Chapter 28 The Night of the Unspoken
POV Liam:
I’m woken up by my phone ringing nonstop. I fumble for it on the nightstand and grab it without checking the screen. Only three people on this planet would ever call me after eleven at night—and those people are my idiot brothers. They call, dump whatever shitstorm they’ve created on me, and then ask for help cleaning it up. Not necessarily in that order.
Once, Noah called to tell me he was about to do something stupid and wanted me on standby for when he’d inevitably need my help.
“Which one of you idiots is it, and what kind of shit went down this time?” I mumble, my voice thick with sleep.
“Liam, it’s me. I need you.”
I shoot up in bed, switching on the lamp.
It’s true—only my brothers ever call after eleven. And Damian has only called me once at this hour before. For him to do it again… something serious must’ve happened. I glance at the phone screen. It’s past midnight. Yeah, definitely serious.
“Get the guest room ready. I’m bringing someone home.”
I let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“I was sleeping, and you wake me up to tell me a joke? We don’t bring anyone into this house, Damian. You know how methodical we are about that.”
“Liam, I’m serious. I need you.”
There’s something in his voice—an edge, almost desperate—that makes me sigh and agree.
“All right, we’ll talk about this later,” I warn. “I’ll go get the room ready.”
“See you soon. Thanks.”
He hangs up, and I get up to do as I’m told.
...
An hour later, Damian walks through the front door with a woman in his arms. I freeze, trying to read his expression, to guess what the hell could’ve happened for my brother to show up like this—with a woman, no less. But when I recognize her—her head resting against his chest, fast asleep—I just stare at him, speechless.
“That’s…”
“Yes. And keep your voice down,” he growls softly. “I don’t want to wake her. She cried the whole way here. She just fell asleep.”
Confusion doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling watching Damian—my cold, detached, iron-willed brother—acting so goddamn protective.
He climbs the stairs with Miss Monroe still in his arms. Instead of waiting for him to come back down so I can demand an explanation, I follow him. I take care to stay quiet as I trail behind, reaching the top just as he stops by the guest room. I open the door for him.
Damian walks in and gently lays her down on the bed. I frown when he leans down and kisses her forehead. Crossing my arms, I stand silently, watching. Then he disappears into the bathroom and comes back a moment later holding a towel.
“What do you need that for?” I whisper, my curiosity finally breaking through.
“I want to clean her face. She threw up. Grab another towel and help me clean her knees and hands, please.”
I raise my eyebrows and follow his gaze. Her knees are scraped, the wounds still red with dried blood. Without another word, I go into the bathroom and grab a second towel.
I kneel beside her, wiping her knees carefully, avoiding causing her any pain. When I notice faint scars running up her legs, a knot forms in my stomach. I want to ask Damian if he knows anything about them, but I decide to save the conversation for later. She needs peace, not our questions.
When I finish, I take off her shoes and set them beside the bed. Damian gives me a look, and I shrug.
“She’ll be more comfortable without them,” I explain.
I return to my task, gently cleaning her legs. It doesn’t take long, but seeing those scars makes something stir in me—a protective instinct I didn’t expect. Now I understand why Damian’s helping her.
I wet the towel again in the bathroom sink and come back to clean her arms. The palms of her hands are raw and scraped too. I glance at my brother, who’s still sitting at her side, his hand resting softly against her cheek.
When I’m done, I lean against the doorframe, watching him stroke her face.
“Everything’s going to be fine, baby. We’ll help you,” he murmurs to her, pressing another kiss to her forehead before standing up.
I wait for him in the hallway. The moment he closes the door, I pull him into my room. Time for answers.
After he gave her that million-dollar check, I never thought Damian would bring the woman to our house. Miss Monroe is clearly far more important than he’s willing to admit.
“What’s going on?” I ask bluntly. “Are you two together?”
“Her father threw her out,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair. “He humiliated her in front of a crowd, said awful things about her. I couldn’t leave her out there with nowhere to go.”
“Start from the beginning, Damian,” I tell him, sitting on the edge of the bed.
My brother tells me everything—since the moment he stepped foot in Ann Arbor. I listen silently, realizing just how deep he’s fallen for the woman he keeps calling the petulant one.
He’s completely fucked—and he doesn’t even know it yet.