Page 129 of Bleed Me

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

After the hospital released me, I decided not to run. I went back to the hotel Justice had my kids in and spent every waking moment with them. Every moment they slept, I spent inside my wife. Making love to a woman you are sure you’ll never get to hold again is like gutting out your heart and giving it to her for safekeeping until you meet again in another life.

We weren’t angry. We weren’t resentful. We understood Delilah and her loved ones had every right to turn me in. I had done the unspeakable. Whether it was me or not who committed the actual crime, it was me who needed to be a man and face the consequences.

Charges that I knew I would face for everything else felt unimportant in comparison to rape. After every despicable act that I had survived in my life, there was nothing worse that could be done to another human being in my mind. When you hurt friends and family, yeah, the rest just don’t matter. That’s why, when we got a knock on the door and looked through the window, I saw it was Tucker and let him in.

I let him grab me.

I let him shove me.

I let him hold me against a wall until my kids’ crying stopped him.

Tucker, madness in his eyes, peered over his shoulder. As soon as he saw two sets of blue eyes and one set of grey, he released me. He backed away, appearing so lost and crushed, telling my family, “I’m sorry. I’m… so sorry. Uh,” he wiped his shaky hand down his face, then asked me, “Can we talk?”

The door was still open, sun shining in.

“Of course. We’ll go next door.” Justice grabbed the kids. “Let’s go see Aunt Elle and Uncle Lynx.” Passing Tucker, she stopped. “I hope it’s okay that I ask, but… how is your sister?”

Tuck blinked, seemingly shocked at her kindness. “Uh, better. Thank you for asking.” Tucker said, “Your kids are beautiful—” but it was too late. Justice had closed the door behind her. His eyes found mine, then he sat at the edge of the bed closest to the door. “Jesus. I can’t believe you’re alive.” He looked baffled, gesturing to toys all over the floor and beds. “With kids.” He gestured to the door. “And a wife.”

I didn’t move from where he had left me standing. I didn’t feel I had the right to do so, or to even speak. I assumed I had done enough to his family, who had taken in a kid so long ago.

After an abruptly cold laugh, he fought tears. “Lilah is still defending you after all this.” Leaning on his elbows, he rested his forehead in his hands, stressed fingers raking through his hair. “I don’t even understand what this is yet. I wouldn’t let her finish talking. I had to leave.” He glared. “I had to find you.”

He sat up, his chest widening as if desperate for air. “I didn’t believe her when she told me you saved Mav. But… he’s awake.” Tuck shook his head, his eyes watering again as he stared out the window, the curtains letting in plenty of bright light. “That fighter fought his way back to my sister.” He covered his mouth as he swallowed. “Some of his first words were of you.” Tucker looked at me. “You.” His voice broke. “I couldn’t understand why since he had never met you… and you were dead.”

He stared at me for a while, then shook his head again. “Mav remembered your eyes from a shrine we had of you at school after you died.” As if not completely stable, Tuck shrugged. “A fucking shrine… for a rapist.”

Ah, shit.

“Yeah,” Tuck’s jaw clicked right to left, “when my man insisted you saved his life—that he was awake when you smacked out the fire on his legs with your bare hands,” he pointed to my bandages, “then saw your wife get shot in the chest,” he pointed to the door—now I understood his shock at seeing her alive—“you can imagine my surprise when my sister’s face showed such immense guilt.” He huffed a laugh. “I actually thought her pregnancy was affecting her mind when she told me Mav wasn’t dealing with brain damage, that, in fact, you were alive.” He stood and walked to the window. “God, I may get sick.” Leaning over, he held his stomach. “At first, I wanted to find my best friend and hug the fuck out of you.” He rolled his neck. “But a little birdy said more than it should have, and I figured out the truth. Now, I just want to kill you with my bare hands.”

I nodded. I understood that, too.

He glowered at me. “You think you have a clue of how I feel?”

“No.”

“You don’t, Kenny.”

I am James Gunn Dalton. “I know that.”

“My dad and I racked our brains, wondering why she stared at your room—your closed door—like a monster lived in there.”

“He did.”

He held up his large hands, showing how bad he wanted them around my neck. “You think some ‘disorder’ makes it okay for you to hurt my sister?”

“Not one bit.”

He smirked, but it was far from sincere. It was malice. “Every memory of you is now a lie to me.”

“I can see how you feel that way—”

“Kenny, there is not one fucking thing you can say to make this better. Don’t try.”

It was hard. I wanted to scream that I never meant to hurt someone we both loved—protected for years—, but I had done what he was accusing me of, so I let him have his say, swallowing my hurt.