Page 113 of Riot

He’d interrogated me about our relationship the moment Riot was wheeled into surgery.

She smiles, as she always does when talking about him. “He’s worried for you, that’s all. His brother doesn’t exactly have the best reputation.”

My chest warms. “He doesn’t need to protect me. Riot’s… different. He takes care of me.”

And that’s the truth.

He’s always taken care of me. He’s always been there. Even when I wasn’t his.

I just want him to be okay. I need him to be okay. There’s no world in which he’s not at my side.

“I love him,” I admit in a whisper.

Maylie’s eyes soften. “I can tell.”

“I chose him, May.”

She nods. “These men aren’t easy to be with. If you want to be with Riot, you have to accept all the parts of his life that he’s involved in, even the bits you don’t like.” Her shoulders tense, and she bites a nail. “There’s something I need to tell you, and you’re going to hate me when you hear it.”

I already know what she’s going to say. I’ve been running it over in my head in the hours I’ve been waiting.

Mace killed Link. It’s the only thing that makes sense with everything I know about that day. I don’t know what my ex did to my sister in that room. I don’t want to know either.

My family took care of her. Just as Riot took care of me and Seren.

“I don’t care.”

And I don’t. Link was a monster. Whatever happened to him was deserved, and Riot was right when he said I didn’t need to know. I already have enough nightmares.

I lean my head on her shoulder and breathe. She strokes my hair, and I relax. “I won’t tell you then, but I will ask that you forgive yourself, Ivy. Nothing that happened was your fault.”

My chest aches at her words. “I’m trying.”

She nudges me with her elbow. “Try harder.”

“How do I tell my daughter that her father was a monster?”

“You don’t. You tell her that she’s loved by everyone in her life and that’s what matters.”

I rest my hand on her belly, where my nephew is growing. There was a time when it felt like it was the three of us—me, Maylie, and Toby—against the world. It doesn’t feel like that any longer.

The baby kicks under my hand, and I smile. “Someone is awake.”

She groans. “He’ll be dancing on my bladder in the next half-hour.”

The door opens suddenly, and Mace steps inside holding my daughter. The relief in his face eases the bands around my ribs. “He’s out of surgery.”

I come to my feet so fast, my head rushes. “Is he okay?”

“So far, so good.”

I rush to the room, desperate to lay eyes on him, but I pause for a few breaths. The last time I saw him, he was soaked in blood, unmoving.

He’s okay.

He’s okay.

Then I step inside.

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