Chapter Twenty-Seven

Once I'm in the car, I start to come down from my panic. It fades into profound unease, but the worst of the fear withdraws, letting me take in deep breaths. Mark watches with deep lines furrowing his brow.

"You're okay," Mark reassures. He reaches out, and I flinch.

"Don't," I say. There's a thready desperation in the word. And I hate how unstable I sound. I force myself to breathe as Mark lowers his hand.

"Hands to myself," he says, setting them on his lap. There's nothing but patience in his voice. No hint of anger or frustration or hurt.

"I'm sorry. I just need a few minutes to calm down."

"Take as long as you need."

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the part of my brain that is rational to kick in. Rationally, I know Ronan can't do to me what he did before. Rationally , I know that I kissed Mark in public only moments before seeing Ronan and the world didn't end. I repeat another dozen rational statements, yet they seem so flimsy next to my gut reaction upon seeing Ronan. That felt real.

"Kyle?" Mark says gently, drawing me from my thoughts.

I open my eyes to see him offering a hoodie.

"Can you put this on for me?" Mark asks.

I take it, becoming aware of my shivering as I do so. I also notice Eddie in the back seat, sitting silently. I didn't even hear him get in the car, too swept up in my own thoughts. Mark is careful not to touch me as I pull on the hoodie.

"Do you want Eddie to leave?" Mark asks next.

I picture Eddie bristling in the back seat, and with shaky determination, I shake my head. "I'm fine now." It's such an obvious lie, but Mark doesn't call me out on it.

"Call Chris," Mark instructs. "Or I can, if you prefer."

"I put my phone in your bag."

Eddie rustles around and hands it to me. I call three times. It's the fourth try before I hang up and dig my palm into my forehead. "He's on the plane," I say, thickly. Another swell of panic threatens to engulf me. "He won't be landing for another…" I check my phone. "Seven hours."

"I'll stay with you until then," Mark reassures me. "We can go back to yours?"

I don't say anything.

"Or we can sit here for seven hours, or I can drop you home. Whatever you want, Kyle."

I swallow, glancing at Mark. The concern in his dark eyes reassures me. He won't leave me alone. Even if I'm too on edge to touch him, I really, really don't want to sit somewhere and stew for hours, stuck in my own head. "He had a letter that belonged to me, one from the hospital or the insurance company. I don't know what was in it. I don't know if it had my address or not."

"You'll stay at mine, then," Mark says without missing a beat. "There's no way he'll have my address."

"Is that okay?"

"Of course." Mark turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life.

By the time we get to Mark's place, I'm calm enough to reach out and catch Mark's wrist as we walk toward his apartment. Mark studies my expression carefully as he slips his grip so that we're holding hands. "Is this okay?"

I nod.

Eddie is there, witnessing, but I tighten my grip on Mark when the urge to release him becomes overpowering. I refuse to let go. Mark leads me to the couch, pulling a throw blanket onto my lap to battle my shivers. And sitting there, holding Mark's hand, in a safe place, the rational part of me finally takes a step ahead of the emotional.

"I overreacted," I say.

"No," Mark says. "He triggered a panic attack. A totally understandable one, by the way. Don't feel bad about it." He pauses, drawing my hand onto his lap to rub soothing circles on my thumb. Eddie sets down two cups of tea on the coffee table, and retrieves one for himself, though he remains in the kitchen-section of the room.

"I didn't need to panic. He can't do anything to me anymore." Rational brain is pulling ahead leaps and bounds now. "It blindsided me. I haven't seen him since Chris got me out of the house almost ten years ago. I didn't even go to our parents' funeral because I couldn't stand the thought of seeing him. Chris said he made sure they never had a way of ever locating us. No phone numbers they could call, no addresses, no emails—nothing. A letter must have, I don't know, ended up sent to the old house, and that's how he found me."

"Do you know why he approached you?" Mark asks gently. He watches my face carefully, as if trying to gauge am I fit to talk about it or not.

I snort, though it sounds half-choked. "My insurance payout," I say. "As if all that money didn't go toward prosthetic limbs and therapy already!"

Mark's expression darkens. If he wasn't trying to be soft and gentle, I suspect he would have cursed.

I squeeze his fingers, feeling warmth in my own again. The shivering has stopped. "I'll leave Chris a message. He's going to be pissed. Ugh. Maybe I should just wait until he's home to tell him?" I sigh, resting my head against Mark's shoulder. "He'll probably duck out of the contract and fly straight home otherwise."

"Can I wrap my arm around you?"

"Please."

Mark's arm slips around my waist and I sag against him, body losing energy all at once. "It's up to him if he wants to fly back. You can stay here in the meantime—what was that?" Mark's tone changes mid-sentence. "Is your leg sore?"

"No."

"I saw you wince, Kyle," Mark's tone is flat. I pull back to see the ferocious glare he's directing at Eddie.

"My leg is perfectly fine. Ronan grabbed my wrist."

Mark's glare doesn't abate until he looks away from Eddie to examine my wrist.

"I didn't do it," Eddie says, bristling.

"You grabbed him, didn't you?" Mark says sharply, his voice loud. Burning coals for eyes jumping straight back to Eddie. "And shoved him against the wall."

"Mark, please," I interrupt. As much as Mark is being calm and soft with me, it's obvious he's worked up and upset. Eddie is the nearest outlet. "Can we go lie down?"

We go to his room, and I ask for his help taking off my prosthetic and for a massage, which he administers with care. I asked to distract him, but I find myself relaxing under his warm hands, a feeling of safety bubbling around me the longer I lie in his sheets, breathing in his scent as strong hands carefully unravel muscle.

I sigh. "That feels good."

"You tired out the muscles in the gym," Mark notes.

I hum, revelling, but force my eyes open when I start drifting off. Mark has a troubled expression, which he quickly masks when I open my eyes. "Can you lie down with me?"

I shuffle under the blankets and Mark lies behind me, checking that it's okay before pressing against me, chest to back. I wiggle my phone out of my hoodie pocket and write out a message to Chris. Mark, face resting against my neck, reads it over my shoulder. "Is it okay if I stay here until Chris is home?"

"Forever works, too." Mark shifts position so that one arm is anchored around my waist, holding my body tight against his. Slowly, his body relaxes around mine, until we're close to morphing into one joined being.

"Mark," I chuff, as he pushes his leg between mine.

"I don't like seeing you scared," Mark says very, very softly. It's barely above a whisper, and had there been any background noise at all, I would have missed it.

"I'm okay now," I say back quietly. "Thank you for being patient with me."

I feel his scoff against my neck and tap his hand to stop the objection I know is coming.

"Just say you're welcome," I tell him. "Or I'll be very upset and distraught all over again."

Mark groans. "Blackmail."

"The tears are building, Mark…"

"Cry, then," Mark grumbles. "I'm not saying you're welcome for behaving like a normal person should."

"In that case, thank you for behaving like a normal person."

Mark grumbles some more and I smile to myself, amazed that I can smile and talk normally.