Page 81 of Seizing Control: Part Two

Garrett and the twins are all that matter to me.

Love has surrounded me for as long as I can remember, and I’ve always considered myself well-versed in the interminable depths of it. I have friends, family, and two men I love more than life itself, yet I love my son and his unborn siblings more than everyone else combined.

It’s a pit without a bottom.

A complexity of instinct and heart.

Unexplainable and incalculable.

The driving force behind my decision to move homes once the twins are born.

“Like, does he think he’s just gonna move back in without an apology?” Nadia leans against the basin. She watches me with an eagle eye, steeping out of my way so I can wash my hands. Her indignation is confusing. Lazarus has attempted to apologise multiple times over the past five weeks. I’m the one who won’t budge, and my best friend knows that. “The gall of him—” She slams her hands on her hips. “He doesn’t get to pop up in the middle of the night, scaring me half to death in the process, then give me the damn silent treatment.”

“Nads,” I say her name with more patience than I’m actually feeling. Grabbing my robe, I secure the sash around my oversized waist as best as I can. “You need to give me some context or wait until my brain is properly functioning before you continue with your griping.”

With the baby monitor in one hand, I quietly close my bedroom door behind us.

“Your man is a dickhead,” Sander grumbles as he meets us at the head of the stairs. My twin is walking without crutches finally, the cast removed from his broken leg, and the sling to support his busted shoulder only appears if he’s pushed too hard at PT. “But he’s a ballsy dickhead.”

My footsteps grind to a halt.

Sander has no idea that Lazarus visits me at night-time.

Turning to face him, I demand, “What the hell are you talking about?”

My best friend and my brother stare at me with their mouths open.

“Slash is in the dining room,” Nadia tells me.

“Shut up.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Did you not know?—”

“Know what?” I shriek.

“Your husband....” Sander trails off when Nadia elbows him.

I glare at them both.

They stare back at me with worry in their eyes.

When it becomes clear that they aren’t going to expand on the situation, I huff. Stomping down the stairs, through the landing and into the kitchen, I am all but breathing fire as I enter the dining room. The formal room that Crystal makes us use for every meal is illuminated by the ornate dimmer bulbs installed in each corner.

They add a grim cast to the sight that greets me.

I scowl as I take in the big man perched in the dining chair he abandoned months ago. With his fingers tight around the mug of coffee that he’s white knuckling, a thick bandage covering half of his head, another smaller dressing taped to his cheekbone, and purple smudges beneath his eyes, my husband is the picture of misery.

His despair almost makes me forget how angry I am at him.

Keyword: almost.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

When I verbalise my incredulity, Slash doesn’t look my way.

He literally has zero reaction to my presence.

As my ire grows, I grip the baby monitor so hard that the plastic case creaks.

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