“Can she come with us?”
“No, honey, she has her work to do here. But she’s going to talk to Havers herself after all the tests come back. And so will Dr. Manello and maybe even V.”
Bitty put the brush down and ran her palm over her hair. “Okay.”
God, she was so small sitting there, and Mary would have given anything to be the one about to be poked and prodded and X-rayed and imaged. Bitty had been through so much, her poor little body absorbing blows and stress that most adults would have had trouble living through. And the actual experiences had been bad enough. The idea that she was still having to deal with them seemed grossly unfair.
“I think afterward,” Mary said as she got to her feet, “Rhage is going to take the night off and hang out with us.”
“He told me we can have ice cream and watch a movie, if I wanted.”
“You got it.”
When Bitty didn’t stand up, Mary went over. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“Promise?” came the whisper. “I’m scared.”
Mary put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I swear that I will never leave you.”
Thank you, Scribe Virgin. And thank you, Rhage. When they’d decided to move forward with the adoption process, she and Rhage had agreed that even if he died first, Mary would stay with Bitty. Of course, they hadn’t told the girl about all that. There just hadn’t been a right time yet.
Bitty took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s—”
The knock on the door cut her off, and then came Rhage’s deep voice, muffled: “How’re my females in there? We ready?”
“Yup.”
“Yes.”
Rhage opened things up and there he was, big and beautiful, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his preternatural physical perfection the kind of thing Mary still did a double take on every once in a while. With blond hair that was thick and wavy, eyes that were the color of the ocean in the Bahamas, and teeth so white they looked like bathroom tile—even though they’d never been bleached—he was a legend in the race with the females for a good reason.
He was also totally and completely devoted to her and her alone.
It had taken Mary some time to get used to that, to trust it. After all, he could have had anyone or anything he wanted in a mate—someone blond and tall and gorgeous like him. Instead … he only had eyes for her, a brunette with a nice enough face, and a body that had been rendered infertile thanks to chemo.
Rhage thought she was a beauty queen, however, and funny, when she was around him and he was staring at her the way he did? She sure as hell felt like one.
As Bitty burst up and rushed over to him, he got down on one knee so he was closer to her height. And he took her hands, his larger palms engulfing her smaller ones.
“You ready to get this over with so we can watch Deadpool again?”
Mary shook her head. “You guys are in a serious rut.”
“ ‘So what’s it gonna be?’ ” Bitty quipped. “ ‘Long sullen silence or mean comment?’ ”
“ ‘You got me in a box here,’ ” Rhage shot back.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes …” Bitty curled up her fists and pumped the air as she turned in a little circle.
“Promise me again,” Mary cut in, “that you don’t look at the adult parts.”
Bitty and Rhage both covered their eyes as he replied, “Nope. We assume the position and wait till the ugliness passes.”
Pick your battles, Mary reminded herself. You gotta pick your battles.
As the three of them headed out of the suite in a clutch, Mary said, “You know, you could try watching some other things? There are some wonderful documentaries out there on social issues that …”
She let the pitch trail off as the two of them turned around and stared at her as if she’d suggested spray-painting obscenities all over the foyer. Or firing Fritz. Or off-loading Rhage’s GTO on eBay for scrap metal.
“How are you two not blood relations,” she muttered. “But at least you might grow out of this, Bitty.”
The girl came in close and gave one of her hugs, tight and quick. “Maybe.”
As they headed down to the second floor, Rhage said, “Bit, you know we’re not leaving you, right? It’s not appropriate for me to be with you the whole time, but Mary will be, and I’ll be in the waiting room or just outside in the corridor—”
When they emerged out of the stairwell, they stopped on a oner.
Right outside of the King’s study, there was a group of people waiting: Doc Jane, in her surgical scrubs; Manny, in his white coat; Vishous, dressed for war; and Zsadist, in Adidas, with weapons all over him.
Oh, and Lassiter.
In a hockey mask and football pads.
“Well, this is a sweet send-off,” Rhage said as he went to clap hands with his Brothers.
“We’re not sending you off.” Lassiter pounded his pads. “We’re your entourage.”
Mary blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Jane smiled and focused on Bit. “We’re coming with you.”
“Not that the ’rents can’t handle it,” Lassiter volunteered from behind his mask. “But let’s face it, I’m working on my defensive tackle position and this will be good practice. That pencil-necked nightmare of a doctor gets too pokey and I’ma turn him into a splatter painting.”
Vishous put both hands up to his face and rubbed hard. Like in his mind, he was throwing a beat-down in the angel’s direction, but he knew he couldn’t draw blood in front of the girl—and the self-control required was killing him.
“You can stay home,” V muttered. “You really can totally f-in’ stay the f home, you f’ed-up mother-f’ing f-twit.”
Lassiter clasped his breastplate, and swooned like Julie Andrews. “Don’t you love it when he can’t swear? Warms my cockles—it’s like watching a drunk on roller skates try to play dodgeball in the dark—”
Zsadist, who rarely spoke, cut the metaphors off. “We don’t want you three going alone. So we’re coming with you. Some things you need your family for.”
As Rhage cleared his throat like his emotions were getting the best of him, Mary said roughly, “Thank you so much. I really … we really appreciate this.”
Z stepped forward to Bit, and if you went by appearances alone, any parent would want the Brother as far away from their child as possible: with his tattooed slave bands and his scarred face and his enormous warrior’s body with all those weapons on it, he looked more like an abductor than a loving uncle.
Without saying a word, he put out his hand.
And without missing a beat … the little survivor took the big survivor’s palm.
Bitty and Z had always had a special connection. Then again, when you had been forced to endure the cruelty of another for years, there was always going to be a separator between you and the world, no matter how much time had passed or how many good things happened to you since.