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“He’s bringing Mrs. Marooney out here, along with some coffee, courtesy of Anastasia.”
“Really?” She practically lunges out of the bed and barely manages to stay on her feet. “I’m so relieved, Ryker.”
“I know.” I smile at her. “Also, I called my brother, and we’re going to take him up on his offer.”
She studies me for a moment. “Are you sure?”
“Why?”
“There just didn’t seem to be a whole lot of love between you two.”
“It’s complicated. But Presley is off the map, and he has contacts that I don’t. It’s the smart move.”
“Whatever you think.” She starts toward her bag in the corner, then pauses and turns toward me. “You’re okay?”
“I’m the one protecting you, remember?”
“Does that mean I’m not allowed to care?”
The way she says it hits me in the chest. Like salt in an open wound. Because I want her to care, but I can’t let her. It’s too dangerous for the both of us. “I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “He’s sending a car at noon.”
Dahlia grabs her clothes and heads into the bathroom, so I make one last phone call.
“What’s up, Tank?” Zane answers.
“Can you, Weston, and Garrison head out to my place? Sawyer is on the way here with Mrs. Marooney.”
“Sure thing. I’ll make the call.”
“Thanks.” I hit End, then take a deep breath.
It’s going to be fine. Facing the past while trying to protect Dahlia’s future…should be easy enough, right?
I open the door, and Mrs. Marooney strolls in with her walker, a wide smile on her face. “Well, hey there, Nephew.”
I grin. “Auntie.”
“Another family member we knew nothing about? Why am I not surprised?” Sawyer scoffs as he comes into my cabin and offers me a tray of coffees. “Never mind the fact that it took a retirement home jailbreak to earn me an invitation.”
“I am sorry, Sawyer. Want to call me Tankers? Will that make you feel better?”
“Hardly. Hey, Dahlia!” he greets her with a wide smile. “I brought you coffee and a visitor.”
“Thank you, Sawyer.” She turns to Mrs. Marooney. “I am so happy you’re safe.”
“Me? Darling girl, have you seen your face?” Worry laces her expression.
“I’m okay.” She smiles. “Sore, but otherwise okay.”
Mrs. Marooney nods. “Can you show this old woman where she can sit?”
“Of course, right over here.” Dahlia guides her over toward the table, and I turn to Sawyer.
“I really am sorry, Sawyer. It wasn’t relevant, so I didn’t share it.”
“We’re friends, Tank. Brothers. The fact that you didn’t think you could tell us—it hurts, man.”
The door opens again, and the rest of my team strolls in. I gesture toward the door, then step out alongside them, leaving Dahlia and Mrs. Marooney inside to catch up.
