His jaw locks down, eyebrows dropping low over tight glaring eyes. “No. Hatch is gone, but thankfully the tubby fuck had enough sense to spill his guts to Trix before he disappeared.”
My head spins with information, piecing together everything he’s telling me. The only thing that I can grab on to is that Rex wants to take me home to Vegas. The details about the rest can be figured out later.
I pull the hospital blanket up to my chin with shaking hands. “I just . . . I want to get out of here.”
“I want to get you out of here.” He cups my cheek and tilts my face up. “I know why you’re afraid of hospitals.”
“You do?”
His thumb glides along my lower lip, the touch so gentle and full of meaning it drops my eyelids. “Yeah, apparently Dominick kept impeccable records of the lives he ruined. Raven inherited all his shit. She’s hell bent on righting his wrongs and remembered your name.”
“How?”
“In a file from Ridley Mental Institution, there was a picture in there from the day you were checked in.” He squeezes my hand. “That picture . . . I knew right away it was you.”
My pulse races; fear that he thinks I’m a certifiable lunatic claws at me. “I’m not crazy.”
Sympathetic eyes find mine. “Yeah, I know. I want to know how you ended up there, but those details can wait. First, we need to focus on getting you cleared for discharge. Problem is, baby, they’re not going to let you leave if you can’t tell them your name.”
“Right.” I messed up. I should’ve just answered to Georgia.
“Talk to me. I can’t help if I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
I shake my head. “I can’t tell them. Doctors don’t understand.” I lean in to whisper. “They call me crazy, but they don’t know what it’s like.”
“Explain it to me.”
“I was born Georgia McIntyre, but then”—I tilt my head and stare into his eyes—“you died. She died with you.”
He turns away and the muscle in his jaw ticks.
“In the institution, they called me by my last name. I was McIntyre. I escaped into the simplicity of Mac. She was focused on revenge and she gave me a purpose.”
“Revenge against Morretti.”
“Yes. My parents worked for him and when they ran—”
“Ran from the cops? Why’d they call them in the first place?”
“They didn’t.” My mind races back to that night, the fear of my punishment was nothing compared to the agony of watching him die. “I called 911.”
He sucks back a quick breath. “You called?”
I shrug, not ready to hear the gratitude in his voice. “After the ambulance took you away, my parents panicked. They thought you’d talk, and it wasn’t jail they were afraid of. It was Dominick. They ran.”
“What about you? Who took care of you?”
I pick at the hem of my hospital gown. This was the story I’d begged him to give me a chance to tell before he gave up on me. Will he understand if I tell him now?
“They locked me in the closet. I don’t know how long I’d been in there before Dominick got me out.” I thought he was there to save me. Wrong. “He said my parents were dead and he was my legal guardian. I screamed that he needed to help me, told him what they’d done to you, but he said I was crazy. He’s the one who locked me up in the institution.” The helplessness comes rushing back, screaming the truth until I’d lose my voice or they’d strap me down and shove a needle in my arm.
“Son of a bitch!” His body tenses against mine. “How did you get out?”
“I turned eighteen, realized that I’d never be free unless I played their game. I told them I was lying, that I was an angry kid because my parents abandoned me. In time, I convinced them I was sane enough for release. I went looking for Dominick. Found out he owned a strip club in Vegas. By the time I got close enough, I was too late.”
“He was dead.”
“That’s right.”
“And that was the peace you were looking for. Revenge.”
“No.” I hold his stare. “That was you I was looking for. You’re my peace.”
“And you’re mine.” His eyes glisten as if he’s fighting tears. “I just . . . I didn’t realize it until after I lost you.”
“Are you saying . . .?” Can I even bring my lips to speak the words? “You want me?”
He can’t be. It’s too good, and good is something I’m not entitled to.
He cups my cheeks between his big hands and runs his lips along mine. “What I’m saying is”—his forehead rests against mine—“I love you.”
I suck in a breath, trying to hold it along with this moment. Hot tears mark trails down my cheeks. Please be real.
“Breathe, baby.” He wipes away my tears with his thumbs and kisses the corners of my mouth. He runs his hand through his hair, leaving it to rest on the back of his neck. “I know I’ve got some making up to do.” He turns on the bed to face me head on and takes both of my hands in his. “All I want to know is that there’s a chance.”
My lips twitch at the way he uses my own words, from the night we made love, against me. “You have more than a chance, Rex. You have me. You always have and nothing will ever change that.”