The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12) - J.R. Ward Page 0,88

VIP coming into the clinic, so I’m scrambling to get coverage.”

Ah, snap. She was being paranoid. Better than being right, though.

“As for Wrath, last I saw, he was…” There was a pause. Then a shuffle like the guy was switching the phone to his other ear. “He was taking a little breather.”

“Breather as in?”

“He was asleep.”

Beth felt her jaw hinge loosen. “Asleep?”

“Yeah. He was resting.”

“Really.”

Here she was, putting herself through the wringer, confused about what to think and feel, running their entire relationship backwards and forwards, planning conversations, tying herself in knots. Meanwhile, he was just, you know, pulling a siesta.

“Well, that’s great,” she heard herself say. “I’m really happy for him.”

“Beth—”

“Look, I have to go.” Yup, she was busy, busy, busy. “If he wakes up, tell him…”

No, not that she’d called. Men weren’t the only ones allowed to keep their pride; women didn’t have to be the “weaker sex.”

“Actually, I’ll tell him myself. I’ll be at my dad’s, cleaning things up today.” Yeah, ’cuz the house was such a mess. “But I’ll be back at nightfall.”

The honest relief coming through the line was striking. “Oh, that’s good news. I’m really glad.”

“Okay, well…” Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to hang up.

“Beth? You still there?”

“Yeah. I am.” She found herself rubbing her thigh up and down. “Listen, can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Please.”

After all, Wellsie and Tohr had had their arguments—some of which Beth had heard firsthand back before the beautiful redhead had been taken way too soon. Man, Wellsie had been unafraid to say exactly what she thought to anyone, including her hellren. She was never a hothead without a good reason, of course, but you hadn’t necessarily wanted to cross her if you didn’t have to.

People had respected her.

What did they think of me, Beth wondered.

“Beth?”

Certainly if there was anyone who could help her with Wrath, and keep it on the DL, it was Tohr. In fact, he was the one who usually got sent in when people needed help with their King.

“Beth, what’s going on?”

Opening her mouth, she intended to vent, but there was one problem: The person she needed to talk to was Wrath. Anyone else was just filler.

“Do you still root for the monster?”

There was a pause. And then the Brother laughed in his trademark baritone. “Are you telling me there’s another Godzilla marathon on?”

Beth was glad she was alone. Because she had a feeling the smile she was sporting was sadder than any tears.

She just wanted to go back to when things had been simpler. Easier. Closer.

“Just thinking about the good ol’ days,” she blurted.

Instantly, Tohr’s tone tightened. “Yeah. They were … good.”

Oh, shit. Even though he was in love with and mated to Autumn, it had to hurt to remember his first wife … and the baby she’d been carrying.

“I’m sorry, I—”

He recovered quicker than she did. “Don’t feel bad at all. The past is what it is—good and bad, it’s written and unchanging. And there’s solace to be had in that.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “What do you mean?”

There was a long pause. “The good parts are more luminous because you can trust them. And the bad parts can’t get any more tragic for precisely the same reason. The past is safe because it is indelible.”

Abruptly, she thought again of that first date she and Wrath had had upstairs. As much as hindsight painted it all with a rosy glow, that hadn’t been exactly right, had it.

Come to think of it, he’d been angry when she’d first arrived that night. To the point where halfway through the four courses, she’d considered leaving.

Hardly the all-perfect that nostalgia repainted it as.

“You’re right, Tohr.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You know, it’s not too late. You can still come back if you leave now.”

“I don’t have to worry about the sun, remember.”

She could practically feel his shudder through her cell phone. “I got nothing to say to that. I really don’t.”

Taking pity on him, she changed the subject by promising to take care of herself and come home at nightfall.

After hanging up, she stretched out on her father’s bed. Staring at the ceiling, she imagined Darius having done the same thing during the day—sometimes with Wrath right across the hall in the other chamber.

Wrath had been a real recluse before meeting her. He’d fought alone, slept alone, and most certainly had nothing to do with the whole throne thing: Until he’d mated her, he’d refused to rule.

She couldn’t count the number of times people had thanked her for