“No.”
Jaeger comes next to me. “The decision is yours,” he says in a subdued voice. “We’ll get her to a private hospital once she leaves recovery. But I’m with Dad on this. Until she’s completely stable.”
“You’re not thinking clear right now,” Kiln tells me. “We won’t allow anyone to get—”
Glaring, I snarl a curse.
“Fuck, Sloane. We were out in the open. We didn’t think you’d be in any danger.”
“The shots were not for me, asshole. I was a bigger target than Georgie. If they’d wanted to hit me, they would have. They aimed for her.”
Kiln scrubs a hand over his face. “Sloane, we’ll talk to hospital administration. See if there’s a wing we can have cordoned off. Or a floor where security will be installed and have to clear anyone who is allowed onto it. She’s going to ICU. At least allow her that. Afterward, we’ll have her moved. Install whatever equipment is needed in a room at the house. Turn it into a fucking mini hospital. Whatever.”
Georgie’s phone buzzes. Processing Kiln’s suggestion, I don’t pick it up immediately. His own phone rings again and I sink into a chair, hanging my head into my hands, knowing nothing right now except someone shot my wife. “I’ll talk to Helen when she arrives,” I tell Dad and Jaeger, shocking my own damn self. But the woman has ice in her veins. She’ll be calm and collected, and know the best option.
I personally called Georgie’s grandmother and Cash, her half-brother, whom I’ve never met. I went through her phone and found his number, after a nurse delivered her phone to me, found in one of her pockets.
He convinced me to send Abby and Bryn to him, to have them under the protection of his club. Reluctantly, I agreed, after a short argument.
“I have bodyguards to watch over them.”
“Fire the motherfuckers,” he’d boomed. “They’re worth fuck-all if my sister’s fucking shot. What’ll happen next time?”
“There won’t be a next time,” I’d stressed.
“There shouldn’t have been a fucking this time.”
“Georgie already has issues with me. When she awakens and Bryn isn’t here, she’ll think I’ve taken her!”
“Whose fucking fault is that, motherfucker? It sure the fuck’s not mine. I don’t know why the fuck we’re even addressing this.”
“I thought you’d like to know about your sister, Cash. I’ve informed you.”
If he didn’t have such a loud fucking voice, I wouldn’t have heard him yell, “Fuck, wait a fucking minute.”
“What the fuck do you want?”
“How about an exchange? Abby and Bryn come here, and me and a few of my brothers go to you to provide protection for her?” That sounded reasonable. I’m not sure of her relationship with Cash, but she had him on speed dial, so I assume it is on level with the one she has with Josh. Also, Helen has trusted him with the secret of what she knows about Dad.
“Fine. How much will this cost me?”
He’d snorted. “Georgie is my little sister. There’s no charge. I warn you if there’s a threat to her and we’re there, we don’t ask questions. We shoot to kill. Case closed. Can you handle that?”
I answer without hesitation. “If it means protecting her, yes.”
That was almost six hours ago. Abby has already called to let me know she and the baby are safe at the compound and Bullard will touchdown in Houston shortly to pick up Georgie’s parents, her grandmother, and her other brother.
Georgie’s phone vibrates again, and I remember the unread message. I grimace at seeing Cassandra’s name, but I did tell Helen that bitch was welcome, although I’m not sure why I think Georgie being shot will make a difference to her.
I focus on the text.
I hope you can live with yourselves for throwing me away. Are you happy, Georgie? You have my blood on your hands.
I reread it three times. The more I do, the greater my anger. She’s handing Georgie the same bullshit now? BITCH!
I don’t know the meaning of her words and I don’t fucking care. If anyone has blood on their hands, it’s Cassandra, stained with her sins against Georgie.
“Sloane?”
“What?” I growl at Kiln’s call and shove the phone back into my pocket.
“Cassandra McCall was found…dead. She hung herself.”
The moment I open my eyes, I know I’m in a hospital again. The noise of monitors, the bitter taste of medicine, the sting of the IV, and the glare of fluorescent lights greet me. Voices hum in the background. Sloane, I think. And…Cash?
