by Jo Raven
“If Z-man’s right…” Tyler grunts. “Well, we need more info on this guy.”
“We have the dates.” Asher squints at the document. “Zane must have been, what… eight at the time.”
“Timeframe fits,” Tyler chokes out.
I’m not sure if he sounds more shocked that for the first time something seems to check out, or furious that any part of this horror might turn out to be true.
Nobody looks more shocked than Zane, though. He’s dragging in breath after ragged breath, gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping him from bolting into the night or passing out.
Tyler seems to think it’s the latter, because he puts a hand on Zane’s shoulder. “Zane.”
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Zane hisses and shoves Tyler’s hand off him.
“Ty,” Asher mutters, “stay back. Give him some space.” Asher gets between us and Zane and crouches down. “Deep breaths, Z-man.”
“Dammit, fucker, I remember… stuff. From back then.” A faint groan works its way up his throat.
“It’s okay. You’re here with us. Stay here, Zane.”
“I fucking hate this.”
“I know. Breathe.”
“I’m good,” he says but sounds pretty damn winded. “’S okay.”
Tyler looks definitely murderous now. He starts pacing the length of the living room, cursing under his breath.
I lean forward. “If he remembers something else, we should—”
“Not now, Dylan,” Asher bites out, and I lift my hands in surrender. “The fuck.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
“I’m calling Dakota,” Tyler says, pulling out his phone and dialing. “And don’t tell me not to, all of you. If you were lost in a nightmare, don’t tell me you wouldn’t need your girl beside you.”
And none of us deny it, because he’s right.
Chapter Seventeen
Tessa
I rummage in my purse for my apartment key and frown when I hear voices from behind the door. Familiar voices—Tyler, I think. And Audrey.
She didn’t tell me she was coming over tonight.
It’s been a long day at work, lots of paperwork to work through, lots of financial matters to settle, and most tiring of all is the tension running through me when I think of the talk I want to have with Mason about my job.
If I get to keep it once I’ve set my terms.
If I want to keep it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an interesting job and I enjoy working with Mason. He offered me this job without really knowing me, banking on my interest in social work and archaeology. I mediate between communities and authorities through his organization to make sure any archaeological digs, and more recently environmental projects, too, benefit the people living in the areas where the project takes place.
But let’s not forget it’s my first job. It’s not like I have a baseline to check whether I’d like another job more.
Maybe a job that takes up less of my time and energy and allows me to spend afternoons and weekends with my guy and his brothers would be a better fit.
With more time for walks in the park. For the movies. For wild, hot sex.
Time to allow for a family of our own someday to add to the one we already have. I feel like I have two sons already, but what if Dylan and I had a baby? What if…?
I shove the key into the lock, open the door to the apartment. God, I want it. Although I told Audrey I don’t want to put pressure on Dylan, I’d love to have his babies.
But first of all I need to talk to him, mend this thing between us, before—
I stop in my tracks.
“Tess.” Audrey turns around, hands clasped together, her green eyes huge.
“What’s going on?” I see Tyler and Erin, but… “Where’s Dylan? Did something happen to him?”
Fear squeezes my chest so hard I think I might pass out.
“Dylan’s fine,” Audrey says and reaches for me. I slip an arm around her waist, lean against her and wait for my pulse to slow. “He’s in the bedroom with Dakota, Ash and Zane.”
That sends another round of palpitations through my chest. “Zane. Is he okay?”
She shakes her head, bites her lip.
“Oh God. What did I miss? I was at work all day.” Stupid work. Zane needed me. Dylan needed me. “Where are the boys?”
She nods at the corner of the room where it looks as though a toy store exploded. “Miles is keeping an eye on them.”
Miles glances away from the jumble of limbs and toys that are Scott and Jax and Teo, and waves at me.
“He’s a great kid.” I make a mental note to buy him one of those chocolates with nuts and raisins he likes. “They all are.”
