“Yes, we are.”
She had almost died delivering L.W., and in order to save her life, they’d had to remove her uterus. No more biological children for her—and yes, that was a disappointment. But every time she stared into the face of her son, she was so grateful for him that the fact that she wasn’t going to be able to chance the lottery again didn’t seem like much of a loss at all.
Rhage and Mary, though? They weren’t even going to get the opportunity to try. And that was clearly what was on Rhage’s mind right now.
“I should give him back to you,” the brother said once more.
Beth swallowed hard. “Take as much time as you need.”
* * *
Back at Safe Place, Mary had just finished posting a message on Facebook about Bitty’s hypothetical uncle when there was a knock on her door.
Maybe it was the girl, and they could give the talking thing another try. But probably not—
“Come in,” Mary said. “Oh, hey! Marissa, how are you?”
Butch’s mate looked drop-dead beautiful as always, her blond hair down and curling perfectly on her slender shoulders as if it had been trained in good manners and wouldn’t think of frizzing out. Dressed in a black cashmere sweater and sleek black slacks, she was like the female Rhage in a lot of ways—too physically exquisite to actually exist.
And like Rhage, the outside wasn’t nearly as lovely as the inside.
With a Vogue-worthy smile, Marissa sat in the creaky chair on the other side of the desk. “I’m okay. More importantly, how are you?”
Mary eased back, crossed her arms over her chest, and thought, ah, so this was not a social visit.
“I guess you’ve heard,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“I swear, Marissa, I had no idea it was going to be that bad.”
“Of course you didn’t. Who could have?”
“Well, just as long as you know that I didn’t mean for things to go the way they did—”
Marissa frowned. “I’m sorry, what?”
“When Bitty and I went to see her mother—”
“Wait, wait.” Marissa put up her palms. “What? No, I’m talking about Rhage getting shot on the battlefield. And your saving his life in front of the Brothers.”
Mary popped her brows. “Oh, that.”
“Yes . . . that.” A strange look entered Marissa’s eyes. “You know, frankly, I’m not sure why you came in tonight. I thought you’d be home with him.”
“Oh, well, yes. But with everything that’s going on with Bitty, how could I not come in? And besides, I spent all day with Rhage, making sure he was okay. While he continues to sleep at the clinic, I wanted to check on her. God . . . the idea that I made things worse for that girl makes me feel horrible. I mean, I’m sure you know what happened.”
“You mean at Havers’s? Yes, I do. And I can understand your being upset. But I really think you should have stayed with Rhage.”
Mary waved a casual hand. “I’m fine. He’s fine—”
“And I think you should go home now.”
With a sudden shot of dread, Mary sat forward. “Wait, you’re not firing me because of Bitty, are you?”
“Oh, my God—no! Are you kidding me? You’re the best therapist we have!” Marissa shook her head. “And I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job here. But it’s pretty clear that you’ve had a long twenty-four hours, and however much you want to be there for the girl in a professional capacity, you’re going to be even more effective if you’ve had some R-and-R.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” She sat back. “The not-getting-fired part, that is.”
“Don’t you want to be with Rhage?”
“Of course I do. I’m just really worried about Bitty. It’s crisis time, you know? The loss of her mother is not just a tragedy that leaves her orphaned, it’s a huge trigger point for everything else. I just . . . I really want to make sure she’s okay.”
“You’re a dedicated therapist, you know that.”
“She keeps talking about an uncle?” As Marissa frowned again, Mary reopened Annalye’s file and flipped through the pages. “Yeah, I know, right? I hadn’t heard about one before now, either. And I went through everything we have on either of them and there’s no mention of any family. I just put up a post for the race on that closed page on Facebook? I’ll see if I can find him that way.” Mary shook her head as she stared at an entry that had been written by Rhym. “Part of me wonders whether or not I could get the phone records for here to see what calls have gone in and out over the last month? Maybe there’s something there? No mail has been returned here. And as far as I know, Bitty’s mom never used e-mail.”
When there was a period of silence, Mary looked up—and found that her boss was staring at her with an inscrutable expression.
“What?” Mary said.
Marissa cleared her throat. “I admire your commitment. But I think it’s best that you take at least the rest of tonight off. A little distance to refocus is best. Bitty will be here tomorrow and you can continue to be her primary staff member.”
“I just want to make it right.”
“I know and I don’t blame you. But I can’t escape the feeling that if I had showed up here for work a night after Butch had almost died in my arms? You’d make me go home. No matter what was happening under this roof.”