Whoever it is doesn’t realize I’m awake, so I focus better and look around, searching for my daughter. I don’t see her.
“Bryn?” I croak.
“Georgie?” Sloane responds hesitantly, at my side in an instant.
“That’s me,” I say weakly. “Where’s Bryn? Is she safe?”
“She’s with Abby.”
“Can you ask her to bring her to me?”
“They’re no longer in LA,” he says. “I’ve sent them to your brother’s MC.”
My brain struggles to understand, and I attempt to sit up, but the pain is too intense.
“I’m here in exchange,” Cash tells me from the foot of my bed.
“We thought it was safer,” Sloane explains. “As soon as you’re well enough to travel, we’ll go to her. If whoever shot you isn’t caught.”
Neither of them look right to me, and nerves get the best of me. “Are you sure she’s all right?” I ask suspiciously. “She isn’t hurt.”
Sloane exchanges a look with Cash, and my pulse thumps.
“Something’s wrong. Tell me.”
Josh walks in, and my alarm increases at his haggard appearance and red-rimmed eyes. “What’s the matter?” Tears are already in my eyes. It’s rare that something good happens to me. Even when it does, disaster follows right behind. “Where’s Bryn?”
“Georgie,” Sloane says gruffly, taking my hand into his. “Bryn is safe,” he insists. “It’s your mother.”
“Mom?” I echo in dread. One look at Josh blinking back tears and I know…I know she’s either dead or seriously hurt. “What about her? Where is she?”
“She committed suicide,” Josh tells me in a voice thick with tears.
A sound escapes me. It might be a sob or a gasp. I’m not sure. Disbelief rises in me and I shake my head. “No. Mom wouldn’t do that to herself. She…there’s no way Mom would harm herself. She’s too…too…This isn’t true.”
The last time I saw my mom I said horribly nasty things to her. Our divide had grown so great, I don’t know what I expected for our future. What I do understand is I expected to have years ahead of me to decide.
“It is,” Sloane tells me softly, squeezing my hand in sympathy.
I burst into tears. “How’s Dad? And Grandma?” Mom means everything to my grandmother. I can’t imagine the extent of her pain.
“A nurse is coming,” Sloane soothes though I don’t know what he means. That is until the woman walks in and checks my vital signs, before giving me a sedative that puts me out in minutes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I’m my father’s son. An unfeeling fucker, who cares not one way or the other about Cassandra’s suicide, other than to worry about the effect on Georgie’s recovery. Her mother’s death devastates her. My intention that she remain in the hospital and not attend the funeral leads to an argument between us. To keep her calm, I allow her to check herself out if she allows Bryn to stay in Hortensia. It’s a hard-won compromise, but Cash and Josh side with me, so she gives in.
She skypes with Abby and talks to Bryn three times a day, which helps. A week after her shooting, I escort Georgie into the church where her mother’s services are being held.
Reporters are amassed a small distance away. The story of my life and now a reality for Georgie, too. The family statement claims Cassandra’s death was due to a brief illness. Undoubtedly, Helen will throw her weight around so the truth won’t g
et out.
Georgie stops when we enter the sanctuary. Down the aisle, near the altar, is her mother’s closed casket. A huge bouquet of yellow roses adorn the gleaming mahogany. Bouquets and funereal wreaths surround the casket and line the floor.
Georgie turns, as if she intends to walk out, then faces forward again. Her shoulders shake and I wrap my arms around her, careful of her wounds.
“If you want to leave, we can. We’ll go to the cemetery and wait. Whatever you want, I’ll see that it happens.”
“Okay,” she murmurs.
Parnell stands and catches sight of us before going to Cassandra’s casket and touching it, ignoring Helen next to him until she whispers something in his ear. Whatever she tells him makes him hang his head and back away. Seeing her dad and grandmother return to their seats, Georgie squeezes my hand and I drop my arms from around her waist, allowing her to move forward, but staying close to her.
Before Georgie reaches her, Helen goes rigid. I already know she’s preparing to light into my wife, thanks to Cassandra’s text. Parnell senses the same thing. Instead of allowing Georgie to suffer her grandmother’s cruelty, he gets up again and takes his daughter’s hand.
