Page 178 of Dagger

Sophie stroked her cheek. “Go to sleep, Mom.” She continued stroking her face while we waited a couple of minutes for Elise’s breaths to even out. “What happened?” she asked.

“I came in, got into bed, told her I was back, and she freaked. She thought I was Henderson and lost her shit.” My eyes slid to my daughter, my chest tightening. “Is she havin’ a breakdown?”

“I don’t know,” Soph admitted. “She’s definitely suffering from a form of PTSD. I suspected something was going on, but not to this extreme.”

“You knew?” I questioned.

Sophie turned her face to me. “Haven’t you noticed how erratic she’s been this week?”

My mouth went dry. “Your mom’s been emotional and a little snappy maybe, but she told me she was tired.”

“I think we should call Mitch,” Sophie suggested. “He’ll do an assessment and determine what kind of treatment she needs.”

“I’ll call him now,” I offered.

“It’s Friday night, boss,” Atlas reminded me.

“You think I give a fuck?” I retorted. “My woman’s hallucinating, believing I’m her abusive, dead ex-husband, and you think I give two shits about wakin’ Mitch up? He’s a good man and a good doctor; I know he’ll see to her. But I’d have no reservations about draggin’ him out of bed if it went the other way, and he told me to fuck off.”

Elise stirred in her sleep, and I shut my mouth.

Sophie bent to retrieve her medical bag and stood, jerking her chin toward the door.

Atlas and I filed out after her, and I closed the door behind me with a soft click.

“I don’t wanna leave her,” I declared.

“She’ll be out for a few hours at least,” Soph informed me. “And those cuts need cleaning.”

“Come on,” Atlas muttered, heading down the corridor. “We can do it in our room. Need to get back to Belle, anyway.”

A door cracked open, and Cash stuck his head around it. “What the fuck, Dad?”

“Everythin’s okay,” I assured him. “Go back to bed.”

Cara’s voice called, ‘Is Elise okay?”

“She’s just havin’ a bad night,” I called back. “She’s asleep now.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Kit’s voice demanded.

My eyes slid down the hallway to see my youngest standing outside his room, bare-chested. If anyone would get what my woman was going through, Kit would. “You gotta minute, Son?”

He turned to say something to Kennedy before closing his door, strolling down the hallway, and following us into Atlas’s room.

The instant the door closed, I turned to him and laid it out. “Elise just lost it,” I croaked. “She woke up thinking I was Henderson and flipped out on me.”

Kit’s stare roamed over my neck, and he nodded understandingly. “Call Mitch.”

“I am,” I confirmed, taking my tee off and sitting in the chair my daughter pointed to. “After Sophie’s cleaned me up.”

“Kennedy mentioned Elise felt weird the day of our wedding. We’ve both kept an eye on her, but she seemed okay.”

My head reared back, my gut hardening. “Why did nobody say anything to me?”

“What? And say, oh, by the way, Pop. Elise is feeling a little weird?” Kit challenged. “You’d have laughed me outta the fuckin’ clubhouse.”

Sophie bent over and held an antiseptic wipe to my neck. “I think we can all agree that she hasn’t displayed symptoms until recently. Nobody’s to blame here. Let’s concentrate on what our next step should be.”

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