Page 46 of Under Your Care

“Okay, I think.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “We need to talk, but not here.”

I frowned. “Okay.” He couldn’t have known that we had his attacker, so I wasn’t sure what required discretion. Lane tried to give me a reassuring smile, but we both ended up laughing about how awkward it looked.

Unfortunately, Lane’s ankle needed emergency surgery due to the severity of the injury. The orthopedic doctor explained to us that Lane’s ankle bone had been shattered into several fragments. Lane stared down at one of his new teddy bears while the surgeon noted that he had only ever seen such a severe ankle injury in car accident victims. The more I heard, the stronger the urge to pulverize the man who hurt Lane.

Luckily enough, the surgery was relatively quick with no complications. Groggy from the anesthesia, Lane joked that he now was part robot since he now had a metal ankle. I rolled my eyes but was beyond pleased that he was joking and laughing, considering what he’d gone through just hours earlier.

I felt drawn in two directions. Part of me needed to comfort Lane and stay with him to guard him from anyone or anything that could harm him; part of me needed to drive over to my brothers’ house and kill that bastard. Thinking about what Lane needed from me at that moment, I chose to stay. He was too fragile.

I definitely needed to teach him how to shoot.

After staying overnight in order for the hospital staff to monitor for any post-op complications, Lane was cleared for discharge. As I drove us home, I couldn’t hold back the need to understand how all of this had happened.

“I know it might be hard to talk about right now, but I need you to tell me what happened. I want you to understand that I am not mad at you.What happened isn’t your fault. It was my responsibility to protect you, but I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m so sorry, princess. Can you talk to me, please?” I glanced over to where he was seated in the passenger seat. His gaze was downcast, focused on his hands wringing in his lap.

I took a deep breath, hoping to coax him into speaking, “We have him.” Lane startled and lifted his head to look over at me. I continued, “He’s alive and in the twins’ basement. I wanted to wait to hear from you about what happened before we decide what to do with him.”

I reached over to hold his shaking thigh. Almost instantaneously, I felt Lane’s hand cover my own.

He hesitated, shoulders tensed, before squeaking, “Tate. It was Tate.” Upon hearing that name, I immediately pulled off the road and parked. Lane asked, “Why did you pull over?”

I adjusted my seat as far back as it could go. “You need to be in my lap for this conversation. Crawl over here, baby,” I instructed. He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and clumsily climbed over the center console, careful to keep his injured ankle from bumping into anything. He seemed to relax as soon as he was in my arms. He nuzzled his head into my chest and breathed me in.

I stroked soothing circles onto his back as I spoke, “Tate is dead, honey. There’s no coming back from what I did to him. Maybe your brain replaced this man with Tate? You do have a concussion.”

He shook his head, silky curls bouncing around below my chin. He breathed, “It was Tate. He said that you killed his friend.”

My brow furrowed. Lane placed a hand on my chest and pushed out to look me in the eyes.

He spoke with no doubt in his voice, “Listen to me. I know that I’m sick in the head. We all know that.Thisis not that. It was Tate. I would bet Chloe’s life on it.”

“You’re that sure?”

He huffed, “A million percent, Grey. Just ask him, he’ll tell you.”

“Alright, I believe you, baby. I’m so sorry. Oh, baby.”

Lane whispered, voice cracking as he tried not to cry, “I-I was so scared, Daddy. I– He–” I rested my chin on the top of his head as he began sobbing into me. It was several minutes before the tears dried up.

“I’m so sorry, baby. You were so brave without me. You did so well holding out until Daddy could find you. I’m so proud of you,” I praised, placing a kiss on his head.

“It’s not your fault, Daddy. But I don’t think I’ll feel comfortable going out without you for a while,” he shrugged.

Over the next half an hour, Lane explained how Tate had taken him, what Tate did to him, and what may have happened if I hadn’t arrived when I did. My boy was exhausted by the time his story was over. We sat in silence for a few minutes before Lane spoke.

“How did you find me?” He curiously asked, head tilted.

“You don’t know?” I questioned, somewhat shocked that he hadn’t known about his tracker. Lane shook his head. “You have a GPS tracker at the base of your skull.”

Lane’s head reeled back. “What? No I don’t!” I chuckled and nodded. “Since when? What the heck! Jesus, how did I not notice?” He started feeling around, trying to pinpoint the little device.

I tenderly laughed and guided his hand with my own. “There. That little bump. Do you feel it?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just– Like… What the fuck, Grey?” Lane laughed, an incredulous look on his face. “I’m glad it’s there, obviously, but I’m just… I don’t even have the words. Fuck. Okay, when did you put it in there?Howdid you put it in there?”

I grinned, holding him close to my chest. “Right after your little escape incident. I sedated you, numbed the area, made a small cut, and voila. I thought you knew about it but just weren’t going to bring it up.”

He pouted, “You should know by now that I wouldn’t be able tonotbring that up.”

---