JARED-1(Lane Brothers, Book 4)(8)

I watch with amusement as the two of them scuttle from the room with their tails tucked between their legs and only let out a chuckle when Wyatt turns to Pop with a smile and high-fives the old coot.

“Good job, old man.”

Everyone is laughing by this time, and I feel myself relax and just soak it all in as the stress and strain of the last few days calms and melts away. At least that’s what I feel for all of two seconds before Cupcake starts sniffing and breaks out in huge sobs that shake both of us.

“Hey, Paulie, baby, don’t cry for those assholes,” Ma croons, coming over to embrace her with her own eyes misting up tearfully. “You don’t need them and…oh, honey, don’t cry. We’ll call them back.”





Chapter Three


Paulie

Jude Lane is hugging me. Me! The girl who nobody likes. The girl who betrayed the man she loved because she was too dumb to come up with a better plan than to get so involved while collecting evidence.

She’s hugging me the way I’d always dreamed a mother hugs her kid, and what do I do? I start bawling enough fill the Nile while everyone just looks on with pity.

I should stop, because the truth of the matter is that I do not deserve a moment of their kindness, and certainly not the way they all came to my defence, but who can blame me?

After seeing George Lane claim me as his own kid and the way Jared came to me and took me in his arms...this is everything I’ve ever dreamed of and held dear and wanted for as long as I can remember.

And I don’t deserve a minute of it.

I’m also crying a little because while I love that they just did all this, I’m going to have to decline their support and go back home. I need that stash I hid under the floorboards in my room, and I need it yesterday.

“Paulie, honey?”

I sniffle a few more times and wipe at my leaking eye, wincing when the salty burn smudges over the cuts and scrapes and starts the thing throbbing again.

“It’s okay, I don’t want them to come back.” I hiccup, licking my lips with care before pulling away and looking at them all with a small smile that feels bittersweet. “They’re right, though. I promised them all I’d do it and—”

“I don’t care if you promised the pope, Paulette, you’re not going back there. The Patriots will only try to finish what they started, and I’ll be damned if they get there fucking hands on you again. Now shut up unless you have something constructive to say,” Jared growls, pulling away from me to stand.

I miss his heat and the strength his touch lent me so much, I feel my heart trip and the monitor starts beeping wildly. I’ve always been prone to panic attacks, and these stressful situations are the worst kinds of triggers.

I’m surprised the monitors didn’t start blaring sooner, and that no one realized how hard my heart was beating the whole time because I felt so afraid when Father turned to me that I swear my chest almost cracked open to let the thing free.

“Jared—”

“No! You want to go back there and let that animal hurt you again?” he says and I rear back at the violence simmering free.

“I, it wasn’t Andrew,” I whisper.

That prize goes right to Clyde, though I keep my mouth shut about the fact that it was Andy who held me down that one time…

No, Paulie! Don’t think about that now, I yell silently, breathing in short bursts as the memories try to break free and the heart-rate monitor starts beeping so wildly, an alarm actually goes off this time.

The shakes start again, and this time I know that the panic attack I’ve been staving off for several minutes is unavoidable. I can’t breathe, can’t move as the terror grips me and starts curling its way through every cell under my skin.

My muscles lock up as the shakes get worse and my vision starts blinking on and off as the worst of it hits me a second after I hear a curse and the worried yells around me.

It’s then that the fit hits me and I’m almost relieved for the reprieve it brings when my body seizes up and everything starts melting away.

“Cupcake!”

Did he just call me Cupcake?

My body stops responding and flops down with a thump I feel in my back and hip.

I can’t hear or see properly as the attack goes on and on, leaving me blind, deaf, and mute. All I know is the feel of hands grasping at me and the smell of Jared’s expensive cologne penetrating what’s left of my senses.

These attacks. I call them fits or panic attacks, but I can’t really tell you with any certainty what they are. I just know I’ve had them for ages now, and that stress brings them on without thought or mercy for the situation.

I’ve had so many lately that I’m surprised I’m still alive after some of the headers I’ve taken, but that’s from knowing that no matter what I do, I’m screwed. The situation I’m in is irreparable.