Guardians (Seers Trilogy) (18 page)

Grandma seemed to be suffering from the same problem.

Toni coughed loudly. “Hate to draw attention to myself in this
highly
awkward moment, but I feel the need to remind everyone that this isn’t a freaking soap opera, and that we aren’t exactly in a private place.”

Grandma’s jaw locked. She looked purposefully away from Patrick and clutched my hand tightly. “Come on, Kate. I’m taking you home.”

“But—”

She tugged, grip tightening. “
Now
Kate.”

I craned around so I could see Patrick. His eyes were hooded, his skin tinged with gray. He didn’t hold my gaze, and his voice sounded oddly parched. “It’s all right. Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Yes,” Grandma snapped before I could form an answer. “
Behind
. Sounds like your usual place lately.”

“Stop it, please,” I whimpered.

Patrick’s voice wavered but had a bit more power than before. “Charlotte, let’s get Kate home. Once she’s resting, we can continue this.”

They’d carry this conversation on later? Without me there to referee? No
way
was I letting that go down. “But—”

Grandma’s head bobbed. “Agreed,” she told him.

“
What
?” I spluttered.

Patrick’s hand was on my shoulder. He was finally meeting my eye. “Kate. Go. Really. You need to rest.”

“You’ll come to the house?” I asked for reassurance.

He nodded. “I promise.” He looked over my head, past Grandma. “Toni, come on.”

Grandma pulled on my arm, and I slowly followed her to the van. As Toni slunk past us I could just pick up his whisper to Patrick.

“I’m sorry, man. She wouldn’t let me take the van alone. And I’m never letting her drive me again—just because I’m immortal doesn’t mean I can’t get scared to death . . .”

Grandma released her grip on me and I rounded the hood, glancing over my shoulder to see Patrick watching me, clearly ignoring his partner. I sighed and climbed into the van.

As soon as my seat belt was on Grandma spoke. “Are you all right? Did they give you stitches? I saw that crushed mirror at the school, and . . .”

“Six stitches. I’m fine.”

“Do we need to stop somewhere and pick up a prescription?”

“No.” I suddenly felt exhausted.

We didn’t speak again until we’d pulled into the garage, but the gentle hum of the drive had almost lulled me to sleep by the time she shut off the van. I straightened in my seat and watched Patrick in the side mirror as he eased the Altima into the driveway behind us.

“Grandma, please don’t yell at him,” I whispered.

“Don’t worry about that,” she replied gruffly, opening her door.

I pushed open my own door and Patrick was there to catch it. He helped lower me out, one arm flexed firmly around my waist for support. He helped me into the house, Grandma just in front of us, Toni trailing behind. Grandma opened doors and led the way up to my bedroom; she even pulled down my blankets for me. “I’ll get you some Tylenol,” she murmured roughly.

She trod out of the room toward the bathroom, and Patrick held my arm protectively as I sat down. I noticed Toni hadn’t followed us up.

I reached toward my head with one scraped-up hand, searching for the elastic that held my somewhat askew ponytail. My arm was heavier than I thought, though, and I could barely lift it past my shoulder.

“What do you need?” he whispered, concerned with my feeble movements.

“My ponytail,” I muttered, allowing my hand to fall to my lap. “It’s driving me crazy.”

He responded immediately, his fingertips brushing fleetingly against my scalp as he carefully uncurled the elastic from my hair. He was just running his fingers against the freed locks when Grandma came back inside carrying a glass of water and a couple small tablets. She handed them to me and then turned to face Patrick.

“Would you please wait for me in the family room?” Her deep voice brooked no arguments.

He bowed his head respectfully. “Of course.” He waited until I finished swallowing my pills, then he bent to press his lips to my forehead. “I’ll be right downstairs,” he breathed.

I reached for his hand, and once it was in my grip I gently kissed his fingertips. I spoke against his skin, my voice tired but sincere. “Thank you.”

Grandma cleared her throat and Patrick obediently pulled free of my hand. He glanced over at my grandmother, and then he moved for the door. He was in the doorway when I called softly, “Patrick?”

He paused, looking over his shoulder with one hand caught on the door’s frame. “Yes?”

I had so many things I wanted to say. I settled for a simple, “I love you.”