Audrey rubs my back. “Yeah.”
“Will you tell me what happened? Why is everyone here?” I’m still expecting the worst. “The longer you wait to tell me, the more scared I get, Aud.”
“Sorry. Zane had a small flashback, Ash says. They had him look at his DCFS folder and that brought back bad memories, it seems.”
Christ. “Why show him the papers? I thought we’d decided there was nothing more to investigate.”
This is so wrong, that Zane should suffer like this. He’s always stood by us, through storms and dark times.
“It seems the case isn’t closed,” Audrey mutters. “That guy hurting Zane in his memory? Turns out Zane had gotten his name wrong, and now he remembers it. And with it a lot more things he’d rather not recall.”
“Holy crap,” I say with feeling.
“Yeah.”
Which means that Zane could be right, and those horrible memories could be real.
Puts my problems with Dylan and work in a hell of a new perspective, makes me feel small and unimportant when our friend is trying to keep afloat.
“I’m going in to see him,” I tell Audrey.
“No, Tess. Too many people—”
“I’ve been his friend as long as Ash and Dylan. So have you. And don’t get me wrong, but knowing what he remembers… I’d say Zane would be a whole lot easier in his skin in the company of women right now, rather than guys.”
She gives me a wide-eyed look but then follows me as I stride across the living room and knock on the bedroom door.
***
“Z-man, you know who I am,” Asher is saying, his voice strained, as we enter the bedroom. “Come on, man, snap out of it.”
He’s standing by the bed, and I take a step to the side, finding Zane hunched over on its edge, Dakota beside him.
“Zane.” she touches his arm, and he flinches. Even from here I can see her eyes well up. “He doesn’t recognize me, either.”
“You have to let it run its course,” Dylan says, blue eyes hooded, mouth a grim line. “That’s how flashbacks work, in real time.”
“Um, why don’t you guys step out for a minute?” I say, tucking my loose hair behind my ears and stepping closer to the bed. “I want to talk to Zane.”
“Tess.” Dylan’s gaze brightens, and my heart flutters, forgetting for a moment everything except being close to him, the heat of his tall, strong body, the tilt of his full lips, the power in those blue eyes.
“He won’t know you,” Asher says, his voice low and deep with sadness.
“It doesn’t matter. We’re girls.” I nod at Dakota. “He doesn’t associate us with bad things. He may relax if you guys go out for a bit.”
I see the blood drain from the guys’ faces as my words, and the implications, sink in.
“Shit, she may be right,” Asher breathes.
“Yeah,” Dylan says, never looking away from me. He closes the distance between us, cups my cheek. “You and me, we’ll talk later.”
I shiver when he drops a hard kiss on my lips. Heat rushes into my core. My whole body tingles.
And before I gather my wits, he backs away and leaves the room together with Asher.
It’s all I can do not to turn about and follow him, wrap myself around him.
<
br /> Later.
I sit on the bed, keeping some distance from Zane’s hunched figure, and refuse to acknowledge the rusty blade twisting in my guts from seeing the distress on his face.
He’s panting, the air whistling in his lungs, and sweat shines on his brow. His dark eyes are blank, staring at nothing.
It’s a strange, discordant quiet, threaded with dark undertones.
Dakota looks like she’s about to say something, so I raise a finger to my lips and tug Audrey to sit beside me.
I let the quiet linger, spread. I didn’t only talk to Tyler about his flashbacks, but also more recently to Shane, one of the Damage Boyz who still suffers from them, and his girl, Cassie.
Shane and Zane don’t only have names that rhyme. They also have had some similar experiences that marked them for life.
Zane needs a safe haven right now, a calm spot in the hurricane blowing over him. Asher’s worry and fear was bleeding all over the place, and Dylan’s hovering wasn’t helping. Not that I’m an expert, but I think Zane’s shoulders have relaxed a fraction already.