Georgie falls against him. “I can’t believe Mom’s dead,” she sobs.
I want to grab her and tuck her away, so she’ll never have to face such grief or heartache again. She’s breaking my heart, though I don’t interfere when she and her dad go to the casket. They sob together, finally united in their grief.
Once Parnell releases Georgie, I don’t wait for him to lead her to a seat. There’s one space between him and Helen and another on the other side of him. For Josh, I suppose. On Helen’s left are several seats. Knowing Georgie won’t sit on the opposite side of the aisle on the first row, I seat myself next to Helen and situate Georgie beside me.
Helen glares at me, transferring it just beyond to Georgie. Staring at her mother’s coffin, she doesn’t notice. As organ music begins, I rub Georgie’s back. I paste a smile on my face and nod as someone brushes by, sidling an order. “If you can’t say anything nice to my wife, Helen, shut the fuck up.”
Her face flushes and she tears up, but she looks away and doesn’t acknowledge me or Georgie for the rest of the service.
At the gravesite, Helen stands alone. I’ve never seen her as she is now—almost human, mourning the loss of a daughter clearly beyond help. Her own selfishness led to her death. It doesn’t matter how I feel about any of these people—Parnell, Helen, or Josh—they have survivors’ guilt, worsened because of the argument they had with Cassandra. I don’t want to be here, but I refuse to let Georgie out of my sight. Based on conversations with Josh, I know Helen firmly believes she was the reason her daughter committed suicide.
As the minister finishes his graveside prayer, a bagpiper plays Amazing Grace. Sad, lonely chords for a dark day. The services finally end and Georgie glances over her shoulder, blinking back tears.
Taking her hand, I signal for Cash and Kiln. Cash and his five friends aren’t in suits, but full leathers. As we head to my car, they half-circle Georgie while Kiln, Pres, Jason, and two other men from my security detail do the same for me. Once we’re at the Aston, I guide Georgie into the passenger seat, before hurrying to my side and heading to Helen’s house for the private repast she has planned.
“Can you excuse us?” I interrupt Helen’s conversation, two hours later.
She narrows her eyes. “No,” she hisses, and returns to her circle of old biddies. They listen to her tearfully relay a story about her daughter, but don’t say a fucking thing about the way she’s treating Georgie.
“We do this in private, Helen. Or we do this here.” I’m not up for her bullshit.
Georgie hasn’t eaten and I think she has a low-grade fever. Her grandmother’s treatment is crushing. I have no clue why. Maybe, she’s under the same idiotic belief Helen might actually embrace her, as I was when I believed Cassandra would put aside her feelings for Georgie after her shooting. The trauma of the moment affected the reality of these bitches.
She wants to go straight from her grandmother’s house to the airport so we can get to Bryn, but that isn’t happening. I’ll deal with that argument at Abby’s condo.
“I’ve just lost my daughter, Mr. Mason,” Helen spits, her eyes bright with tears.
A tiny shred of sympathy hits me because I can relate to what she’s feeling. If it had to do with anyone else but Georgie, I’d back off. “I’m sorry for her death,” I say politely. “But you have a granddaughter who’s very much alive and who needs your comfort.”
Her mouth tightens and she draws herself up, catching people’s attention.
“I’d prefer—”
“You comfort her. That’s what she has you for. My hands are washed. Let me mourn my daughter in peace.”
Lost in her grief, Helen doesn’t realize she’s just bellowed those words to me. This is a calm, collected woman, who keeps family matters private.
From her seat on a wingback chair, Georgie shakes her head, her eyes wide with mortification. Dad narrows his eyes. Confronting a grieving old woman isn’t respectful. If I do it, we know what will happen, especially to my already tarnished reputation.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell her again. “An unexpected death in the family is never easy.” I glare at Dad, unable not to. He flushes and looks away. “But Georgie isn’t responsible for her mother’s death.” Cassandra did it as a fuck you to all of them, but especially my wife.
Helen got the same fucking text as Parnell, Josh, and Georgie. We’ve agreed to not show it to her until she’s a little stronger. The message sent to her phone has been deleted though I forwarded a copy to my mobile. This may be something Georgie never needs to know. I don’t know yet.
