Reign of Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 3)

I don’t respond, but wait until the doors close between us, then turn and jog down the hall.

Royce grabs my hand and together we walk through the double doors at the back of the room, Vee and Bass behind us.

My palm freezes on the door we’re told Captain is behind, my eyes flying to Royce.

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, the vein in his hitting against his tan skin. “You’re not weak. His being behind this door is proof of that. You’re the bravest fucking person I have ever met, RaeRae, believe that.” He kisses my temple, pulling back to look at me. “Go. I’m right behind ya.”

I push through the door, my heart pounding harder against my chest with every step taken, but when Royce’s grip finds mine from behind, my hand tightens, my eyes flying to him over my shoulder.

I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of obligation. I don’t only need to be stronger for him right now, but I want to be. This is his brother lying here helpless – something they aren’t accustomed to being. And it’s just him.

What once was three is now one, at least that’s how it must seem in his eyes.

One decision from me took both his brothers from him, temporary or not, it’s what happened. He hates being alone, can’t handle being left out, has no clue how to trust or believe in something better.

My eyes move back to his.

His features are soft but rugged. The tattoos from his neck to his knuckles scream bad boy, unapproachable, but he’s so much more. He wants, more needs, someone to dare to look further, reach deeper. Look the angry in the eye and bear the burden willingly.

I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I wouldn’t be enough. He needs someone’s all, not the pieces I have to share with him.

“I’m good, RaeRae,” he whispers for only me to hear. “Keep those feet moving.”

We push farther into the room, the bleeps of the machines as irking as the sterile smell burning my nostrils.

“Hello.” A soft, warm welcome from the nurse at his side. “I’m Carmen, I’ll be here until he’s ready to stroll away on his own.”

Nobody says a word as she quietly walks out.

I force my eyes to Captain, and to my surprise, relief wafts over me. Royce steps behind me, so I drop my head against his chest allowing him to shuffle us to his bedside.

There are already three chairs placed directly beside it, so Royce and I lower ourselves into them.

The third chair mocks me, and guilt crashes hard, serving as a heavy weight on my body and mind.

I lean forward, laying my forehead on his lifeless hand.

Royce’s finds my lower back, and then his head joins mine.

My eyes close, my favorite shade of green flashing behind them before everything fades away and all that’s left is an empty pit of darkness, the universe’s sick way of saying not even in your dreams can you have him.

I crash.The early morning sun shines through the window when my eyes open and I push myself straight in my chair.

Royce’s hand grips my thigh and I look to him.

“He hasn’t woken up yet, but they think he will soon,” he tells me.

I glance behind me to find Victoria sitting on the little couch, staring right at me, while Bass stands at the edge of the door, just in case.

From there, the days are repeated. One turns to two, then six, and before we know, fourteen days passed and we’re still here.

They removed the ventilator on the second day, and Captain started to stir on the third, but he’s yet to stay awake longer than five minutes. He looks around, groans here and there. The nurse was able to get the doctor in quick enough for him to do his doctor shit once, flash some lights in his eyes and check his pupils, told him how long he’d been here, but Captain fell back asleep before he was able to talk to him about his injuries.

Maddoc is still nowhere to be found despite the army the Brayshaws have out looking, and no one has said a word regarding the whereabouts of my mother’s rotting corpse. Rolland calls Royce several times a day, and Mac says Collins has been sniffing around in our absence.

I turn back to Captain right as the nurse steps in with a small bow.

“He’s still so pale,” I rasp, running my fingers along the stark white sheets, pausing before my hand meets his. “Why?”

“He lost a lot of blood, had to have a transfusion, and his body is still recovering, rebuilding strength and coming down from the shock,” she says quietly as she pushes buttons on the screen beside him. “His color will come back soon, more and more each time he wakes.” She offers a small smile when I glance to her. “Your husband is strong.” I tense but she doesn’t catch it. “He was fighting to wake before surgery began. It took a lot to put him under, that’s why it’s taking him longer to come to fully.”