Having a flashback doesn’t always mean you lose all connection to reality. The past only overlays the present, playing the memory over the current reality. If the background is peaceful, chances are the person having the flashback can pull back from it more easily.
Fingers crossed it works.
We wait and wait, and I can clearly see the struggle on Dakota’s face, the same one I feel tugging inside my chest, her fight against herself, against grabbing her man in her arms and rocking him, holding him.
Something rustles, then Zane reaches out, blindly grabbing Dakota’s hand, and I heave a sigh of relief.
“Dakota,” he rasps, and his voice sounds rough.
“I’m here.” Hers is broken. “I’m right here.”
Slowly they fold against each other, her arms going around his middle, his around her back until her head is resting on his chest and his chin is propped on top of her dark head.
Audrey makes a move to leave, but I keep her beside me.
“Zane,” I say quietly, and his gaze moves to find me. “Did anything change?”
“What?” He gives a slow blink and a shiver wracks him.
“You flashed back to that place, didn’t you? Where you were hurt.” He doesn’t react, and I force myself to go on. “Did something change in the memory? Was there anything new?”
And this is it, I’m done. Not going to ask again if he doesn’t feel like answering, not going to pressure him. If there wasn’t a chance of this being true, of the consequences for Zane’s mental health and the horrible possibility of more kids suffering in the hands of this guy right now, I’d never have brought it up, I swear.
Not when he’s barely holding it together.
He doesn’t speak for the longest time, and I prepare to get up and go, leave him with his girl to recover. I’m already tugging on Audrey’s hand, when he draws an unsteady breath.
“There was that tree, that big oak where we used to gather after school,” he says quietly. “Tyrell would sit on the bench and watch me. He had dark hair, like me, a sort of fauxhawk, when I first met him. Then he stopped bothering. He also stopped talking. He didn’t talk. He never fucking talked.”
He’s breathing hard again, and Dakota gives me a wild-eyed look.
I open my mouth to tell him it’s okay, that I’m sorry I asked, but he gives me no chance.
“He’d been living with Ken before I arrived, same as a few other kids. All boys. And one day…” He swallows hard, sucks on the barbell in his tongue. “One day he just vanished. Gone in fucking smoke. Ken said he’d gone back to his biological family, but the other boys told me he’d never known his real parents.”
I don’t even know what to make of that. Who knows if this Ken was right and the boys just didn’t know any better. “I’m sorry.”
“The house…” Zane frowns, the silver hoops in his eyebrow glinting. “It was white. Double garage in the front, tiled roof, blue door and… a brass knocker. I think. It was shaped like a lion’s head.”
A beat of silence. Hot. Heavy.
“Ash said the house you saw in Wausau was red,” Audrey says.
“The red house belonged to an old woman. Or she was staying there anyway. We often gathered outside her house, and she used to yell at us to get off her lawn.” He tightens his hold on Dakota. “I never lived there.”
Audrey gives me a worried glance. “Tell us about the white house,” she whispers. “Anything else—the house number, the street? Any other characteristic?”
“Can’t…” He shakes his head, then hisses. “The attic. The dresser.”
Dakota had thought he’d been talking about a dress. But it was a dresser. “What about it?”
“He kept the knives there. In the drawers.” He’s shivering hard now, his eyes losing focus again. “The knives.”
Crap. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper as I get up. I wish I could apologize on behalf of the whole damn world to him. “We’ll leave you guys to rest. Stay as long as you need.”
Dakota meets my gaze and mouths, “Thank you.”
Not sure what for. Putting Zane through more torture? My heart is heavy like a stone in my chest.
But at least now we know what the house looks like, and that the attic is important. A kid went missing, this Tyrell, and who knows? Maybe we can finally solve his mystery and lay Zane’s demons to rest.
***
“Anyone still thinking he made all this up?” Asher mutters, after hearing what Zane told us.
Tyler slaps him in the chest, face pinched. “Stop being a fucking drama queen, Ash. We’re still looking into this. And don’t you even think about saying I told you so.”
