The Drift (Preacher Brothers 3)

But I was proof it was real, and I was stuck right in the middle of it now.

I found myself walking toward them, almost as if I were on autopilot, and went to the cabinet. At first, I only got out four glasses, not including myself or Wilder for obvious reasons, but then Amelia asked me to get two more for us, as Wilder was going to attempt to join tonight against Kimber’s medical advice, and they wanted me there.

Well. Okay then.

For the next several minutes, I finished helping them set the table, then stood back, feeling extremely out of place, not just because this wasn’t something I normally did—the whole family thing—but because of what family I was currently involved with.

I heard the bedroom door open, and I held my breath as I stared down the hallway, knowing the guys were most likely helping Wilder out. He was the only reason I was still here, because come hell or high water, I would’ve tried to escape already otherwise.

I saw Dom come out of the hallway first, his eyes trained right on Amelia. Then Cullen was next, and once again, he focused on Kimber. The one thing I noticed about these men without fault was that there wasn’t anything more important to them than their women, aside from each other. Family was clearly very important to them.

And then I held my breath as I finally saw Wilder and Frankie. Frankie was close to Wilder, and when he reached out, Wilder shook his head to silently tell him he was fine. My body was rigid, stiff, my muscles aching from how tense I’d become. And then Wilder searched the room almost frantically, his eyes moving from the living room to the kitchen, and finally landed on me.

He’d been searching for me the same way Dom and Cullen had looked for Amelia and Kimber. I didn’t know how I should feel about that realistically, but in this moment, I felt that tension leave and found myself going to him. I felt everyone staring at me the closer I got.

“I’m good, Frankie,” I heard Wilder murmur to his brother, and then Frankie made a deep sound in his throat before stalking away. Wilder braced a hand on the wall to steady himself, and I saw the way his muscles bunched from the action. He certainly didn’t look like he almost died, not with the color back in his face, his body looking strong—well, stronger than what I became accustomed to seeing these last few days.

“Hey,” he said in a deep voice, and I felt that lone word move through every cell in my body.

“Hey back.” Everything was so strange, so jumbled in my mind, concerning Wilder. He could look into my eyes to know every single secret I held, like he could unravel the puzzle that was me.

His hand that rested on the wall for stability started to inch closer to me, as if he wanted to touch me. I could still feel everybody watching us, the silence of this seemingly private and intimate exchange between the two of us being witnessed by everyone. The heaviness of their eyes on us was far too much for my liking.

I cleared my throat and looked over my shoulder, seeing each of them watching us, confirming what I already knew. But I didn’t care. It didn’t even matter, because when I looked into Wilder’s eyes, what he saw in me was all I cared about.

And a part of me feared that, but a stronger part loved it.

Chapter Fourteen

Wilder

Frankie was scowling at me, the asshole giving me the dirtiest look he could muster up. But I wouldn’t change how I felt or what I told him no matter how much he tried to mean-mug my ass.

“You can’t seriously be pissed at me for what I did during a time of severe fucking stress.”

I sat on the edge of the guest bed and lifted my hand to run it over my face. It had been a week since I’d been shot, and a couple days since I’d woken up and realized I wouldn’t let Zoey go. Those feelings had only grown every day. Hell, every fucking second of the day, my feelings grew until they threatened to spill from me. They already fucking consumed me.

I pushed those thoughts aside for a second so I could focus on this. I shifted on the bed and grimaced as a sharp pain lanced up the center of my body.

“Kimber’s gonna be pissed if you don’t take it easy,” Frankie said, and I side-eyed his ass.

Despite Kimber’s protests about me moving around, I couldn’t just lie in bed all damn day. I was stubborn as hell; I never pretended not to be. I had to move, had to get blood flowing to my legs and arms. I couldn’t just be stationary. I wasn’t running any marathons or lifting any weights, but that didn’t mean I’d just lie around and stare at the ceiling, letting my body and mind rot.