Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Nova must see. He tosses me a rubber tube. “Tie this around her bicep.”
I prop her head on my thigh and quickly knot the rubber around her arm. He rests a knee on the seat near her hip. While hovering over her, Nova flicks the inside of her elbow, then sticks a needle in her vein.
We’re rushing at a pace that has no room for thoughts or feelings. I don’t let them enter while he starts the IV. I hook the saline bag on the car hanger bar above my head.
There is no We can’t handle this. There is only We have to handle this.
It might as well be the Tinrock-Graves motto.
Oliver stands outside behind me, and I tell him that I gave Jake my keys. “He needs to drive Hailey to the marina,” I explain. “The Ithaka is at the docks. We’ll all stay on the yacht tonight.”
Oliver bows down closer to me, his hand on the frame of the car. “I’ll go with Hails—”
“No, you need to drive us,” I say. “Your brother is going to stay in the backseat with me.” Nova is already shutting the side door. He’s sitting beside me, and Phoebe’s legs are splayed over his lap. He digs out a pulse oximeter from the trauma bag.
“Trevor?” Oliver glances backward, but as he scans the horseshoe driveaway, I know my brother is already gone.
I saw him tinkering with my waterlogged phones and walking away about the same time I talked to Hailey.
“He left in the Honda,” I say. “He’ll meet us at the yacht. Send him a text.”
“You don’t need to text,” Nova cuts in fast. “He’s spending the night with Sidney at the Harbor Hotel.” He clips the pulse oximeter on Phoebe’s finger, then meets my hard gaze. “That’s why Phoebe and Hailey were here. For Sidney.” He explains what happened in under thirty seconds—information he sourced from Trevor and Hailey.
I stare at the back of the headrest, a migraine hammering against my temple. Weston Burke and Trent Waterford fucking me over in one night.
I try not to replay the downward spiral of events, but this night will get infinitely worse if Weston Burke finds his daughter at a hotel and Trevor is there. I just tell Oliver, “He stays on the yacht tonight. Call him.”
“Calling our little psychopath,” Oliver confirms, putting the phone to his ear and shutting the car door.
I lean against it more, and I pull Phoebe higher up my body. Her shoulders are flush with my chest, and her head lolls against my collar. “Should she be this cold?” I ask Nova while I rub her arms, careful of the IV.
“The fluids should help. I’ll monitor her, but if her vitals drop, we’re taking her to the hospital.” He passes me a medicine bottle. “Here.”
I read the label: Smelling salts.
I send him a short look of appreciation. The small exchange is one of amnesty between us. He could’ve easily done this himself, but he’s letting me take over this part and care for his sister like I usually do.
I’m not going to be an ass and remind him of that or how my love for her hasn’t depreciated in the past twenty-four hours. Nothing has changed—not even the fact that he doesn’t want me with his sister long term.
I wave the white flag because it’s easier when Nova and I aren’t banging heads like two stubborn bucks locking antlers.
Oliver slips behind the wheel. “All aboard.” He starts the ignition.
Nova casts a toughened glance of concern at his brother. I wonder how much coke Oliver snorted tonight. It’s a fleeting thought as he drives us out of the Koning estate. Nova turns back to me to say, “It’ll wake her up, but not for long.”
I open the childproof cap. The car glides across smooth paved roads and through the iron gates. Phoebe isn’t being jostled against me, thankfully, and I quickly pass the bottle beneath her nose.
The ammonia in the smelling salts triggers an inhalation reflex, and she suddenly jerks into a gasp. Her eyes blink open. “Wh-what the fuck?” she curses out with such a biting tone (classic Phoebe) that Nova nearly smiles, and weight releases off my chest.
“I have you, Phebs,” I whisper against her ear. “You’re safe in your brother’s car. I’m not letting you go.”
She clutches my forearm that’s wrapped around her chest, holding on and registering her surroundings. Her eyes drift to Nova, then upward at me. She blinks hard, her heavy-lidded gaze trying to close as quickly as it opened. “Rocky?”
I cup her cheek with a firm hand. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you.” I force this out so she understands the permanence, the promise. Her body slackens. I press a kiss into her dark blue hair. She expels a deeper breath, and I murmur, “We’re taking you to The Ithaka. That’s where you’ll wake up again.”