And I was glad. I wouldn’t take such a medicine even if it did exist.

She made me alive.

Too alive.

Stupidly alive and prone to mistakes and disastrous errors all because she preoccupied me.

“Nothing seems to be taken,” she added, glancing around the grey painted walls and black and white wall hangings.

“I wouldn’t care if they did.” Possessions didn’t mean a thing to me. Apart from the Libra eraser that I’d had for so many years, of course.

This house didn’t hold precious mementos such as photographs and love notes written when we were teenagers, but it did have a part of Cleo already in its walls. My blood had seeped into the grout of the tiles in my office while she’d sewed me up. My sweat had dripped into the carpet as I fucked her and loved her before I even knew she was the girl from my past.

We’d started afresh here, and soon … we would leave and never come back.

That was part of the plan. Formulated and agreed upon by Wallstreet and myself.

My time is almost up.

“Come on. I need to get you comfy so I can call a doctor.” Striding forward, I aimed for the staircase with the idea of putting her to bed. My knees turned to useless water with every step. Now that we were home, my strength rapidly siphoned away.

Someone clapped me on the back.

Fuck!

I spun around ready to tear whoever it was to fucking pieces.

Grasshopper grinned, holding up his hands. “Whoa, just me.”

My heart slammed like a sledgehammer. “Goddammit, Hopper. What the hell are you doing sneaking in here?”

“Not sneaking. Arranging.” He smirked. “Besides, two wheels always outrun four.” His eyes dropped to Cleo. “You feeling okay, Butterbean?”

I growled under my breath. “It’s Buttercup, asshole. And I’m the only one who’s allowed to use it.”

Cleo giggled. “What did you say you wanted to call me back at the diner? SC or CS—something like that?”

Grasshopper nodded. His mohawk was no longer floppy and covered in fire extinguisher foam but straight and bristling thanks to the hair wax he kept in his bike. “Sarah-Cleo.” He rubbed his chin. “Or was it Cleo-Sarah? I’ve forgotten. No matter, I think I’ll stick with Butterbean.”

“Only if you want to end up dead,” I muttered.

Grasshopper laughed, slapping me again. “You know I’m only yanking your chain.” He turned serious. “The doc is here. I called ahead. Figured you wouldn’t want to go back to the hospital after what happened.” He snickered, obviously remembering the incident with the nurse and stolen clothes. “Even if they let you in.”

“Why wouldn’t they let you in?” Cleo frowned. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Grasshopper and I said at the same time.

I grinned slightly at my VP. He was a lot of things, but he trumped it all by being a friend first. “You’re a good man, Hopper.”

Grasshopper puffed out his chest, grabbing the lapels of his leather cut like some pompous ass. “Aw, shucks. Probably now is the good time to mention it’s going to cost you a fucking fortune, though. Triple callout fee for the late hour and the rumor of your not-so-nice-patient manner back at the hospital.”

I groaned.

Grasshopper chuckled. “But she’s the best in her field and assures me she knows her shit.”

“I don’t care about the cost. If it means Cleo will be okay—”

“And you,” Grasshopper jumped in. “Can’t forget about you.”

Cleo suddenly grabbed his cut, dragging him close. I stumbled as she sandwiched herself between the two of us and pressed a fleeting kiss on Grasshopper’s rough cheek. “Thank you for keeping him safe all these years.”

What the hell?

Grasshopper froze.

I took a livid step backward, breaking Cleo’s hold on his jacket. “What the fuck, Cleo? No kissing other men—especially my fucking VP.”

She laughed, waving off the infraction as if it were nothing. It wasn’t fucking nothing. She was mine, goddammit. Her lips weren’t supposed to touch another man. Ever.

“Art, calm down. You know you’re it for me.” She smiled at Hopper. “I’m just thanking Wallstreet’s son for taking such good care of you when I couldn’t.”

The house seemed to exhale. Furniture gathered in ringside seats for whatever spectacle was about to begin. The air turned thick as fucking molasses.

What is she trying to do?

I’d only just come around to the idea that the man who’d served beside me all these years was related to my benefactor. I didn’t want it blurted out. Information like that had to be carefully controlled. Measured. Dealt with on the lowdown.

Grasshopper’s eyes widened. Smacking his lips, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Eh …”

Nervousness darted over his face, but he didn’t run.

He was a secretive bastard but he wasn’t a snitch and he wasn’t a pussy. I had to give him that.

He looked at me, guarding his thoughts before dropping his attention back to Cleo. “You know?” Running a hand over his face, he lowered his voice. “How?”

His eyes met mine again. Decisions collided in his gaze. Should he be scared of me or honest? I couldn’t give him an answer because I didn’t know, either. I had no idea how I felt about this mess.

All I knew was my body was shutting down and if I didn’t put Cleo in bed soon, I’d drop her.