Page 75 of Savior

“But he might—” she protested, leaving me to guess as to why she was still avoiding her husband.

“Does now seem like a good time to make excuses, Counselor? We’re fucking lucky that Bear didn’t kill every last one of us.”

My head chose that moment to remind me just how hungover I was. I massaged my temple, and abjectly replied, “But he didn’t. We’re all still here to fight another day.”

“Celia, sweetie,” Mike snarled. “What good is finding Grey if we’re just going to have to tell him that you went off and got yourself killed? No more secrets, from here on out. We communicate, and we sure as fuck—”

“Don’t go running into things with our dicks out,” Dakota finished somberly. “Got it.”

Mike squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, anyone else have anything they need to confess to or share with the class before we get the fuck on the road?”

Lauren squeezed his hand. “Need me to drive?”

“Mikey, I’m sorry. I—” I tried, only to be met with more resistance.

“We either work as a team or not at all, Celia. If we’re all off doing our own thing, then we’re as good as dead.”

“So, tell us what to do.”

He glanced around. “Not here. Your place. Kate,” he singsonged, without turning to face her. “I’m not hearing a phone call.”

* * *

The drive back to the farmhouse was a quiet one, filled with nothing but the sound of static from the radio. Instead of turning it off, Kate and I had each gotten lost in our own heads.

When she’d offered to ride back with me, I assumed it was because she wanted to talk about what had happened to her grandfather, or at the very least, to give me some clue as to why she was still avoiding Nate. Her fingers moved rapidly over the screen of her phone, but otherwise, she remained silent.

My mind was all over the place. I quickly moved from thoughts of Jamie and where he was being held, to Kate and the secrets she was keeping.

Wife.

Mother.

I shifted between the two like a ping-pong ball, coming away from both with nothing but more confusion.

“You’re staring at me,” Kate said, still staring at the phone in her hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

With a sigh, she asked, “What’s there to talk about? My grandfather is dead. No one seems to know anything about where my dad is. Oh, and my husband, who hates drama, is about to be thrown into the middle of a shit show. Did I miss anything?”

I pulled into the driveway, watching as Kate’s already pale face seemed to lose more color at the sight of Nate’s black BMW idling beside the house.

“Why won’t you tell me what really happened the night you left him?”

As if I needed proof that I was on the right track, her breathing became little more than shallow pants, a clear sign that she was spiraling. She rubbed her palms against her black slacks and lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Let it go. Please.”

I put the truck in park and touched her shoulder. “Kate—”

Her body immediately twisted away from mine. She backed toward the door, one hand already on the handle while the other came up in defense. “Don’t touch me!”

“No.” The word was an exhale, a plea. I saw Angel holding a washcloth to my battered face; I felt Jamie’s lips on mine, his arms caging me in, making it impossible to draw a breath.

Wetness hit my cheeks when I shook my head, the feel of the tears almost foreign.

I’d failed her.

“Mama, you’re crying,” she whispered as if she knew that until now, only her father had held the power to break through the veil of numbness that surrounded my heart.

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