“Hope?”
He nods solemnly. “Mother of Kings.”
Harsh laughter bursts out of me and I slap my hand over my mouth to contain it. “Does she know that’s her new purpose in life?”
“Of course she does,” he answers like it’s obvious.
“What’s your role, then?”
He surveys the clubhouse with narrowed eyes as if the answer might be found in the fireplace, behind the bar, or up the stairs. “The trickster of healing.”
“There’s more depth to you than just a trickster.”
“I didn’t go with them because I wouldn’t be helpful,” he says, ignoring my comment. “Just so you know. It wasn’t because I don’t care about Carter.”
My throat tightens. It seems really important to him that I understand this point.
“I’d get in the way and probably make things worse.” His bloodshot eyes slip to the side.
I reach over and squeeze his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’ll help medicate Carter when he gets here too.”
My nose stings but I force the tears away. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”
I can’t force any hint of humor into my words. I’m too damn scared Carter might not come home.