“No.” It will never be okay again. The memories can’t be put away, the rage can’t be shoved back down, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make the pain stop.
She reaches for me and I try to fend her off. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t hurt her. I can’t—
“Lola, don’t!” Kian orders.
“Shut up!” she snaps back. And then she’s grabbing onto me, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me into her. “I’ve got you,” she whispers to me, her forehead pressed to mine. “I’ve got you.”
I shake my head. “You don’t. You can’t.”
“I do,” she tells me, holding me tighter. “I do.”
And just that easily, I crumple. My legs go out from under me and I hit the ground, taking her with me. We land in a pile on the floor.
I’m exhausted, out of it, but still I try to push myself off of her so I don’t crush her. “No,” she tells me fiercely, wrapping herself around me like a limpet and hanging on for all she’s worth. “You stay right here with me, Garrett. I’ve got you. This time, I’ve got you.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not hurting me, baby.” She presses kisses to my hair, my face. “I promise, you’re not hurting me. Please, just let me hold you.”
It’s her tone that does it—half-desperate, half-loving, it burrows inside me and breaks me wide open. Burying my head against her shoulder, I feel the rage that’s been a part of me for so long finally, finally, start to drain away.
Chapter 32
Lola
“Get a doctor,” I hiss at Kian as Garrett takes several deep, shuddering breaths.
“We’ve already called one,” he answers, voice trembling. He looks spooked, like seriously fucking spooked. Not that I blame him. I just got here and I’m terrified for Garrett.
“Good.” I hold on tighter to the man I love, and he squeezes me back in return. His face is cold and clammy against my neck, and he’s shaking so hard that he’s moving both of us. I rub his back, murmur a bunch of nonsense words in his ear. But all I keep thinking is what if I’d managed to get a flight out this afternoon? What if Samuel hadn’t followed me down to the lobby and known that I was still in the hotel? What if he hadn’t come to get me when Garrett started freaking out—and what if I hadn’t answered the door?
So many what-ifs, all leading back to Garrett having to face this alone. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever met, but this pain is too much for anyone to bear alone. He’s done it for nine months. He shouldn’t have to do it for one second longer.
I don’t understand how any father can treat his son the way Garrett’s father has. My dad was a total loser, but at least he just wrote me off instead of playing mind games with me. What the King has done to Garrett is heartless. Worse, it’s cruel.
The fact that my leaving only added to his pain has guilt swamping me, threatening to swallow me whole. I thought I was helping him, thought I was protecting him. But all I managed to do was hurt him when he was already suffering so much.
“I’m okay,” Garrett tells us after he finally stops trembling. “I don’t need a doctor.”
Kian opens his mouth to argue, but I shoot him a look that tells him to shut the hell up. Then I pull away from Garrett just enough to look him in the eyes. They’re a little red-rimmed, but other than that they look normal. The wild fury that was in them when I walked into the suite seems to have faded, leaving only tiredness in its place.
Still, he needs a tranquilizer and a solid night’s sleep. Not to mention a session with his therapist. I risk another quick glance around the trashed suite. Probably several sessions.
But we’ve got to start somewhere, and that means getting a doctor in here to examine him. “Your hand’s a mess, baby. You’re probably going to need stitches.”
He looks down at the cut slicing across the back of his hand like he’s never seen it before. Which he might not have, considering the state he was in when I got here.
“I’m bleeding all over your dress.”
Trust Garrett to be more concerned about my clothes than he is about himself. Then again, that’s how he got to this state. Worrying about the country, worrying about his brother, worrying about me—worrying about anything and everything but what he really needed to be concerned about: himself.
“Believe me, my dress is the absolute least of my concerns right now.”
He shakes his head and gives a little sigh. “I really fucked up, huh?”
“I don’t think you’re the one who fucked up.” I shoot Kian a glare as I say it. To his credit, he looks nearly as shame-faced as he does shaken.
“I broke the balcony doors with an antique chair.”