Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(97)

“Tess,” Damian whispered and it was there, right in his eyes, pain and regret.

Pain and f**king regret.

The motherf*cking ass**le.

“Go away and stay away,” I whispered back.

Then without looking at Don again, I moved my body toward the door. Brock felt my movement and let me go. But he grabbed my hand, led me out, through the yard and to the passenger side of his truck that was parked behind my car.

He bleeped the locks and opened the passenger door before I noticed what he was about.

I locked my body and looked up at him, saying softly, “I’m okay to drive.”

He shook his head, gently pushing me toward the seat, saying, “Get in, baby.”

“I don’t want to leave my car here,” I told him.

“Get in, don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it.”

“Brock –”

He closed in on me and I had to tip my head way back, he was that close.

“Up into the truck, Tess,” he said softly.

I bit my lip, nodded, he moved back and I climbed up.

He rounded the hood, swung up beside me, his truck rumbled to life and off we went.

And when we hit Yale it would come to me that of the many awesome powers my man held, clairvoyance was one of them for as the adrenalin surge fled and the emotions rushed in on its tail, I lost it again, this time melting into deep, body-rocking, uncontrollable sobs.

I was so far gone, I didn’t notice us getting home. I didn’t know how I got in. I didn’t even know how I got myself curled on the bed. I was just suddenly there and I just kept crying.

I vaguely heard snatches of Brock saying, “She’s bad, Martha, I need to deal with the police and she needs you so I need you over here soon as you can come.” And also what might have been just minutes later or longer, I was too far gone to tell, “My woman lost it after it went down, I can’t come to the Station. The boys are outside investigating the area, you need to come here.”

But that was all I noticed until I felt Martha crawl into bed with me, curve her body into the back of mine, her arm wrapping around and holding me tight.

I heard the voices in the living room then.

“Who’s here?” I asked through a sniffle.

“Cops, honey,” she whispered. “Brock has some business he needs to tend to after what went down tonight.”

Of course.

I shut my eyes tight and pressed out more tears. Finding her hand with mine at my belly, I pulled it up to my chest, held it tight with my fingers as I pressed it deep into my chest.

I opened my eyes and whispered, “He got shot at tonight.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

My hand clutched hers and new tears stung my eyes and nose. “I can’t lose him.”

“I know, honey.”

“His boys can’t lose him.”

“I know.”

“His family –”

“Shh, Tess.”

I sucked in a broken breath.

Then I stated a trembling, “I hate Damian.”

Her arm gave me a squeeze and her hand twisted to hold mine.

“I do too.”

I fell quiet. So did Martha.

Then I sucked in another broken breath and told her, “There’s a chicken in the oven.”

“I know, I sorted it,” she told me. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you something?”

“No, but Brock –”

“He’s a big boy, honey, he can take care of himself.”

“I know, but –”

“Tess, honey, trust me,” she said while squeezing my hand. “Right now, he’s not hungry.

Right now that man out there is concentrating on making a statement to his colleagues and trying not to rip your living room apart. He pulls his shit together; I don’t think the first thing on his mind is going to be dinner.”

I nodded then said, “I should go to him.”

“No,” she held me closer. “He wants you here and safe with me while he deals with that shit. Let him have that. You do what he needs you to do and get your shit together.”

She was right.

Therefore I nodded again and settled.

She held me for a long time. The voices in the living room silenced. Brock didn’t come in.

Then she sensed I’d gotten my shit together (and she was right), I knew this because she gave me a squeeze and said, “The chicken is burnt so I’m gonna go rustle up dinner. Time you two ate.”

She pulled away and I rolled to my back to look at her.

She hadn’t even taken off her coat.

She came right to me and didn’t take off her coat.

Fresh tears hit my eyes but I beat them back and started to suggest, “Maybe you shouldn’t

–”

“I’m not going to cook, Tess. Riviera.”

Well that was a relief.

“Chile rellenos,” I ordered and she grinned.

That was to say she grinned before she muttered, “Like I don’t know that,” as she rolled off the bed, rounded it, shot me another grin then she disappeared.

She would know I liked the Riviera’s chile rellenos considering I’d eaten approximately seven hundred and twenty-two plates filled with them while sitting across from her.