Burned Hearts (Burned 3)

Kyle added, “Don’t send me away. Amano is going to need some serious healing time. And damn it, he deserves a break. He’s no spring chicken, you know? He’s been doing this shit for three decades.”

Another nod, because I simply couldn’t get a word around the lump in my throat.

“So let me do what I’m getting good at,” he pleaded. “I’ll get even better. And all those dangers Dane had to face because he was born a billionaire that your son now faces because he’s an heir to a huge empire—let me be the one to help protect him from it all.”

I would have hugged him if my arms weren’t full. I was pretty sure my eyes said it all, though. Told of my eternal gratitude and best-friend love and devotion.

He gently whisked away more wetness on my cheek and said, “Just nod again if it’s okay that I stay.”

I did. Emphatically.

* * *

With Kyle keeping his allegiance to me and Amsel despite the hell he’d been through, I was able to let him and Rosa look after my son while I drifted in and out and tried to heal.

Morning came and went, and though I knew Dane had a long haul ahead of him with the FBI to dissect, piece together, and tidy up all facets of the secret society run amok—and Mikaela’s involvement—I stressed over him not calling. Not stopping by.

He’d trusted Kyle to return Amsel. But was Dane capable of coming home knowing I’d witnessed him killing someone? Knowing I’d watched him hold a gun to Mikaela’s head and that he’d been seriously close to pulling the trigger—again—in his rage?

It was all justified, but still … He’d likely be freaked out that I’d had to see him go all dark and dangerous one last time.

I fretted over every minute that ticked by. Kyle appeared equally on-edge. As though he also wondered if Dane had slipped into some sort of rawer, darker place in his mind that precluded him from setting foot in his own house—from facing all of us.

It created a very tense environment. And inci

ted a lot of anticipation.

All I wanted was for Dane to walk through the door. To be with me.

What had happened to us was something I could eventually put behind me. I could survive it, just as the rest of us would survive. And knowing Kyle planned to keep Amsel safe from any future threat settled me all the more.

With Amano in stable condition, all that hung in the balance now was Dane’s absence.

I continued to doze intermittently. It was probably a good thing I was laid up or I’d be pacing the house incessantly, wearing a hole in the stone flooring Rosa had diligently cleaned of blood and glass. Stan and another of Forrester’s assistants boarded the broken windows for us.

Unfortunately, there was no outlet for my anxiety as the activity ensued and I … waited.

I needed Dane. And every second without him burned my heart. Tormented me.

I battled a serious bout of apprehension and panic that pushed me almost to the point of hyperventilation. Stan wanted to give me more pills. I stuck with the bare minimum. I wanted to retain coherency and I still had Amsel to take care of and worry about. He seemed to pick up on my disconcertment every time he was in my arms and was fussier than ever. As though he knew a huge presence was missing from this house, knew it disturbed me greatly.

Another day passed and my spirits sank lower. Kyle found ways to amuse Amsel in his bassinet, distracting him from my suffering while I remained sprawled on the sofa in the great room. Kyle occasionally flashed me concerned looks.

Eventually, he said, “It’s not like you to brood. You’re the silver linings type, remember?”

“I’m entitled.”

“Sure. But you’re still not the type.”

“These are extenuating circumstances. I’m due some melancholy.”

“That’s not melancholy. That’s despair. Big difference.”

“Should I break out in song and dance?”

“You have a broken leg,” he pointed out.

“And a broken heart. So there.”