He swallowed hard, returned the sentiment quietly, then he was gone.

Grandma closed the door behind him, emotions fighting for dominance in her eyes and aura. It was easy to see she was trying to force back any compassion so she could maintain her strict anger. She helped me change into something more comfortable and then tucked me carefully into my bed. “Call if you need me,” she said gruffly. “I’ll be up to check on you in a while.”

“Thanks, Grandma.”

She almost seemed surprised by my words, after our silent drive. “Just get some sleep, all right?” she said at last.

I blinked heavily. It was amazing how tired I was. Still, there was something important I needed to convey before I slipped into unconsciousness. “Please don’t yell at him anymore. Please don’t blame him for things he didn’t even do.”

She patted my quilt around me. “Never mind about that.”

“He’s already blaming himself more than enough. For everything. Even for what happened to Grandpa . . .”

“Don’t worry about it, Kate,” she repeated firmly.

She closed the door when she left, and that’s when I knew without a doubt that she was on her way to chew him out. I wanted more than anything to get up and defend him, but now that I was lying in my cool bedroom—feeling completely safe, the world no longer spinning, the adrenaline no longer pumping, no longer forced to keep my eyes open—I didn’t have the energy to move.

Sleep came fast.

I
woke up to
a throbbing headache. The medicine had worn off, which told me I’d been asleep for a couple hours at least, though it felt like I’d hardly slept at all. I squinted at the clock on my bedside, finding it was already 2:07 p.m. Later than I’d first realized.

“Ah! You’re not dead, then,” a cheerful voice called from across the room.

I stared past my feet to see Toni, watching me from the chair at my desk. He’d been doing something on my laptop, but now that he saw I was awake he was plucking out his earbuds and swiveling around to face me.

My voice was dry. “Toni? What are you doing in my room?”

He shrugged. “Watching you sleep. I
enjoy
watching you sleep . . . Isn’t that what that one vampire dude says in that one book about that one girl?”

“Huh?”

He went back to answering my original question. “I’m making sure you don’t slip into a coma or stop breathing. I know—talk about overprotective. But you’ve been asleep for a long time. You were making some people anxious.” He suddenly grinned. “And can I just say, I had no idea your head was such a weapon. That dude’s mirror was completely smashed! We should have trained you with some nice head-butting to work up your skill set.”

I rubbed at my eyes, more grateful for his humor than I let on. It was a lot better than the serious edge everyone else seemed to be using today. “Do you think you could go get me some more Tylenol?”

He stood at once. “Sure. But you probably should eat something too. Anything sound good?”

“Not really.”

“Sweet. I’ll bring you something random, and you can’t be disappointed.”

He walked toward my door, but before he could make it there I called him back. “Is Patrick still downstairs?”

He hesitated. “Will you be mad if I say no?”

“Only if you’re lying.” But the disappointment was clear in my tone.

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “He’s actually at the warehouse, packing.”

“Packing!” I immediately regretted my raised voice, and the instinctive lurch of my pained head as I pushed myself up into a weak sitting position.

He held out his hands, palms out, urging me to stay calm and remain leaning up against the headboard. “Whoa! Let’s not blow a single word out of proportion. He’s not packing,
packing
, he’s
packing,
packing. As in, he’s moving, not leaving.”

“Moving? Where?” Surely Grandma wouldn’t have said anything that would drive him to something this drastic?

“You know your dad’s old den? That’s where he’s moving.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Patrick’s moving into my house?”

He nodded easily. “Your house, our house . . . which happens to be in the middle of the street . . .”

“
Why
is he moving in?” I overrode his attempt at humor.

“Seriously? You didn’t get that line? You know, from that song—?”

“Toni, please!”

I must have looked really pathetic, because he actually listened to me. “Well, you were there for the parking lot scene, and the home version was marginally worse. I mean, like,
really
worse. I now know where Josie gets her impressive set of lungs. Wow, your grandmother freaks me out sometimes.”

I cringed. “Was it that bad?”

Toni grimaced. “You saw the preview—just envision that but more intense. Your Grandma was obviously letting a lot of pent-up emotions explode out of her and rip into him, poor guy. He was taking it in that really humble way of his too. Up until the point she started accusing him of not really caring about you.”

