Page 85 of 23 Hours

Goddammit!

I’m losin’ my mind. That much is certain. My nightmares last night don’t help matters either. An hour of sleep, two tops, most of it riddled with visions of Niki, of the women, of Kit, of Runner, of blood, death, and decay. Drenched in a cold sweat, I woke briefly to check my lady was safe, only to once again be dragged back into the abyss, where the creepiest of terrors thrive, hungry for a midnight snack. Again and again, they came. Nightmares morphing into uglier versions of themselves. Tangible entities as real as you and me, breathing life back into the horrors like the resurrection of Frankenstein’s monster. We spoke—Niki and Runner, fragments of themselves.

I shiver at the memory.

“It’s gonna be okay,” comes from a concerned Debbie.

Logically, I know she’s right. Try telling my brain that. He is not on board.

Muscles aching as they contract, the vein in my forehead throbs in time with my pulse. I swallow hard around the sucker stick. It does fuckall to quell the racing thoughts. There’s no sound comin’ from the room. No words. I can’t hear or see a thing. All I can picture in my head is her, not here, but there, in the warehouse… on some table, tied down against her will, and those fucking pieces of vile shit raping her. They touched her in places I haven’t even been able to touch. Places that I don’t even know if she’ll be able to give me after what they’ve done. Not that I care. I’m not goin’ anywhere.

I’m pissed.

Scared.

Sick.

Gut churning somethin’ fierce, bile surges up my throat.

I force it back down.

It feels like hours since they entered the bedroom. Debbie and Candy Cane came with the doc. She greeted us. Even shook mine and Kit’s hands before taking her into the bedroom for an examination, with a medical bag slung over her shoulder. I know I need to give ‘em privacy. I understand this is irrational as fuck. But I’m spiraling like I’ve been spiraling for weeks. It’s getting worse. Not better.

Debbie crosses the room and rests a fresh mug of tea on the entertainment stand for me. She gestures to it to let me know it’s there to drink whenever I want it. I mouth,thanks, unable to articulate legit words.

Sweat drips down the sides of my face, collecting in the hairy beard/goatee shit I have growing on my face. The hair on my chest curls from perspiration. Droplets trickle down my abs and into the waistband of my sweats. I should’ve put a shirt on.

“Gunz, why don’t you tell me what kind of food you’d like us to pick up for the house…to get you both settled in.” Again, Debbie changes tactics, clearly worried about my state of mind as Candy Cane types away on her phone, likely alerting the brothers to my outrageous behavior.

I say nothing because I don’t know what food Kit wants at home.

Our home.

Christ.

Home.

She’s here.

Ugh.

Massaging the knot in my chest, right above that damn erratic organ, a tidal wave of realization crashes down on my shoulders about what’s happenin’ here… I’m a dad, but more than that, I’m someone’s old man. I’ve never been anyone’s anything. Not like this. How do you meet someone one day and end up here? I haven’t a fuckin’ clue. The universe is laughing her fine, stubborn ass off at me. The man who had his head on straight. The man who doesn’t fall in love. I wouldn’t know the first thing about what it felt like until now. I’m sure I’ve said this before, but the intensity is unlike anything I’ve experienced. I’m protective. I’ve loved. This is not the same. It’s watching the sun rise on the horizon for the first time after a millennium of nights.

Knowing I can’t keep this up without worrying Kit half to death, and none of us need that added to our heaping pile of bullshit,I stop dead in my tracks, about-face, and meet Debbie’s gaze with determination set in my own. “Cheesecake for Adam,” I blurt before more word vomit ensues. “Fried pickles for her. They’re her favorite.” I recall from our walk by the dog kennels.

The edge of Debbie’s mouth kicks up as if I’m amusing her. Candy Cane nods along with my words as she types on her phone, focused on me.

On a roll, I take care of my family the best way I can at the moment and focus less on what’s goin’ down in the bedroom. A list of shit flows out. Shit she might need, shit she will need, and food I wanna cook for her because I’m gonna feed my woman well. Get some weight back on her bones. On mine too.

“Clothes—” I begin, only to be cut off by the slim, big-breasted brunette running the show.

“We’ve got that sorted,” Debbie explains. “The sisters already cleared out her place. Everything she’ll need from there is inside labeled storage bins in your garage. Jez and Bink are picking up more clothes today before they come home from Jade and Loretta’s. I’ll leave them and the groceries on your porch later.”

That works.

These women are lifesavers.

We men are damn lucky to have ‘em.

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