and I try to fend her off. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t hurt her. I can’t—
“Lola, don’t!” Kian orders.
“Shut up!” she snaps back. And then she’s grabbing onto me, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me into her. “I’ve got you,” she whispers to me, her forehead pressed to mine. “I’ve got you.”
I shake my head. “You don’t. You can’t.”
“I do,” she tells me, holding me tighter. “I do.”
And just that easily, I crumple. My legs go out from under me and I hit the ground, taking her with me. We land in a pile on the floor.
I’m exhausted, out of it, but still I try to push myself off of her so I don’t crush her. “No,” she tells me fiercely, wrapping herself around me like a limpet and hanging on for all she’s worth. “You stay right here with me, Garrett. I’ve got you. This time, I’ve got you.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not hurting me, baby.” She presses kisses to my hair, my face. “I promise, you’re not hurting me. Please, just let me hold you.”
It’s her tone that does it—half-desperate, half-loving, it burrows inside me and breaks me wide open. Burying my head against her shoulder, I feel the rage that’s been a part of me for so long finally, finally, start to drain away.
Chapter 32
Lola
“Get a doctor,” I hiss at Kian as Garrett takes several deep, shuddering breaths.
“We’ve already called one,” he answers, voice trembling. He looks spooked, like seriously fucking spooked. Not that I blame him. I just got here and I’m terrified for Garrett.
“Good.” I hold on tighter to the man I love, and he squeezes me back in return. His face is cold and clammy against my neck, and he’s shaking so hard that he’s moving both of us. I rub his back, murmur a bunch of nonsense words in his ear. But all I keep thinking is what if I’d managed to get a flight out this afternoon? What if Samuel hadn’t followed me down to the lobby and known that I was still in the hotel? What if he hadn’t come to get me when Garrett started freaking out—and what if I hadn’t answered the door?
So many what-ifs, all leading back to Garrett having to face this alone. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever met, but this pain is too much for anyone to bear alone. He’s done it for nine months. He shouldn’t have to do it for one second longer.
I don’t understand how any father can treat his son the way Garrett’s father has. My dad was a total loser, but at least he just wrote me off instead of playing mind games with me. What the King has done to Garrett is heartless. Worse, it’s cruel.
The fact that my leaving only added to his pain has guilt swamping me, threatening to swallow me whole. I thought I was helping him, thought I was protecting him. But all I managed to do was hurt him when he was already suffering so much.
“I’m okay,” Garrett tells us after he finally stops trembling. “I don’t need a doctor.”
Kian opens his mouth to argue, but I shoot him a look that tells him to shut the hell up. Then I pull away from Garrett just enough to look him in the eyes. They’re a little red-rimmed, but other than that they look normal. The wild fury that was in them when I walked into the suite seems to have faded, leaving only tiredness in its place.
Still, he needs a tranquilizer and a solid night’s sleep. Not to mention a session with his therapist. I risk another quick glance around the trashed suite. Probably several sessions.
But we’ve got to start somewhere, and that means getting a doctor in here to examine him. “Your hand’s a mess, baby. You’re probably going to need stitches.”
He looks down at the cut slicing across the back of his hand like he’s never seen it before. Which he might not have, considering the state he was in when I got here.
“I’m bleeding all over your dress.”
Trust Garrett to be more concerned about my clothes than he is about himself. Then again, that’s how he got to this state. Worrying about the country, worrying about his brother, worrying about me—worrying about anything and everything but what he really needed to be concerned about: himself.
“Believe me, my dress is the absolute least of my concerns right now.”
He shakes his head and gives a little sigh. “I really fucked up, huh?”
“I don’t think you’re the one who fucked up.” I shoot Kian a glare as I say it. To his credit, he looks nearly as shame-faced as he does shaken.
“I broke the balcony doors with an antique chair.”
“Yeah, that was a bit much. On the bright side, it was a really ugly chair.”
He laughs, and so does Kian. “It was, wasn’t it?”
Finally, there’s a knock on the door, and as Kian goes to answer it, I slide a hand over Garrett’s hair, smoothing it back so I can see his face. His beautiful, heartbreaking face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Fuck that. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’m pretty sure the George V is going to have a different opinion about that.” He pushes into a sitting position, but makes sure to pull me up with him as he does.
“Yeah, well, you aren’t the first rich guy to trash one of their rooms and I’m pretty sure you won’t be the last. Just think of it as a badge of honor.”