“So you believe him now?”
Tyler shrugs. “Let’s just say I’m leaning toward believing he’s right.”
“Leaning?” Asher mutters. “Leaning? Fuck that.”
Tyler lifts a brow. “It’s good info the girls got out of him. Convincing.”
“And I told you he’d open up to the girls, didn’t I?” Asher goes on, ducking a mock-punch from his brother. “But you didn’t wanna hear. Asshole.”
“Kiss my ass, baby bro. You were in doubt like all of us, and don’t you fucking deny it.”
“The kids are here,” Erin says, though she’s obviously trying not to snicker. “Language, guys.”
“If you boys are quite done measuring dicks and calling each other names…” I roll my eyes, then yelp when Dylan comes up from behind and grabs my hips, pulling me flush against him, my back to his chest. “Whoa.”
“Missed you.” His warm breath blows down my neck and I shiver pleasantly. “I can’t fucking stand fighting with you. I’m sorry I was an ass.”
“Wasn’t just you,” I whisper back, swallowing a moan. “I’m sorry, too.”
“We’re something, aren’t we?”
I laugh softly, the knot in my chest over our fight loosening. And it shouldn’t, not right after seeing Zane so shattered, but a little voice in the back of my mind whispers that we’re getting somewhere, have some clues to follow, and Dakota will help Zane heal. We’ll all help him, and as for me…
Despite our fight, Dylan is right here, with me, so things can’t be that bad. There’s a glimmer of hope at the end of the tunnel, hope that our precious little snow-globe of a world can be mended, put back to rights. That happiness and peace was not a pipe dream, but our new standard.
The prize we fought for against all odds, for such a long time.
***
Everyone has left, and the boys are in their room, asleep. At least I think they are. Miles is probably reading some thing or other on his phone, or texting with his friends.
Personally, I’m pretty sure it’s a girl. Dylan says Miles is too young for girls, but that’s just his overprotective big brother side talking. God knows Dylan had been chasing after skirts since he could walk, if the stories are anything to go by.
St
ories told by Dylan himself, no less.
Still, I wanted to thank Miles for being so… grown-up earlier, taking care of the little ones, as if sensing the gravity of the situation. Didn’t get the opportunity to do so before he retreated to his bedroom with Teo.
I check just in case, poking my head inside, and find two lumps under the bed covers. Looks like they’re asleep after all.
My boys. My heart swells with tenderness. They may not be my kids, but they’re Dylan’s siblings, his wards, his own, and so they’re mine, too.
Mine to hold, and cherish, and protect. I wonder if I’ll love our children more.
Not possible. My heart is already full to bursting.
Our children. I bow my head and close the door softly. Never realized how much I wanted it. How the thought makes my heart race and sends butterflies somersaulting in my stomach.
How much I want his babies.
“Tess?” He’s standing by the sofa in the living room, the lamp behind him casting his short blond hair in a fiery halo around his head.
“They’re asleep.”
“I know. I checked three minutes ago.” One side of his mouth lifts in a lazy grin. “Come here, girl.”
As I walk toward him, I smooth my hands over my short skirt. His gaze dips to my legs, and he licks his lips.
Need settles low in my belly. God, he’s like the big bad wolf—if the wolf were all silver and gold, with sky-blue eyes and a body to die for.
“To talk?” I whisper, not sure that’s what I want.
“Yeah, we’ll talk,” he mutters, but his gaze says something completely different as it rakes over me, hot and dark. He reaches for me. “I promise.”
He takes my hand and pulls me after him into our bedroom. I try not to remember Zane sitting there a while ago, his shoulders hunched, eyes full of pain.
Dylan turns on the bedside lamp and flicks off the overhead lights.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. Seems to be my motto of the day.
“What for?”
“The fight. My absences because of work. I didn’t—”
“The fight was my fault,” he says and comes around the bed to cup my face. “I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. I was tense.”
“Why?”