Page 77 of Fractured Hearts

“But if they’re Adira, why wait until now? Why give that shitty interview lying about Ezra and Belle being together just to hurt Kai? And how the fuck would she know how to open that weird ass door?” Willa’s voice is getting increasingly louder and angrier with each question.

Kai says and leans his head back. “We’re going to have to go confront her,” he says to the ceiling.

“You don’t have to go. We can go and report back,” Declan offers.

“No, we both need to be there and find out what she’s hiding.” We all turn to the voice coming from the top of the stairs. “Come to bed, Bambi, or I’m coming down there.”

“I’ll be up soon. We need to come up with a plan to find Maverick.”

“We all need sleep, Jo. We’re useless to him like this. Why don’t we all get a few hours and then regroup? Harrison is looking for any properties that might belong to Patrick or an alias while he waits for Noelle to wake up,” Belle says in that gentle, but firm way she has. I bite my bottom lip, wanting to argue, but she’s right. I also hear the creak of the steps as Ezra tries to slowly make his way down them.

“You stay right there,” I say, pointing at him. He only made it two steps, but I can see how shaky his legs still are. I turn to the group when I’m satisfied he won’t move. “You’re right. Let’s all get some rest and wait for Harrison.”

I don’t wait for a response, moving as quickly as my tired legs will carry me.

“Don’t leave me again,” Ezra whispers into my hair the moment I step into his arms. “You can’t be out of my sight right now.” His voice trembles, and I feel guilty for leaving him, even though I was only downstairs. But I hated being away from him, too. It’s like if I can’t see him, he’s going to go missing again. I suddenly know how Maverick felt when we couldn’t find Ezra on that cold, rainy day. The sudden stab of guilt for being the cause of that takes me by surprise. I haven’t had a single moment to think about the fight.

I don’t argue as he pulls me into his room. I don’t fight as he takes my leggings and sweater off. He chuckles as I get into bed before he can do that for me, too. I have to maintain some level of independence. He crawls in behind me, wrapping a big arm around my waist and pulling me against him. I want to settle into his warmth and get the sleep I so desperately need, but I can’t get my brain to stop.

“Ask whatever you need, Bambi,” Ezra says, pressing his lips to the top of my head.

I spin in his hold so I can face him. “How long?” He smiles, clearly understanding what I meant.

“Probably since you stabbed me.”

I gasp in feigned outrage and try to push him away, but that just causes him to pull me closer. He gives me a chaste kiss on the lips before smiling at me. He’s looking at me with a type of wonder, like he can’t believe I’m here with him, and it’s making my eyes water.

“I’m serious. It took my brain a lot longer to catch up because I always thought of myself as a gay man. Except gay men don’t want to fuck women into the mattress.”

I ignore the throb between my legs his words cause, wanting him to continue.

“Jasper helped me put a label on what I was feeling, which actually really helped. Then, when you suggested both of us date Maverick together, I realized that maybe we could be more, too. I just didn’t know how you felt. Not until I opened my eyes today and saw how you were looking at me.”

“And how was that?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“The same way you look at Maverick.”

I don’t bother hiding my emotions from him. I’m too tired and honestly, I don’t want to anymore. I let the tears I was holding back fall freely down my cheeks as I snuggle deeper into his hold.

“We have to find him.” I don’t know if Maverick even wants to be with me anymore. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. But that won’t stop me from finding him or stealing a few hours of feeling safe and warm in Ezra’s arms.

Ezra tightens his grip on me. “We will. We’re going to find him and bring him home. Then never let him go again.”

eighty-two

MAVERICK

I don’t know how many times I have to wake up chained to this damn bed before I realize that it’s not just a bad dream. This is real. My reality is that I’m trapped in a weird acid trip version of my childhood home with a guy that definitely thinks I belong to him.

I pull on the chains even though I know it will get me absolutely nowhere. Trying to remember how I went from eating breakfast to being chained to the bed makes my head throb painfully. Patrick said something. I know whatever it was must have been important, but I can’t make myself remember. Probably because the bastard drugged me. Again.

“Good morning, doll,” Patrick sing-songs as he practically skips into the room. I look him up and down for the first time. I’d been trying previously to figure a way out, so he was only ever in my periphery. He’s in one of his horror movie shirts. This one has three rows of cinema serial killer masks. His orange sweatpants have reddish-brown stains that I try not to think too hard about. His feet are bare, revealing hairy toes. I look up at his face and try not to cringe. He’s grown his hair into some sort of mullet to cover a bald spot.

“Let’s get you up and ready! We’ve got a big day ahead of us!” I manage to contain my groan. A big day of what? More drugging? Can’t wait.

Patrick’s idea of a “big day” is showing me his knife collection in his knife room. He’s been unabashedly showing them off while sporting an unfortunate-sized boner. I didn’t even notice it until he told me to sit in the only chair in the room, which, thankfully, is a very comfortable leather recliner, and I came face to face with it. It might explain why he’s such an angry man.

“This one’s Monica,” Patrick says, holding a mean-looking dagger. “And her twin, Rita.”