“I’m a prince, not a rock star. We don’t get badges of honor for destroying things.”
“Sure you do. Otherwise war wouldn’t exist.”
I want a better look at his hand, so I start to scoot back a little. He holds me firmly in place, keeping me pressed up against his side as he surveys the destroyed room. “This wasn’t war.”
I’m not so sure about that. God knows, Garrett was battling something when he did this. I don’t say that, though. Instead, I nod toward the man gingerly making his way across the room toward us.
“Hello, Your Highness. My name is Craig Deveraux and I’m an internist the hotel has on call. Do you mind if I take a look at your hand?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re going to want to look at more than my hand,” Garrett tells him wryly. “But, yeah. Feel free.”
I push myself to my feet, then brace a hand under his elbow and try to help him up as well. But he just rolls his eyes at me as he climbs lithely to his feet. “Where do you want me?” he asks the doctor.
“Probably your bedroom, if that works for you. I’m going to need a flat surface to lay out the stitching materials.” Craig doesn’t say what everyone is thinking—that Garrett made sure every flat surface in the living room was turned upside down. Instead, he just waits patiently as Garrett decides if the bedroom is a viable option.
It must be, because he leads the way over to it. I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as the door closes behind them.
Kian whirls on me as soon as it does. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“Did he hurt me?” I look at him like he’s insane. “Did we just see the same thing?”
“I don’t know.” He’s ashen as he crosses to the suite’s outside door. “The only thing I understand from what I just saw is that my brother isn’t doing nearly as well as I thought he was. Then again, he has been drinking since you left.” The last is said accusatorily.
“I’m sorry. I fucked up.”
He nods. “Yeah, well. Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
He sighs wearily, but he nods. Then, after wiping a hand over his hair and down his neck, he walks to the suite’s main door.
I can hear him murmuring softly to the security guards. I think about getting closer, listening in, but decide it doesn’t matter. What happens next is going to be up to Garrett and his therapist, not Kian. I plan on making sure of it.
Crossing to the kitchen area, I pull a garbage bag from the collection of cleaning supplies under the sink. Then I get to work cleaning up the mess Garrett’s episode left. Much of it has to be done by the hotel staff themselves, but I can pick up the detritus of broken liquor bottles and chairs.
“Someone’s coming to take care of that,” Kian tells me after he finishes whatever he was doing in the hall. Savvy, who just got here, rolls her eyes as she, too, starts to pitch in. The look she shoots me seems to say, “freaking royals, man.”
Kian watches us for a minute, then throws his hands up in exasperation and starts to help too. We make a lot of progress turning furniture back to rights and cleaning up broken glass in the five minutes before hotel employees reach the room. There’s another small conference between Kian and the manager, and then we’re being ushered out of the suite and down the hall to Kian and Savvy’s room.
“They’ll take care of it,” Kian tells me as he forcibly takes the garbage bag from my hands. It’s harder to let it go than it should be, but I think that’s mostly to do with the fact that cleaning keeps me busy while I wait to hear what’s going on with Garrett. Without it, I’ve got nothing to focus on but him, nothing to do but worry about whether or not he’s doing okay.
Kian and Savvy steer me toward their suite. It makes me nervous being this far from Garrett, at least until Kian instructs Bryce and Samuel, both of whom are standing in the hallway with blank faces and worried eyes, to come get us the moment the doctor is through with Garrett—or before, if he needs us.
“I’m sorry about all this,” Kian says as he ushers me inside. “I don’t know what got into Garrett—”
“Are you serious with this right now?” I demand, whirling on him as Savvy moves to the bar to make us all drinks. Big drinks. “You’re apologizing to me for the fact that your brother finally let himself open up?”
“If that was him opening up, I can see why he’s stayed closed,” Kian mutters. “We’ve worked so hard for weeks now—months—to convince the King that Garrett is able to resume his old duties. And the second we’re close, the second we really have a chance, he goes and pulls this…” He takes the drink Savvy hands him. “Thanks, darling.”
“Pulls this?” I’m outraged, and it shows in the voice I can’t keep steady and the lethal body language I don’t even try to control. “What exactly do you think Garrett just pulled?” I space the words out as I speak them through clenched teeth.
My own indignation and anger finally seem to get through to Kian. “Wait. You’re seriously mad at me too? Garrett just handed me my ass—”
“Considering you’re shocked that Garrett finally snapped, I’m sure you can’t imagine why that happened.”
