Page 82 of Force At Third

“Apparently, the drugs are wearing off,” Leland whispers low, lips touching the top of my head. “So that we’re on the same page, they think we’re together.”

“No, no, no, no …”

“You asked for me, not for her. Couldn’t explain why, so I told her we were working through some things, and we are, so yes, yes, yes.”

I move to glare up at him.

“We’re not having this fight now, not when making nice isn’t on the table.”

“You motherfucker.”

“Ain’t that the damn truth,” he states, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling.

“I hated myself for so long, but right now, I’m hating?—”

“Don’t you dare say that word to me.” When he glares back down at me, his eyes are brimmed red. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “I’ve never hated you—ever, Gwen.” Gwen. “Ever.” He kisses the top of my head chastely then slides off the bed. “I’m not gonna start now.”

Standing at the side of the bed, he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Chloe and crew have arrived. I’m going to step out for a bit.”

“Locke,” I whisper to his retreating back.

He looks over his shoulder, his eyes the color of Christmas—red, white, and green.

“Sorry.”

“You got nothing to be sorry for. Let’s you and I keep it that way from now on.”

Then he’s gone.

I bury my face in my pillow, and like I did all those years ago, I sob silently so no one knows.

Or so I think, until Whitley lies beside me, big spoon style.

When all the tears are gone, Whit gets up, grabs a cool washcloth, and hands it to me. “Chloe’s on her way up. Danny’s at the airport to meet Cora’s father, and Marks is checking out of his room as we speak.”

“Checking out of his room?”

Pope chuckles. “Apparently, he got lost on his way to the police station with William.”

I sit up and ask, “Lost?”

“He had to think some things through,” Pope says, glancing toward the door.

Whit whispers, “Pretty sure he was taking him to the woods, so to speak.”

“That was not the plan.”

Pope huffs, “Not for nothing, Gwen. Had I watched Cyrus performing CPR on you, all torn up with a bullet in you, I’d have done the same damn thing.”

“As pissed as I would have been at you for doing so, John Paul, same.” Whit sighs. “Now, let’s get that cloth on your face to calm the redness.”

I’m not sure we accomplished the calming because all I’ve seemed to do is cry. Chloe started it or restarted it with a mix of thank yous, and I’m so sorries. Cora was a mess, as well, and she, too, thanked me repeatedly. Then, seeing CeCe and Roman Hart, who dove into the Delaware and is the true hero to my survival, it continued.

I was ecstatic when I was told I could be released if I agreed to have Dromida and Whit dote over me for a week with some at-home care.

When we leave the room, I see Locke push up from where he was sitting vigil outside my door, and I just look at him.

He waves his hand in front of me. “After you.”

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