Chapter 5

Laughter echoes down the hall and I feel some of the tension leave my body.

Sliding from violent, murderous rage down to…

Murderous rage.

Baby steps.

Jean-Michel stills then nods with an approving smile on his face. "That's my Chrissy."

I get it.

Jean-Michel's daughter has the same inner light that Rory has.

It's like a fucking drug. I want more of it, even though she so rarely deigns to shine it in my direction.

A sigh and slight shake of his head, any softness fading from Jean-Michel's face. "I'll take care of the asshole. You and Chrissy deal with the rest of the wedding shit"—a nod to Rome—"You"—to me, eyes sparking with fury—"you make sure she doesn't so much as move an inch until she's fully recovered."

I nod. "That's exactly my plan."

"Good," he mutters and reaches for the doorknob. "I'll send over someone to watch her during the game tomorrow."

Right.

Hockey.

My job.

Something that seems very far away at the moment.

"Thanks."

He doesn't acknowledge that, just locks eyes with Rome for a second and then is wrenching the knob, pulling it open and disappearing out into the fading sun.

The door slams shut.

"How are you doing?" Rome asks a long moment later.

"After finding a woman we all care about beaten on the side of the road?" I growl, ignoring the way his brows shoot up in surprise. "Not great."

He studies me closely. "Yeah, I get that." A beat. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," I mutter.

His big chest inflates on a breath. "Rights," he says.

Then he nods, turns, and walks back down the hall, retrieving Chrissy to go deal with the remnants of a wedding that ended in disaster.

Leaving me with a woman who I rescued but who can't stand me.

A woman whose strength I'm in awe of, whose beauty draws me in…

Who I can never have.

I exhale, flick the lock on the front door, then move back toward my bedroom.

And the moment I cross the threshold, I find that I've already broken my promise to Jean-Michel.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I snap, quickly moving to Rory's side as she hobbles across the room.

Her eyes flash to mine, hot and angry. "None of your fucking business."

"Okay, Miss Prickle Pants," I growl, taking her arm and drawing her to a halt. "I know your fucking ears work."

She glares at me.

"Which means," I snap, "that I know you heard when the doctor said to stay off those feet for at least the next twenty-four hours."

"I heard her," she says icily. "I just?—"

"What?" I press when she breaks off, eyes sliding to the side, cheeks turning the slightest bit pink.

"Never mind," she mutters, tugging at my hold.

"No," I say, "tell me. Tell me what was so important that you're trying to undo the work the doctor did."

She exhales.

Winces.

And God, I'm an asshole.

But I don't even get to sit in that for a second before I feel even more like an asshole.

Because then she says, "I have to go to the bathroom."

Fucking hell.

"Ror—"

She shakes her head and guilt jabs at me repeatedly, but that's the least of what I deserve.

"I—"

"No," she whispers, pulling at my hold.

I release her, but don't back away as she takes a step forward. Which is why I don't miss the grimace that crosses her face.

Christ.

I move without thinking, scooping her up as carefully as the priceless, breakable object she is.

"King!"

But I don't pay attention to her furious tone, to the way she's gone stiff. I just start forward, carrying her into the bathroom, setting her on her feet near the toilet.

Then I hesitate…

Her mouth opens and closes, opens and closes. Then she seems to notice that I'm still standing there.

"What?" she growls.

I wave a hand at her. "Did you need some help with…?"

I trail off before I say something stupid like panties.

Or stupider like?—

Something stupider.

Because what am I offering to do?

Strip her naked and fuck her senseless?

That would be pleasurable for both of us. Just…not right now.

"No," she snaps, glaring at me. "I need you to go."

Right.

I spin on my heel, take off out of the bathroom, freeing Zeus from his crate (where he's being a perfect, patient pup, waiting quietly for the chaos to settle).

And then I plunk him on the bed.

And I wait. For the toilet to flush and the sink to turn on and the sound of footsteps to come toward the door.

I open it.

She sighs.

"Deal with it, Prickle Princess," I mutter, moving toward her and scooping her up again, trying not to recognize that a part of me hidden deep inside is already used to the feel of her in my arms.

I carry her to the bed.

Get her settled under the blankets, smiling as Zeus settles carefully into her side.

Such a good pup.

Not a surprise since he came to me via Rory's rescue.

And then I crawl in next to her?—

"What the fuck are you doing?" she demands.

I click on the TV.

"I promised Jean-Michel that I wouldn't let you move so much as an inch. Now"—I look at her, hitch my head toward the TV—"what trash TV show are we watching?"

Her glare should be setting me on fire.

I ignore it.

Okay, fine, some part of me is reveling in it.

But, still, I don't speak. Just wait.

Wait until she huffs out a breath that has her wincing and turning her glare toward the TV. "The Incredible Dr. Pol," she finally mutters.

"Excuse me?"

Those words don't make sense, especially when they're not some combination of 90 Day Fiancé like the shows my mom and sister watch, or The Bachelor, or some Housewives franchise.

"It's a show about a vet," she mutters, sticking out her hand, palm open, fingers twitching as she silently demands the remote. "I'll put it on."

My brows lift, but since this is an activity that means that she'll be remaining in bed, I pass over the remote, watch as she navigates through the streaming services and puts on a show.

That is entertaining and heartbreaking and has a ton of animals—of all shapes and sizes—on it.

Which means it's totally up her alley.

Which means…

I don't complain when one episode turns into another, and my eyelids grow heavy.

Because I glance to the side and see that hers are drooping even more than mine are.

And then I fall asleep to the sight of a barn full of happy cows on the screen.

Something wet and warm wakes me after what feels like five minutes.

I peel back my lids, see that Zeus has made it his duty to pull me out of sleep.

"Ugh," I grunt when his tongue slides into my mouth. "And that's entirely too much togetherness for this early in the morning," I mutter.

Because it is morning.

I can see the sunshine sliding through the windows, sending slanted beams of light across the rug in front of my bed.

My…empty bed.

Or at least the space beside me is empty.

Is devoid of a certain woman who's not supposed to be moving one goddamned inch.

I push up from the bed, look into the bathroom, peek through even though the open door already clues me into it being empty.

Which it is.

"Fuck," I mutter then systematically search the rest of the house, Zeus at my side.

But even the fluffy version of the King of the Gods can't produce Rory.

And I have the feeling I know exactly where she is.

And if I'm right…

I'm going to kill her.