With that, he heads for the door. I don’t stop him. I don’t demand more answers. I just stand there. Cold. Empty. Aching inside.
The accident, the fear in Nolan’s eyes when he heard his mom had been hurt—it was my fault. Even if Morpheus hadn’t admitted as much, his threats made it clear. He’s done playing by the rules and I can’t run from him anymore.
Turning, I press my back into the bottom of the patient bed and slowly collapse down to the floor. My ass hits the flat tile and pain slices up my tailbone. Dropping my head to my knees, I breathe slowly and evenly through my nose. One breath. Two. Three. I count backwards from ten as I consider what I know.
Nine.
Morpheus arranged Eliza Pierce’s accident.
Eight.
Gio’s dad is under investigation.
Seven. Six.
If Morpheus had Nolan’s mom hurt, what else can he do to the guys or their families?
Five.
My father is in jail. My mother is gone. I’m all alone.
Four. Three.
Even if I don’t go back to Morpheus’ house, he might still win a conservatorship case.
Two.
If I do go back willingly, will he drop it? Can I stand to live with him while I try to figure out a way to protect the guys?
One.
Will they let me if I tell them the truth?
All of the tears I’d been fighting break free. They slide down my cheeks and soak into my pants legs as I bow my head.
If it means saving them, protecting them, I’ll do anything, even if it means selling my soul to the devil himself.
31
NOLAN
“Nolan.” My mom hisses my name as I glare at the doctor typing away on his computer in the corner of the room. The man must sense my irritation because his shoulders are drawn up closer to his ears and his face is about two inches from the computer screen as if he needs to be that close to concentrate. “Stop it,” she insists.
“I’m not doing anything.” Yet. But I want to. I want to take the fucker’s neck in my hands and wring it. What the hell does he mean she’s fucking fine? There’s a massive bruise on the side of her face, stretching from her forehead down the length of her jaw, and a fractured wrist.
“You’re practically growling like an animal,” she snipes at me again and then smacks my arm. “I’ve had enough.”
I look down at her and sigh. “I’m just…” Worried? Fucking terrified?
Her face softens and her hand turns gentle as she pats the place she just whacked me. “I know, honey, but I promise. I’m all right. It’s just a few bumps and bruises.”
Dr. O’Brien finishes whatever he’s typing on the computer and turns back to us. “Your mother is right, son,” he says. “She’sbeen a nurse as long as you’ve been alive. She knows what she’s saying.”
“Doctors and nurses are usually the worst patients,” I reply.
The older man with a gray patchy beard chuckles and approaches the bedside. “Too right, I suppose,” he agrees readily enough. My shoulders release some of their tension as he pulls out a penlight and shines it directly in my mom’s eyes. “Follow the light, Eliza.”
“Do you really think this is necessary, Charlie?” she asks with a huff. Her familiarity with the man doesn’t absolve him of my annoyance for taking this long, but when he doesn’t correct her and order her to call him Doctor like most of his colleagues might and instead shakes his head in obvious amusement, I dislike the man a little less.
