He strode across the room, all six feet five inches of pure muscle. He wrapped me in the gentlest of hugs. “My sister gets kidnapped, and you think I’m not going to come see if she’s all right?”
“I told you I was fine,” I said, hugging him with my good arm.
Cope pulled back, shadows swirling in his eyes. “I needed to see for myself.”
“I’m not going to complain about having you home.” It was such a rarity these days. Ever since he’d been drafted into the NHL right out of college, really. Even his few months of offseason weren’t really free. There were press obligations and charity work. We were lucky if he got two weeks here.
“That mean I get to drive you home?” he asked hopefully.
I arched a brow at him. “Did you bring that ridiculously expensive SUV?”
Cope chuckled. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s a freaking Bentley,” I argued.
He just shrugged. “Handles like a dream.”
“You can only drive her if you promise to drive carefully,” Fallon said, moving toward us.
Cope turned, sending her a mischievous grin. “Ialwaysdrive carefully.”
Fallon just scoffed.
“I will ticket you,” Trace growled. “Don’t think I won’t.”
“Geez,” Cope muttered. “I’m going to drive like a grandma, promise.”
“Enough,” I said. “Can I please go home? The beige in this place is starting to give me a headache.”
“Let’s go,” Cope said, wrapping an arm around me. “Your wheelchair chariot awaits.”
Cope kept lookingover at me as we made the almost-hour drive from the hospital to home. As if he were checking to make sure Itrulywas all right. But it wasn’t until we were within town limits that he asked anything.
His hands adjusted on the steering wheel as he cleared his throat. “How are you really? More than physically.”
I appreciated that Cope simply asked straight-out. No beating around the bush. And it was a fair question. “I’m okay. Not great. But not awful. I’ll get there.”
I’d had a couple of nightmares last night, but Anson was there and finally just got into the hospital bed with me.
“You will,” Cope said with certainty.
I worried the corner of my lip. “I feel bad for Felix.”
Once Silas’s true nature had been revealed, Felix had started talking. Apparently, Silas had befriended him along the way. From what Anson could put together, given what I’d shared and what the FBI had found out about Silas, he liked the emotional torture just as much or more as the physical. He loved listening to Felix talk about how I was the one that got away. How the fire had stolen everything from us both.
When Anson and I started getting closer, Silas began planting seeds in his conversations with Felix. Silas told him he’d seen Anson berating me and bruises on my arm. Silas wove his web of lies and convinced Felix that Anson was abusing me. He’d come to the house that night to get proof to take to Trace, and everything had gotten completely out of hand.
Felix having feelings for me all these years broke my heart. Because we were never meant to be. And the fact that Silas had manipulated it all to his advantage made me sick to my stomach. Anson had dropped any charges against Felix, and the district attorney had finally agreed not to prosecute the trespassing and assault.
Cope blew out a breath. “You know what happened to Felix isn’t on you.”
I did. But it didn’t change the fact that I was still dealing with a heavy dose of guilt. Even more when Trace shared this morning that his team had found evidence linking Silas to Davis’s murder. But that had only been the tip of the iceberg.
A search of Silas’s apartment revealed that he had hacked into my phone and computer and had been monitoring them since high school. They’d found trophies from dozens of murders, beginning with Silas’s mom and sister. Cadaver dogs were currently searching his family’s property, hoping to find the bodies so they could finally be put to rest.
Cope reached over and squeezed my hand. “It’s going to take time, but you will heal. I promise.”
I knew he was right. And even more, I appreciated the reassurance. I squeezed his hand in return. “Lucky to have you.”
