Jonah Bennett (Bennett Mafia)

“And Cord.”

I frowned. “But you know who Cord’s father was, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he have siblings?”

“No.”

“So I have a sister, and we don’t know about Tanner.”

Kai nodded. “Right.”

Right.

I had a family—another family.

Fuck.

But then everything closed in on me.

I closed the file and pushed it away. “I can never meet them.”

“I know.”

It was the same deal as Carson.

“If someone else found them? Found him, found her?” My other sister. I looked at Kai, who was nodding.

“I’ll set up a team to watch them,” he said. “They’ll watch from afar. They’ll never know they’re there.”

God. Fuck.

More people to love, more people to worry about. More people who could get hurt.

“You said you were here about Carson, too.” My voice dipped low. I always thought about her. She was always there, always in the back of my mind, so there was always some pain. But when I let myself bring her to the forefront, really think about her, my insides tore out of me.

It’d been six months since I knew I loved her, and that pain never left me. It never diminished. I would live with it. I’d have to.

“She’s not doing well,” Kai said.

My mind went blank, and I surged to my feet. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

He stood, too, but more slowly. The old Kai was back, cautious and withdrawn.

Fuck that. “What’s wrong with her?”

He didn’t answer right away.

That wasn’t fast enough for me.

“What happened to her?!”

Chapter Thirty-Four

CARSON

I woke to a beeping sound, and the smell.

I knew that smell, more than I wanted to.

I was in a hospital, again.

This was the third time in six months, and I looked over to find myself handcuffed to the bed railing.

What did I do?

“The first time was a car accident.”

I knew the voice. I didn’t know the person, but I knew that voice. It was judgment, and it was a social worker. I’d gotten to know those people after the last two trips to the hospital. They’d been called in because the medical staff was concerned. They’d started to see a pattern, and that pattern was me self-destructing.

This time, the social worker, or maybe it was a nurse—I didn’t know yet—was male. He came forward, sliding over to my handcuff, and he pulled out a key, opening it. “We didn’t know what state of mind you’d be in when you woke up this time. You woke up screaming the last time, they said.”

I flinched, remembering that. I’d been screaming and yes, pretty hysterical. The nightmares never left me. I’d woken up in the middle of one.

“I’m fine.”

“No.” He laughed, rolling back a few feet on his stool. He stretched his feet out in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest, his employee lanyard tucked beneath. “You are most definitely not okay. You’re not eating. You’ve lost thirty pounds, and you did not have thirty pounds to lose. You refuse to give a work history, so I don’t know how you’re living right now, how you’re making money. You have an unhealthy pallor. You’re anemic. The first time you fell asleep at the wheel. The second time you collapsed in the grocery store. Do you remember what you were doing that caused you to end up here this time?”

I could feel serious judgment from this one.

“You fell from a ten-story patio,” he informed me. “You got caught on a patio two floors down, and someone was there. They pulled you to safety, but you almost died this time. I’ve read through the notes your nurses have taken, and all have stated that you refuse help. You were healthy up until four months ago, the time of your first collapse. What happened just before that?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have a strong case to have you committed for a seventy-two-hour hold if this isn’t physiological.”

I grimaced. “No.”

“Were you trying to commit suicide?”

“No!” I blanched at the thought. “I’m not sleeping. That’s it. That’s all this is. It’s nothing—the nightmares…” I couldn’t stop the shudder. My entire body jerked.

I hated the nightmares.

“Nightmares?” he parroted, sounding unconvinced. “This is all because you’re having nightmares?”

He didn’t know what kind they were: people dying—my family, my sister, Jonah… That guy always came back, every night. Someone died every night.

I was waiting for my turn.

I didn’t want to sleep, so I tried to avoid it.

You couldn’t avoid sleep permanently, I’d learned.

“Yeah.” My voice came out hoarse. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that, but yeah.” I cringed. “I fell off a patio?”

He nodded. “You should be dead.”

Right. Then it would’ve been my turn after all. I sighed, because damn. Damn.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but there’s a nurse here who knows a relative of yours. She’s concerned, says this isn’t like you. She said you’ve always been healthy. There’s no similar family history. What happened? This sounds like something very specific brought this all on. Is this trauma? Were you attacked? What happened? I’m only asking because I am very, very concerned. You might not get caught by another patio next time. There might not be someone there to grab you.”