Page 146 of What Remains

Carter pulls me toward the open side door, my Converse slipping on icy pavement. He helps me in and shuts the door behind me, then gets in behind the wheel.

The leather is warm beneath my clothes, seat warmer already on. A blanket is thrown over my shoulders, and someone tucks it around me.

Natasha. Oh God, I’m sorry. It’s my fault Dad’s not here.

“Where’s Wyatt?” She’s in the third row, my rig open on her lap, brows drawn together in worry.

My teeth won’t stop chattering as I tell her what happened, shame burning my eyes. This is my fault. Please, God, please, if you’re really up there . . . bring them back to me alive. The SUV abruptly lurches into motion, and I call out, “No, wait! We can’t leave them.”

“We also can’t sit here and let the police find us down the block,” Carter answers while pulling down another road. He parallel parks alongside a two-story brick house, putting a decent distance between us and the danger. The sirens dull but don’t disappear. “Griffin is on overwatch out of sight. The second he sees the door open again, I’ll loop back around, just like we did for you.”

“I’m so, so sorry.” The words break apart on a hiccupping breath.

“Your dad will be okay. All three of them will be,” Natasha says firmly and with the kind of conviction I need to hear.

“How did this happen?” I twist around to face her again.

“Someone spoofed Swiss command the same way they did the Aussies. They used them as cleanup.” Her voice trembles slightly, cluing me in that she’s not as calm as she wants me to believe.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I get that part.” I drop the blanket. I don’t deserve warmth and comfort while those I love are at risk. And the sun? Why is it still freaking shining amidst the evil surrounding us? “It’s the why that doesn’t track. I was banking on them needing me, trying to take me.”

A radio squawks up front, and I jerk around, waiting.

“Door opening. Stand by.” Griffin’s voice crackles through. “They’re all out and ready for pickup.”

My chest caves inward.

Carter throws the SUV into reverse and whips the wheel with the heel of his palm, spinning us around in one sharp movement, and I slide over to the seat next to me.

Through the windshield haze, I see them. Constantine and Easton, each with an arm around Dad. He’s limping, and his face is gray beneath streaks of soot and blood at his temple, but he’s moving with them.

“Wyatt,” Natasha breathes out, her palm slapping the back of my seat.

The second we’ve stopped, Carter jumps out. The doors open, and the cold air and diesel fumes rush in. I scramble into the third row beside Natasha to make space for the two men I . . .

Love. And I do love Easton, don’t I? Like love love.

Easton helps Dad inside and climbs in after him, sitting on top of my abandoned blanket. Constantine takes the front passenger seat, and Carter is already moving before the doors fully shut, engine growling as we pull away.

“D—dad.” My voice is shaky, but it works. “Are you okay?”

He turns his head slowly. Dirt, blood, and powdered concrete cover him. He glances between Natasha and me, checking on us. Typical. “Got pinned under some debris, but I’ll be okay. Nothing broken,” he says hoarsely.

He’s gotta be hurting, but he won’t let us know it.

I cover my mouth as tears spill fast.

Natasha shuts my rig and passes it over to me to get closer to Dad. She bends in, tears cutting down her cheeks as she nuzzles her head against the side of his.

As Carter weaves in and out of traffic, Easton turns back, eyes on me.

“Thank you,” I mouth, and his jaw tightens.

Easton gives me one small nod and lets me know, “We didn’t kill anyone.”

“I had rubber rounds on me,” Constantine adds from the front.

My lungs pull in a full breath, one that’s still burning. “All of this was for nothing. I’m so sorry.” I band both arms across my midsection, doing my best not to unravel, but I can feel it happening anyway.