Page 40 of Shadow Secrets
He opened his mouth to object. Closed it. She wasn’t wrong.
Vivi shook her head, the amusement winning over the sternness. “The notebook is yours. Consider it a gift. But next time, a text message will suffice.” She set the tea on her desk and let the moment settle. “Sutton, you’ve been through multiple traumatic events—your brother’s death, witnessing Ginger’s murder, Dom’s assault, and now today’s incident at the hospital. That’s a significant accumulation of stress and fear.”
Sutton pulled her knees up on the couch, wrapping her arms around them. A defensive posture. “I’m handling it.”
“Remarkably well, it seems.” Vivi paused. “What concerns me is what happens when the immediate crisis passes. Adrenaline is an extraordinary fuel, but it burns hot and fast, and when it’s gone, the things it was holding back come flooding in.”
Vivi was laying groundwork—establishing that the crisis would end and the aftermath would need tending. Planting the idea now so it would be familiar later.
“Speaking of the crisis passing,” Vivi said, “I spoke to St. Patrick’s about Dom.”
Sutton’s arms tightened around her knees. Her chin lifted.
“His doctor believes he’s turned a corner. He’s been going in and out of consciousness since you left, but he knows his name and understands where he is.” Vivi smiled—genuine, warm. “Both are very good signs.”
Sutton’s face crumpled. Not into tears—into relief. She pressed her forehead against her knees, shoulders curving inward as she made a sound that was more exhale than sob. Sebastian watched the tension leave her body in a visible wave, fear releasing all at once.
He fought not to put his arm around her like he’d done in the SUV.
Vivi gave her a moment, then said gently, “Sebastian, would you get Sutton something to drink? I think she could use some water or maybe a soda. We need to keep her hydrated.”
Vivi Montgomery didn’t need him to fetch beverages. She needed him out of the room so Sutton could say the things she wouldn’t say with him listening. It was a standard therapeutic technique—remove the variable that was suppressing disclosure—and the fact that he was the variable stung more than his split lip.
But Sutton needed this. He could see the cracks in the armor she’d been holding together through sheer will. If his absence gave her space to let something out, then his absence was what he’d give her.
“Water, Coke?” he asked her.
She looked up. “Just water.”
He pulled the door closed behind him. Stood in the hallway for a count of three, then walked to the kitchen.
There, he took his time filling a glass with ice water from the fridge. He found a Coke in the back for himself. Then he stood at the counter for five minutes, staring at the condensation forming on the glass, listening to the compound’s quiet hum, and pretending he wasn’t thinking about what Sutton was telling Vivi that she couldn’t tell him.
When he returned, he knocked before entering, but came to a full stop.
Sutton was crying—real crying, the kind that reddened the nose and swelled the eyes. A tissue was balled in her fist. Vivi sat in her chair, her expression one of compassion.
“What the hell did you do?” The words left his mouth before his brain caught up.
Vivi’s gaze lifted to his, unperturbed. She’d weathered worse from better-armored men. She quirked a brow.
Sutton waved a hand. “I’m all right.” Her voice was thick, clogged. She wiped her face with the tissue. “She brought up some things I hadn’t considered about Penn.” She drew a shaky breath. “About how I’ve been carrying him. About what it’s cost me.”
Sebastian set the water and the Coke on the side table. His hands were steady. The rest of him was not.
Sutton stood. “I’m going to wash my face. I’m sure I look like a disaster.”
He moved toward the door. “I’ll walk you?—”
“The bathroom is twelve feet down the hall, Lynx.” She put a hand on his chest. Brief, warm, her fingers pressing against the cotton of his shirt. “I can manage twelve feet. I’ll be right back.”
She slipped past him. The door closed behind her. Her footsteps receded down the corridor. Sebastian stood with his back to Vivi, wanting to go after her.
Vivi said nothing. Slowly, he turned. Her expression now was the one he’d been avoiding—patient, perceptive, absolutely certain of what she was seeing.
The silence stretched.
“Garrett briefed me an hour ago,” Vivi said, “on the press situation. The hospital incident is going to hit the news cycle by morning. An unexplained shooting, an FBI extraction, and you.” At his frown, she added, “Someone in the hospital leaked a photograph of you in the corridor. Apparently, your fans are everywhere.”
