“You’ve got to be goddamned kidding me!” The words exploded from Matt’s mouth, too loud to be socially acceptable in a hospital. “Gale never fucking mentioned Alex. Not once?” He didn’t wait for Isleen’s reply. “Xan, if you don’t see this as the warning sign it is, you deserve the same fate as your father.”
“Who’s Alex? And what happened to him?” Isleen’s voice carried obvious concern.
Matt snapped his lips closed, Xander’s cue to explain. “Alex is your grandmother’s husband.” This time Isleen’s lips parted and an airy whisper of sound escaped. “He’s Matt’s brother. And my father.”
Her head jerked as if she’d been delivered an invisible slap. “Are you sure?”
What was going on that Gale hadn’t told her anything? “Yeah, I’m sure.”
She started shaking her head and looked down at the bedding. “I can’t believe we’re family.” She spoke the last word as if she’d just uttered the world’s worse curse.
“Yeah. I guess that’s one way of putting it.” Okay, that wasn’t the kind of response he would’ve expected from her finding out her grandmother had been married. Though he couldn’t quite say what a normal response would’ve been. He just suspected this wasn’t it.
Matt started speaking, despite her continued head shaking. “The doctor is comfortable releasing her—especially with the facility being right there. We’re leaving as soon as you sign the payment arrangement papers at the nurse’s station. Alex is already on the way home with Gale—they’re traveling via medical van.”
“Home?” Isleen’s attention snapped to Matt. “After all this time, I don’t think we have a home anymore.”
“Baby, he means our home.” Technically, not his home, but he didn’t feel like complicating an already crazy situation. “Gale and Alex’s home. The Institute. Gale must’ve mentioned the Institute. She’s still part-owner.”
Isleen’s gaze met his. There was something in her eyes, something he couldn’t name that seemed to be pleading for—for what? He was lost, didn’t understand what was happening.
Her chin began to quiver and her eyes went wet, but she blinked rapidly, fanning away the tears. She shifted away from him on the bed, out of touching range, and stared down at the mass of sheets and covers. “When do we leave?” Her voice was steadier than her chin.
“Ten minutes.” Matt turned and headed for the door, then stopped. “Reporters are stationed at the lobby entrance and employee entrance, so you’ll meet me at the ambulance entrance.”
“Okay,” she said. The word itself wasn’t bad, the tone of her voice wasn’t bad, so why did Xander feel bad like they were taking her back to the torture trailer or some equally terrible fate?
Isleen lifted her chin and aimed her words at Matt. “I need some clothes.”
What was going on? Why was she talking to the family asshole when the guy who’d found her, the guy who hadn’t left her side—except for a moment—was sitting a foot away?
One side of Matt’s top lip curled up in an Elvis-worthy sneer. “Xander’s in charge of that shit.” He tossed Xander a WTF look and left the room.
Neither of them moved.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” He scooted closer, but Isleen raised her hand in the universal sign for stop.
“I need clothes.” She looked everywhere except at him.
He reached over, opened the drawer beside the bed, and took out a set of clothes Row had brought for her. He held out the bundle. “Tell me what’s wrong.” No, that was not the sound of pleading in his voice. He didn’t plead. He didn’t beg—at least not since he was child and his dad stopped speaking to him. Since then, Xander hadn’t let himself care about anyone because this was exactly what happened whenever he cared.
Chapter 8
“Isleen. Wake up.”
The richness of Xander’s voice poured into her sluggish, sleepy mind like hot fudge. She basked in the warm sweetness of that special moment between sleep and waking, the muted crunching of gravel under the car tires a surprising lullaby.
“We’re almost home.” Xander shook her leg, his touch firm and full of reassurance. Every one of Isleen’s nerve endings electrified and stood at attention, wanting and waiting for more of him. She could feel the energy of his body colliding with hers, pulling her toward him. Only there was something wrong with that, wasn’t there? She searched her memory for why Xander’s touch would be wrong, when all her dreams of him had been so—
Alex is your grandmother’s husband…my father. Xander’s father. Which meant Xander was her grandmother’s son. Which meant he was Isleen’s uncle. That made every dream she had of him—every feeling—sick, twisted, and wrong.
Her eyes popped open so fast she nearly lost her lids inside her brainpan.