She pushes away from the women. “Cassandra was ill, Mr. Mason,” she hisses to me quietly. “Who in their right mind would take their own lives out of some sort of revenge?”
“It’s Georgie’s fault that her mother was sick?”
“It’s my fault for taking Georgiana’s side and flaunting it in Cassandra’s face.” Bowing her head, she starts to sob again. “I would never have left her…I never thought she’d hurt herself.”
This isn’t something that will be overcome in a day, or a month, or a year. Or a lifetime.
“Does it matter to you?” she snarls. “Did you care that much about my daughter that you’re comforting me?”
“No,” I say without hesitation and without flinching. “She was a miserable excuse for a mother, a sad excuse for a wife, and a pathetic excuse for a daughter.” Harsh words, I know, but honest.
The room is pin-drop silent. Helen’s shoulders shake at the force of her tears, and she covers her mouth. I glance at Georgie, who is white as a sheet. Cash has his hand on her shoulder and stares at me while Josh and Parnell hover near Helen.
“I hold you partly responsible, sir,” she tells me once she’s in control of herself.
“I’m sure you do, except I take none. So your words are meaningless to me. On the other hand, if you hold Georgie responsible it’ll break her heart, and she’s already been through enough. Tell her, her mother’s death isn’t on her shoulders and we’ll leave.” That’s all I want. It won’t take away Georgie’s grief, but it’ll lift some of her burden.
She huffs out a breath, but nods. “Georgiana,” she calls tonelessly.
Georgie’s steps are hesitant. She wears no makeup and her skin is flushed. When she stops in front of Helen, I stand directly behind her and encircle my arm around her waist.
“Georgiana,” Helen repeats and her mouth trembles. She stares at Georgie, then lays a hand against her cheek. “My beautiful, beautiful, Georgie,” she whispers. “Live your life with a clear conscience.” Her brows draw together, but she thumbs away Georgie’s tears, ignoring her own. “You did nothing but love your mother. I don’t blame you in the least. I admire your spirit, child. You’re my granddaughter and Mr. Mason’s wife. Hold your
head up and follow your heart.”
The vehemence of her words stuns me into speechlessness, as does her fierce embrace of Georgie. She sobs against her grandmother’s chest and Helen allows it, threading her fingers through Georgie’s hair and whispering to her.
When Helen and Georgie release one another, she allows me a small smile. As Georgie turns to me, I do the unthinkable—I hug Helen, too.
“Mr. Mason?” she calls, as I escort Georgie toward the entrance hall. Kiln and the others are already surrounding us. She lifts her chin. “Don’t get used to being in charge in our dealings.”
Even stricken with grief, Helen is a controlling, old bitch. Despite the solemnity of the room, I smirk at her and guide Georgie out.
It shocks me that we arrive at Abby’s place, instead of heading to the airport as I expected. Sloane leads me to the bedroom and immediately begins to undress me, his smoldering gaze entirely focused on each bit of skin he uncovers until I’m completely nude before him.
Breathing in deep, he stares at my bandages. I’ve kept any indication that I’m in pain at bay. I feel lousy and light-headed. My heart hurts, too. For Mom. For what was and what will never be. I still don’t know why she killed herself, other than Grandma saying she wasn’t happy with how her life turned out.
“I need to see to your bandages,” he tells me, his fingers gliding over my shoulder and down to my breast. My milk has just about dried up, but not completely. It disappoints me that I had to stop nursing Bryn prematurely, though it couldn’t be helped. “Do you need your pain pills?”
“Yes.”
He places his hand on my forehead. “I think you may have a fever.”
I smile at him and nuzzle his chest like a little puppy. “I’m fine.”
Sweeping me into his arms, he lays me on the bed, already turned down and revealing the sheets. “You’re a shit liar, Georgie.” He winces at the observation.
I lift up on my elbows, hissing at the pain but determined to kiss him and put his mind at ease. “Don’t think about anything,” I tell him softly. “You were under a lot of stress. You had no time to think about my loyalty to you.”
Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series Page 63
