Steve nods. "Yes. They said his vitals were fine over a forty-eight-hour period and that we should call if there are any signs of degradation of mental ability."

"What in the hell does that mean?"

"It means if I start drooling, you should wheel me back," Seb jokes.

"He sounds good to me." Steve readjusts Seb. "Why don't you get the door, Easton?"

I don't have to, because it opens for me, and Ella suddenly appears in the opening, her mouth half open and hurt swimming in her eyes.

"What is going on?" she says angrily.

Steve forges forward, dragging Seb behind him. "We're bringing Sebastian home."

"I'm sorry," I mouth to Ella, but she's fixated on Steve, watching him carefully as if he might whip out a gun at any minute and point it at her head.

And why wouldn't she be thinking that? It wasn't so long ago that Steve did have a gun in his hand pointed at her.

Shit. I need to get him out of here. ASAP.

I thread my arm under Seb's and hoist him away from Steve. We play a short game of tug-o-Seb until Steve finally gives in.

"Why don't you get Sawyer?" I suggest to Ella.

She nods and backs up, her arms folded across her stomach protectively, her eyes not wavering from Steve. The door stands open behind me, because despite the cavernous size of this house, Ella's feeling trapped and scared.

I lower my brother onto a chair in the marble-floored foyer. He peers at me through heavy lids.

"You okay, bub?" I knock him gently on the shoulder.

"My head hurts." He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. "And I feel like I gotta throw up."

"Bathroom's that way." I point to the powder room just off the entrance.

He takes a deep breath and then another, clearly trying to battle the nausea, but the sickness wins. He turns gray-green and bolts up, racing to the bathroom. The sounds of his retching fill the big hall.

"You can go now," I inform the man who helped raise me, the one who my mother had an affair with, the one who tried to kill my best friend.

"Since Callum's not home, I think it's best if I—”

"No," I interrupt. "What's best is if you leave." I walk to the door that Ella left open. "Thanks for your help, but I shouldn't have called you. "

"I'll leave because I don't want to cause you any trouble, son. Ella looked a mite upset." He raises his voice, likely in hopes that Ella will hear him. "I've been wanting to explain, but I haven't had the opportunity. I didn't try to hurt my daughter. I never would. From the moment, I learned of her existence, I only wanted to find and protect her. That night…" He pauses and shakes his head in mock sadness. "That night," he continues, "will haunt me forever. I wanted to protect Ella, but instead, I put her in danger."

"Nice performance." I clap my hands together. "I'd give it a C. You're too much of a psychopath to pull off any real emotion, but good try. Time for you to go, though. No one here is interested in any more of your bullshit."

We stare at each other. I tense up, wondering if I'm going to have to fight Steve. I'm young and have a lot of stamina, but Steve's got that old man strength, not to mention his military training. He and my dad were Navy SEALs.

Luckily, I don't have to put it to the test. He drops his gaze and strolls toward the door, stopping when he's even with me.

In a low voice, he says, "You're a chip off the old block, aren't you, son?"

With a wink, he steps out the door, leaving me chilled and unsettled. I hate that he calls me ‘son’. I hate it even more that I suspect it's because I am his son. That’s what John Wright insisted when I showed up on his doorstep, drunk. He mocked me about DNA tests, about not being a real Royal, about how I’m really a O’Halloran…

I forcibly shove the memory from my head. Fuck Hartley’s dad. And fuck Steve. Fuck ’em.

I slam the heavy door shut and turn around to see Ella at the top of the curved staircase. Even from here, I can feel her anger and distress.

"Where's Seb?" There's no background music of vomit anymore.

"Sawyer took him upstairs. Why did you bring him here?"

There's no need to ask who she's talking about. "Sebastian wanted out of the hospital and the doctor wouldn't release him to me."

"You're an adult."

"I'm not his guardian."

"Neither is Steve!" she cries.

I squeeze the back of my neck. "After Mom died, Dad gave Steve a backup control over us. A type of”—I have to think of the word—“conservatorship. Every time he's not here, Steve's authorized to make decisions on Callum's behalf. I guess Dad never rescinded it."

Ella turns as pale as a tissue. "What exactly are you saying? That any time Callum's gone, Steve can tell us what to do? He could take me from this house?"

The knot of anxiety that set up camp at the base of my neck is spreading like a disease throughout my entire body. "I don't know," I answer honestly. "Seb—" I break off. I can't put any blame on my sick brother. He needs Ella to help take care of him. "I remembered that Steve had it at one time—he signed authorizations for me to fly when Dad was gone—so I took the chance. It was stupid and I regret it."