Page 85 of Brother's Keeper

Too late for regret now. The investigators were gone, and we were leaving, too. I started driving before I knew where I was going, but the way became clear as I exited the warehouse district. I wanted—needed—to go to the Bitters’ End. The place I kept crash landing lately. One time literally.

The needle on the gas gauge bumped empty as I shifted into park. The Porsche was spent and so was I, but I still had to get Ripley into the building. Fortunately, the stick-thin teen weighed next to nothing, so I cradle carried him to the porch, then used my magic to open the door before stumbling inside.

The warm, bright interior felt as inviting as home. I staggered through the entry and into the bar area, where the redheaded Nash siblings were in the middle of what looked like a heated discussion.

I heard none of it, but I saw the frustration on their faces melt rapidly away when they turned to my arrival.

Behind the bar, Nash stood, so stricken and speechless that it frightened me.

Tears—finally—stung my eyes. My body went weak, and I sobbed his name.

He sprung into motion, launching himself over the counter with a speed of purpose I’d rarely seen. Bolting across the floor, he made it to me as I sunk to my knees and laid Ripley’s body out.

Nash dropped beside me and caught my face in his hands as I began panting, shuddering, collapsing in on myself.

He asked questions I couldn’t answer.

“What happened?”

“Are you all right?”

“Where’s Donnie?”

That one broke me.

I tried to bat his hands away with my bloodstained ones but ended up clinging onto his wrists instead. I held on and wished they were life preservers because I was drowning.

“Donnie’s gone,” I choked out.

Nash’s ruddy cheeks went pale.

“I told Holland it was her fault,” I stammered, “but I think it’s mine…”

“Where is he?” Nash asked, his voice remarkably even.

“In the trunk,” was all I could say before another sob strangled me.

His eyes had a sheen of moisture as tears welled up.In the years we’d known each other, I had never seen him cry. I wasn’t sure I could stomach causing one more person to hurt tonight.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He thumbed the hair off my face. “I’ll take care of the rest.” Sliding his hands down, he gripped my shoulders and pulled me to my feet.

No sooner was I upright than did he throw his arms around me. I lay against him, completely enveloped. I hung on loosely, soaking his shirt with my tears and Donovan’s blood.

Pippa joined us, pulling Ripley to the side and tending to him like a battlefield nurse. I spent a tearful glance on the two of them and was relieved Maggie wasn’t here to see this. The last thing we needed was a frantic zombie scurrying around the bar or sniffing out the cadaver I had stashed in my car.

My fingers knotted in the buttery fabric of Nash’s flannel as he lifted and carried me out of the room. I was silently grateful and so, so weak. Ready to lay down and never get up again.

When we reached the upstairs bathroom, he sat me down on the edge of the tub. It was a strangely distant sensation, sitting as motionless as a mannequin while he crouched and tugged off my boots, then got to work peeling away my ruined clothes and piling them on the tile floor.

As he pulled my shirt off over my head, my bare skin brushed against him. I almost begged him to hold me again, but other thoughts were quicker to find voice.

“Nash?” I stammered. It was risky to start speaking and find myself unable to stop, but I had to know. “Whyare you nice to me?”

He looked up from where he’d crouched between my legs. His brows knit together over eyes trimmed with feathery lashes.

I swallowed hard, remembering missed calls and unanswered messages. Things I did wrong because I couldn’t do a damn thing right.

“I’m not nice to you.” I wiped my hand across my bleary eyes.

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