“Can we all sit down for a second?” Savvy asks as she hands me a glass of wine. “Let’s just take a breather for a moment and then the two of you can get back into the trenches.”
Kian does as she asks, leaning into her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he allows her to lead him to the nearest chair. I follow because I don’t have much of a choice, and because I’d be lying if I tried to say my legs weren’t a little shaky right now. I’m worried about Garrett.
Savvy’s right to make us sit—somehow, civilized discussion seems so much easier when I’m facing Kian across the table. “Look,” I start to say, but Kian starts talking at the same time.
“I’m sorry I’m being an asshole,” he tells me. “I’m out of it right now. I just…I can’t believe I missed it.”
“You didn’t miss it,” Savvy tells him. “Garrett hides his shit well. He always has.”
“I missed it,” Kian says again. “He’s my fucking twin and this wasn’t even on my fucking radar. I knew he had nightmares sometimes, but I had no clue he was this torn up.”
“He has nightmares every night.” Normally, I don’t think Garrett would want me to share that with Kian and Savvy, but after what just happened, I figure normal rules are off the table.
“Every night?” Kian asks.
I nod. “Pretty much, yeah. I’ve tried to get him to talk about them a number of times, but he never has. I think he thought he could just bottle it up forever and eventually it would go away.”
“Yeah. This whole destroying shit isn’t really Garrett’s thing.”
“Because he’s got incredible self-control, not because he doesn’t feel things deeply.” I think back to our first night in Paris, to the emotion that poured out of him when we made love. Tenderness and love, yes, but also a bone-deep weariness and pain that broke my heart.
“I know that. From the time we were kids, he’s been able to compartmentalize in a way I can’t. The fact that he can’t now makes me concerned about just how much he’s been faking these last few months.”
“A lot, probably. But I think this is a sign that he’s finally getting better.”
Kian looks at me as if I’m nuts. “He just did a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of damage to a hotel room. How is that better?”
“Think about how much damage has been done to him,” Savvy pipes up for the first time. “A hundred thousand dollars is nothing compared to what they did to him. Compared to what they took from him.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “I’m not a therapist, obviously, but I am the woman who’s spent the last two weeks with him. And I can see the difference in him. He’s less likely to hide behind a glib comment, less likely to tell me he’s okay when he wakes up from a nightmare in the middle of the night. I think he’s finally stopped hiding his feelings about what happened to him—from himself and from us.”
Kian stares into space for long seconds as he thinks about what I’ve said. I watch him carefully, so I see the emotions flit across his face as he tries to come to grips in his own mind with what just hap
pened.
“I was asking him to kiss up to Dad when he lost it. Telling him to just shoulder the blame so Dad would be able to save face when he gives him the throne back. But I never meant that he was to blame for the abduction. I never meant that I thought any of this was his fault.”
I think about the way Garrett cried last night in his sleep, the way he thrashed around the night before like he was trying to defend himself from some horror I can’t even imagine. “I can’t imagine the kind of strength it takes for him to wake up every morning, to do what he does as well as he does it with the specter of what happened to him hanging over his head. And then to hear that he has to grovel for a throne that he’s suffered for more than any person should ever have to suffer? A throne I broke up with him for less than fifteen hours ago. Is it any wonder he lost it? If I’d gone through one-tenth what he has, I’m pretty sure I would have burned down the world.”
“I’m such an asshole.” Kian bangs his head against the kitchen table.
“I think we’re all assholes equally on this one,” Savvy tells him.
I nod my agreement, not wanting to alienate the brother of the man I’m desperately in love with, but not wanting to lie, either. Thank God, there’s a knock on the suite door to save me from putting my foot in my mouth.
Kian’s across the room before I can so much as shove back from the table.
“I wanted to check in with you before I left,” Dr. Deveraux says as he makes his way into the living room. “His hand did need stitches, so I took care of that. I cleaned his other cuts—there were a number of them on his arms and feet. And I gave him a shot of a mild tranquilizer. He fought against it, but eventually he gave in, which I’m glad about. He’s pretty out of it right now—in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he falls asleep before you make it in there to check on him. Combined with the alcohol in his system, he’ll be out for a good eight to ten hours, I would imagine. I also left a prescription for some oral tranquilizers. He’s not going to want to get them filled, but I suggest you do. They’ll make it easier until he can get to his therapist—”
