Limitless Love (Lotus House #4)(74)

“How’d your call go with, uh…your friend, the good doctor?” Clayton asked smoothly, being vague so that the littlest of ears wouldn’t pick up on the fact that Mommy needed a doctor’s help.

I went over to my big man and looped an arm around his waist. “Really good. Time heals all wounds, as they say. But you were right. I need to have more than a handful of sessions. We’ve set up a time every few days to go over some of the, uh…more repugnant details so that what happened today won’t happen again,” I assured him.

He frowned. “Did you tell her about today? Exactly?”

“Of course. She needed to know so I could get past it.”

Clayton nodded, seemingly not altogether happy about me hashing out the finer details of what triggered the flashback.

He pursed his lips. “Did she say there was any specific cause…?”

I gripped him by the waist and turned him toward me so his gaze came directly to mine. “She said it was bound to happen at some point. Pushing those types of experiences to the back of your subconscious only delays them coming to the surface. The trigger was not you but the act of remembering a time where I was in a similar position. Trust me. You are not the problem. I am. Pretending what happened was a small thing did not do me any favors. I’m now suffering the consequences of that decision, but there is a positive side to this.”

He gripped my hips. “Thank Christ. Lay it on me, because right now I could use a positive.”

God, he was so sweet. My guy wanting me happy and healthy above all else.

“The fact that I have a big, strong, handsome, caring, and loving man to be there for me when I fall or have a hard time or a bad dream. Whatever it is, I’ve got you to lean on.”

“And you always will.” His response was quick and to the point.

I rose up on tiptoe. “Exactly.”

He kissed me soundly and for a long, long time. So long that the queen had finished her carrots, the song had ended, and she wanted attention, as evidenced by her patting us both on the thighs.

“Um…hello. The queen wants dinner.”

“You do!” Clayton ruffled her hair, picked her up, and tossed her in the air. Then he caught her, pretended to drop her, but stopped and caught her. It was frightening to see my baby hurling in the air several inches above his head and then him catching her while she squealed in delight, but it was also the type of thing a father would do with his child, so I didn’t say anything. They needed to bond, and I had to allow it to occur organically and not butt in.

While they were playing, the phone on the wall next to the counter rang.

I went for it, figuring it was Mila asking what was for dinner. She did that often. Invited herself to dinner. Now that she was pregnant, she did it a couple times a week. She’d call, find out what we were having, and debate if she wanted that or something else. Neither Clayton nor I minded because we enjoyed having her around, and I loved petting the bump. Now closing in on four months, she had a perfect little cantaloupe going.

“Hello?” I asked with a smile in my voice, watching my man and my kid run around the island.

A broken, stuttered voice ripped through the line. “Monet…”

Instantly the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. “Yes, this is she. Who is this?” I didn’t recognize the voice.

“My God, Monet. He hurt me. So bad.” The sob coupled with sniffles allowed me to register the voice as one I knew all too well.

Matisse.

“Matisse, is that you?” I needed to confirm. I hadn’t heard from my sister since she and Kyle left the lawyer’s office, and that was a long time ago.

The sound of a hacking, wet cough came through the line. “I’m hurt. I need help.”

“Help? What happened? Where are you?” I asked, a frantic energy zipping up my spine and making me jittery.

“In a hotel…” she croaked. “I don’t know where I am. He hurt me and beat me. Left me for dead.” Her sobs tore through the phone and went straight into my bleeding heart. Target obliterated.

Clayton put a hand to my shoulder. His eyes were hard at the mention of my sister’s name.

“Can you look at anything on the desk or the end table that says where you are? I’ll come get you,” I rushed to offer.

Clayton shook his head. “Could be a trap,” he gritted through his teeth.

I licked my lips and pressed my thumb and forefinger against my temples. “Anything?” I asked, my heart hammering out a beat so hard I could almost hear it myself.

“Um…yeah. It says Berkeley Inn.”

My eyes widened and Clayton scowled. “The Berkeley Inn? That’s not far from here. When did he leave you? Where did he pick you up?”

Matisse sobbed some more and howled in pain. “I don’t know. Please, help me. I have nobody. He hurt me. He hurt me so bad. Monet, he raped me.” She cried out with a new round of emotional distress.

He raped me.

I gripped the phone so tight my hand started to throb. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and I ground my teeth and mouthed rape to Clayton. His entire face went from concerned to heated anger in a split second.

“Matisse, I’m sending help. Look at the phone. What room number are you in?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve,” I repeated to Clayton.