“She
what
?” I gasped.

He nodded sincerely. “You better believe it. I’m probably not supposed to be telling you this . . .” He shrugged and continued. “But anyway, she accused him of caring more about his own feelings than worrying about you and yours. That’s when he found his voice. And—honestly, I can’t believe you slept through all this!—they’ve reached a pretty delicate understanding, but I wouldn’t recommend being alone in a room with them for a while. Tylenol?”

I groaned. “If she’s so mad at him, why is she letting him move in?”

“Because in the end they both want the same thing: your safety. Patrick’s convinced Demons are going to start jumping out of thin air now. He wants to be as close as possible.”

“What about the twins?”

“They never go in your dad’s den. That’s what dear Grandma said.” He shrugged. “I spend most my days there without a problem.”

“But you’re invisible.”

“As Patrick will be,” he reminded me, his tone carrying the opinion that maybe my head had been damaged more extensively than previously thought.

I frowned. “I’m used to having you invisible. But Patrick . . . how can I pretend he’s not there?”

“Are you saying I’m easy to ignore?” He actually looked offended.

“It’s different,” I hedged.

“That was a cop-out if I ever heard one.” He grunted once. “Right, well, I’m going to go get your drugs—I used to be pretty good at that, once upon a time . . .”

I rolled my eyes as he left and put a steadying hand to my forehead. After watching Grandma verbally beat Patrick at the hospital, it was far too easy to imagine the escalated argument she’d carried on at home. But Patrick raising his voice at her? Inconceivable. Sure, they’d both been under a considerable amount of stress, but . . . I couldn’t imagine him yelling at her. Couldn’t imagine him yelling, period.

Grandma was the one to bring in a tray with some applesauce, a glass of water, and my medicine. She set it on the end table, pushing back the clock and clutter that dominated the surface before finally meeting my gaze. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked meaningfully.

I answered honestly. “My head hurts. But I feel more alert.”

“Good. Toni said you’re not very hungry.”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Nothing sounds very good.”

“Well, I want you to eat this. I’m making some homemade chicken noodle soup—none of that wimpy canned stuff. It should be done soon, and I’ll bring some up.”

“Thank you, Grandma.”

The skin around her eyes relaxed a little. “You’re welcome, dear.” She picked up the bowl of applesauce and an accompanying spoon, handing them to me with simple instructions: “Eat.”

She wouldn’t let me take the medicine until I had something in my stomach, so that alone encouraged me to swallow some applesauce. When she was finally satisfied, she handed me the pills, which I took gratefully with some water. Once they were washed down Grandma took the glass and set it aside.

I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of their argument, but I needed to know the things she’d said to him—if for no other reason than to help belay any doubts she may have instilled in him.

I decided to start with something simple. “Toni said Patrick’s moving in.”

She brushed a hand over my blankets, trying to get rid of imaginary lint. “Yes. He seems to think it’s the safest thing for you.”

“I already have a nightly guard,” I said cautiously, seeing in her aura that these emotions were still dangerously close to the surface.

“I’m well aware of that,” she fairly sniffed, still more interested in my bed than me. “But he doesn’t seem to feel that’s good enough.”

I kept my voice quiet. “Grandma, did you really yell at him?”

Her eyes flashed up to mine, then narrowed. “Toni. Of course. That annoying little tattle . . .” She sighed. “I don’t want you worrying about that.”

“What did you say to him?” I asked softly.

The muscles in her jaw worked briefly. Her voice was rough. “Things I probably shouldn’t have. But what’s done is done. I just don’t understand how your grandfather managed to . . .” She swallowed hard. “Well, I just don’t know how to handle all of this strange, supernatural business.”

I reached for her hand, squeezing her weathered fingers gently. “You’ve been doing a great job,” I assured her.

“I don’t know about that, but . . . I’ve been trying.” She hesitated shortly, shame filtering into her aura. “I should probably tell you I said some pretty harsh things to him. I didn’t really mean to speak the words; they just sort of . . . came out. Well, you saw. I was just so frightened . . .” She pulled her hand away suddenly. “Then again, you’ve been talking to Toni. You probably got the play by play.”