Page 111 of Seizing Control: Part Two

“Don’t forget the little man’s stuffed phoenix. He sleeps with it every night.”

My mother laughs. “It makes sense now.”

She directs a pointed look at the new ink covering Lazarus’ throat. It’s a phoenix—apparently connected to the toy my son sleeps with. Another surge of jealousy rushes through me. He’s been around, bonding with Garrett and spending time with my wife in my absence.

I’ve missed so much.

Mostly be my choice.

“You’ve been around a lot longer than I initially suspected,” Dad comments.

“Months,” he admits to my parents.

Mumma is speechless.

A circumstance as rare as it is concerning.

Intent of getting back to the twins, Nadia shoos my parents out of the hospital room.

As soon as we’re alone, the tension between me and Lazarus returns.

He peers at me over my wife’s bed.

I keep my gaze fixed on his, even though I’d much prefer to concentrate on my wife and son.

“This could be our life,” Lazarus tells me.

“What could?”

“This—” Lazarus points at me, then Cherub, then at himself. “—Two men loving one fierce woman. Raising our kids under the one roof. Building a sanctuary for our family in a world of chaos.”

This time, I’m the one rendered speechless.

It couldn’t possibly be that easy, could it?

“How?”

“By putting her first,” he replies in a tone that makes me feel an inch tall. “Before our egos. Before our ambition. Before any-fuckin’-thing. Lily, and Garrett, and the twins... that’s it. They’re all that matters. Everything else is gravy.”

“I want...” Even as I start to voice my protest to his overly simplified explanation, it dies. My selfishness was almost terminal. I brush my palm over my bandaged head, the tenderness a reminder I heed, then I nod and hold out my hand. “You’re right. My duchess and the babies. That’s all that matters.”

“Truce.” Lazarus states as he crushes my fingers in an iron grip.

I leverage his arm, up then down, with solemn formality. “Truce.”

21

LILY

Ifell asleep before I could ask Slash why he had changed his stance on acknowledging Garrett, but it’s the first thing I remember when I wake up in the middle of the night with a fire in my mid-section. My abrupt resurfacing into consciousness surprises the men holding vigil on either side of me. Their heads turn in unison. There’s a harmony in their movements that is matched by the nod they exchange as they tighten their individual grips on my hands.

My husband is clutching my left hand like it’s his lifeline.

Our son’s portable cot is angled so that he can keep an eye on him while he sleeps.

Blinking in the dim light, I feel around for the controls.

As I lift the bedhead into a half-sitting position, my body pulses with pain.

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