Page 70 of Crossed Up

I smile at her gratefully. “Thank you.” Turning to Crew, I see him with his thumb in his mouth.

Damn it.

It took me until he was almost four years old to get him to stop sucking his thumb, but I guess the trauma of the day is finally catching up to him, and he’s reverted to it as a coping mechanism.

My mind is already making a list of things I’ll need to do for him, from setting him up with a child psychologist to adjusting our daily routine to allow me some extra time at home to be with him and Lyla.

I follow the kind receptionist’s instructions and when room 502 finally comes into view, I let out a breath of relief hearing Lyla’s bright giggles echoing into the hallway.

My feet stop involuntarily when we reach the threshold of the door, and my eyes widen, even as I scramble to grab my phone and hit record while simultaneously holding Crew back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait a second, raptor,” I murmur. “Let’s watch Uncle Cope act a fool for Mommy.”

There, in all his scrub-capped, shoe-covered glory, is the Copeland Hawthorne, doing his very best rendition of What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction.

Lyla is reclined back in a large hospital bed, giggling so hard she’s clutching her side and wincing every few breaths. Even with stitches in multiple places on her face and neck, she’s still the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.

As soon as the last notes of the song ring throughout the room, I stop the recording and begin a slow clap that makes my best friend stop dead where he stands, panting. My shit-eating grin is uncontrollable and doesn’t fade at all, even when he points a long, tattooed finger at me menacingly. “I did this to make your girl happy. I don’t want to hear a goddamn word, Preach.”

I hold my hands up in surrender and try to tame my grin to a more modest level. Crew finally loses his patience and launches himself at Lyla, his tears starting up all over again as he does. Cope is closer than me and catches him mid-air. “Woah there, big guy. You have to be careful, okay? Lyla’s hurtin’ real good right now.”

Crew’s big eyes widen even further, the glossy sheen making them look like true ice chips. “Mommy, you have bruises? My bruises always hurt, too.”

Lyla’s eyes get misty in response to the tremor in his words, and she reaches her arms out to take him from our friend. Her right arm is covered in a cast that ends below her elbow, the weight making it dip visibly lower than the left.

Copeland just rolls his eyes, knowing she can’t support his weight sitting down like that, and gingerly places him at her side before coming to stand at mine.

We watch the two of them in their own little world for a moment before he fills me in. “Doc said she has a mild concussion, broken wrist, bruised ribs, and lots of little cuts and bruises. The cuts on her cheek and neck are the worst. She got fifteen stitches in total, four on the cheek and eleven on the neck, and a fuck ton of butterfly bandages. But your girl is a trooper. She didn’t flinch at all when they were stitching her up, and the doctor said he’s never seen a reaction like hers before.”

He sighs, glancing at Lyla with something that looks like a mix of longing and anger. “Doc also said she has a bunch of healed breaks and fractures all over her body, so my best guess is she’s used to dealing with injuries like this. You need to be there for her as much as you can the next few weeks, Aid. I know you likely won’t leave her side, but I think it’s just as important that she see other friends and family, and especially her therapist.”

I nod, already mentally preparing myself for more panic attacks and new triggers we’ll need to watch out for. A throat clears behind us, surprising me.

When I turn around, I come face to face with a suspiciously familiar-looking guy with dark auburn hair poorly hidden under a ball cap and huge dark sunglasses.

My brow raises in question as Cope moves so we’re shoulder to shoulder and blocking the door. The guy smirks and looks around the empty hallway before removing what’s obviously a poor excuse for a disguise, and then I’m staring down one of the biggest movie stars in the world.

Also, you know, my girlfriend’s father.

I literally know nothing about this man other than he neglected his only child her entire life and then introduced her to the man who almost killed her, so I keep my face stern and cross my arms over my chest, widening my stance to completely block the door.

One eye keeps Colin locked in my periphery while I turn my face to see my girl cuddling our boy. I feel my expression softening but damn it, I can’t help it.

“Ly?”

She looks up with a radiant smile on her pretty face. “Yeah, Aid?”

Clearing my throat awkwardly, I nod my head at the door. “Your dad is here.”

She chokes on air, launching herself into a coughing fit. “I’m sorry, did you just say my dad is here? Colin Kingsley? In this hospital?”

I nod. “Want me to tell him to fuck off?”

Lyla snorts. “Umm… no. It’s fine. You can let him in. Will you guys stay, though?”

My smile is wide. “Always, gorgeous.” I turn back to her father and slap the meanest scowl I can muster on my face. “If you’re here to gaslight my girl into going home with you and back to those Pennington fuckers, or if you hurt her in any way, I will personally ruin your face so thoroughly you’ll never act again. Are we clear?”

The smirk is absent from his face, replaced with a serious look to match my own. “Crystal.”

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