Page 36 of Shattered Souls
Ducking my head to the jacket wrapped around me, I inhale the faint smell of Grayson’s cologne, comforting yet bittersweet. Feeling eyes on me, I meet Royce’s gaze in the rearview mirror. His expression is a mix of relief and concern, his usual hardmask cracked by the night’s catastrophe. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice a balm to my frazzled nerves. “You okay?”
I nod, though the wordokayfeels like a distant memory. “Yeah, just… processing.”
Logan presses me tighter against him, his lips brushing my temple, and at the feel of fingers on my ankle, I glance over to find Grayson drawing soothing circles onto my skin.
The car’s interior is dim, the dashboard lights casting a soft glow that feels almost soothing. Yet it does nothing to diminish the chaos ripping me apart inside. We werethisclose, except we weren’t close at all.
We’re no closer to finding my daughter than we were this morning.
And that thought threatens to destroy me.
“Shh,” Logan soothes. “We’re not giving up. We’ll keep looking.” He must feel the need to reiterate, “We aren’t going to give up, Shortcake.”
Sniffling, I ask the question I haven’t even allowed myself to think until now. “What if we don’t? What if we don’t find her?”
“That’s not a reality any of us are willing to consider, Tempest.”
The absolute surety in Grayson’s tone soothes some of the jagged pieces of my soul. Although his eyes are partially obscured in the dim interior, I latch onto his stare as it steadily hauls me out of the dark pit I fell into when I saw that little girl’s face and realized she wasn’tmylittle girl.
I burrow deeper into the jacket as I rest my head against Logan’s chest, and as gravel crunches beneath the tires, I stare into Grayson’s eyes, holding on to that lifeline the entire journey back to Halston.
“We’re almost home,” Royce says quietly, breaking the silence as we pass theWelcome to Halstonsign.
Home.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to consider the guys’ househomemore so than my apartment. It seems ironic that not long ago, I fought with Grayson over going back to my place, and since then, I’ve only been there a handful of times to grab things.
I haven’t wanted to be alone.
None of the guys have wanted me to be alone, and I’m under no illusion that even if I said I wanted to return to the apartment, they wouldn’t all follow. However, my apartment is far too small for three grown-ass men, especially ones the size and breadth of Royce and Logan. As for Grayson? My apartment’s square footage iswaytoo little to share with him. Hell, even their house isn’t big enough to contain the both of us at times.
Still, as we pull up to the curb outside their brownstone and I stare up at the front door, the last place I want to be is inside—where the guys will hover over me, wanting to do everything to make this better even though we all know there isn’t anything theycando.
Grayson will poke and needle me to distract me from the gaping, empty hole in my chest. Royce will brood over what he considers another failure—even though I could never blame him—and Logan will convince me to cuddle in bed with him. But I won’t be able to sleep, and I don’t want to be distracted from this pain.
I need to bathe in it.
“Shortcake?”
Blinking out of my stupor, I tear my gaze away from the front door of the house toward Logan. He’s standing in the open car door, when I hadn’t even noticed him get out. His hand is stretching out for mine, and I stare at it before lifting my gaze, meeting Royce’s watchful eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Guys, give us a bit.”
“Bu—”
Logan’s protest is cut off as Royce presses on the accelerator, and the car jumps forward, the door slamming shut.
“That’s my car, you fucker!” Logan’s yell is muted, and Royce responds with a middle finger before taking off down the street and leaving Logan and Grayson on the sidewalk. We’d switched cars at The Depot, leaving the unmarked SUV Dax arranged where we found it before climbing into Logan’s.
Trusting Royce, I fall back against the warm leather seat as he navigates the streets of Halston. Only when we turn onto my street do I sit up. The car stops outside Ava’s dance studio, and Royce gets out, rounding to my side before opening the door and helping me out.
“I don’t have my keys on me,” I tell him as he walks me to the door.
One side of his lips lifts. “I’m not about to let that stop us,” he cryptically states before falling to one knee and pulling a set of tiny tools from his back pocket. Lifting two out, he maneuvers them into the lock.
“Do you carry lock-picking tools everywhere you go?” It feels good to tease, even if we both know it’s hollow—merely a distraction.
Still, he huffs out a chuckle. “You never know when you might meet a locked door you want to peek behind.”
