“In the bag.” He blows into his hand and then sniffs. “Shit, my breath smells like an ashtray. Do you have any mints?”

I check my pockets and come up empty-handed.

“Shit. Okay. I’m going to brush my teeth so I don’t knock him unconscious when I talk to him. Holler if you see a big black Bentley out front.”

I don’t know what a Bentley is, but I keep an eye out for something big, black, and expensive. In his bag, I find extra socks, boxer briefs in black with white stitching that says Supreme, and another pair of jeans.

I want to come with and apologize to his brother, but I don’t know if I’d be welcome. Easton said his family doesn’t hate me, but how could they not? Even if he says it’s his fault and the boys were speeding, it was my car that hit theirs. I put their son and brother in a coma.

“Do you think I can see him?” I ask when Easton comes out of the bathroom. I hand him the shoes, socks, and briefs.

He sucks air through his clenched teeth. “Fuck, I don’t know. Let me see how rational Sawyer is. He’s gonna be protective of Seb and could go off. We all know it’s not your fault, but Sawyer feels guilty and wants to blame someone else.”

“All right,” I agree unhappily. “But I can at least send a gift. What does your brother like?”

A smirk steals over Easton’s face. “Girls.”

I grab one of his shoes and swing it at his shoulder.

He catches it with a laugh. “Chocolate-covered caramels.”

I raise my arm for another strike. “Are you making that up or does he really like them?”

“He really likes them, you she-demon.” He leans down for a quick kiss. “Go home to Dylan but call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is—morning, noon, night. Call me.”

“Okay.”

“And answer your damn texts.”

“Yessir!” I salute.

We’re both smiling as we go our separate ways, and once again I’m struck by the magic that is Easton Royal. The one person in my life who—at my lowest or my highest—never fails to put a smile on my face.

Chapter 22

Easton

“How are you doing tonight?” Durand asks as we speed away from the shabby apartment that I’m starting to identify as home.

“Worn out,” I confess.

“It’s been an emotional evening,” he agrees.

Boy, he has no idea. All the feely shit really drains a person, but despite my tiredness, my shoulders feel lighter than any other time I can remember. I confessed all my sins to Hartley and she didn’t push me away. The stuff about her family tore her apart, though, and that kills me. I need to figure out a plan to get Dylan away from Hartley’s asshole father.

I scroll through my messages.

Sawyer: Seb woke up

There’s a twenty-minute delay. From the other messages, it appears he called Dad in Dubai and Dad rounded up the troops.

Ella: I just heard from Callum. OMG I’m on my way!

Reed: Fuck yeah!

Gideon: Reed & I will drive down tomorrow. Reed’s got a test at 1. Hold down the fort.

Reed: I’m skipping that.

Gideon: We’ll be down after Reed’s test.

“Is Ella at the hospital?” I ask Durand.

“Yes. She arrived there about ten minutes ago.”

“Okay, cool.”

Durand makes the trip across town in no time. It helps that there’s almost no traffic this time of the morning. I bolt out of the car before he stops, bypass the elevators, and race up the one flight of stairs.

“Shhh,” some nurse says to me as I whip down the hall. I ignore her and bust into the room.

“You fucker scared the shit out of us!” I holler.

Sebastian responds with the middle finger. Elation fills me. For a while there, I thought the Royals were crashing and burning like Ella said, but nope. You can't keep us down.

"What'd you need? You thirsty? Hungry?" I scan the room, stopping at the wardrobe in the corner. There's probably food and water in there. Sawyer had to be existing on something.

"Thirsty," Seb says, his voice like gravel.

"You sound like you've been crawling out in the Sahara," I say over my shoulder as I whip open the cabinet doors. Bingo. On the shelves, I find a row of water bottles. I grab one, twist it open and hurry back to the bed. "Where's the up button on this unit?" I need Seb to be in a sitting position so he doesn't drown as I try to feed him some water. Fumbling around, I find a little remote and after a false start, I have him at a slight incline.

“Here you go.”

The water dribbles out the side of his mouth and he curses. “The fuck, East. Can’t you be more careful?”

My eyebrows shoot into my forehead. “Sorry, dude. Nursing isn’t in my bag of tricks.”

He tries to shove my hand aside—tries being the operative word. The boy is weak as a kitten. All that happens is more water sloshes onto the sheets.

“Dammit! Stop hovering! Gahhhh!” He clutches his head.

I nearly drop the bottle of water in panic. “What is it? Holy shit. How do I call for a nurse?” I scramble over to the wall behind the bed and slam my finger against the red emergency button.