by H. M. Ward
Bryan whispers, “The computer is over there.” He points a remote at the far wall and the wainscoting slides away to reveal a long granite countertop with twin computers. The screensaver on both sleeping computers is a picture of Constance seated in an antique chair wearing a red ballgown by the fireplace. That white bear is at her side with a scarlet collar. It’s formal. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying. And it’s trying to domesticate Constance and her pet like it’s a normal picture of Grandma and her pet.
I start giggling. I can’t help it. One of the babies rouses and Bryan ushers me into another room off the nursery.
Chapter 8
Bryan flicks on the lights and deposits me at the table. Ah, the kitchen. When the door closes, he asks, “What would you like? I’ll make it for you?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Listen, you want to know what happened and I’m here. Egg sandwich? Bacon?” Bryan holds a frying pan in his left hand. His green gaze is earnest.
“Okay. Thanks.” I’ll take someone cooking me food. I think I forgot to eat today. I’m ravenous. I move our conversation back to the taboo. “So what happened to you? Zombie? Lazarus complex? Because I remember you getting super shot and being very dead.”
He shrugs as he cracks eggs directly into the pan. “Something like that. I walked in front of the bullet. I did that part.”
“It didn’t kill you?”
“Unfortunately, no.” He doesn’t offer anything else, but there’s more to the story or he wouldn’t be standing here. I want all of it. It involved my crazy family, so I need to know.
There’s a span of silence so I press, “So what happened?”
Bryan busies himself so he doesn’t have to look at me during this conversation. After a moment, he opens his mouth, closes it again. Nods like he’s listening to music, and then shakes his head. “There’s no good way to say it, Avery. First, you must understand that life is weird. I realized that when I woke up in the body bag on the way to the morgue. Aunt Connie found out—like she does—and rerouted them to a private residence that had a state-of-the-art medical facility. When it comes to Aunt Connie and why she has anything, I don’t ask. It’s better that way.”
“Agreed. Go on.” I lift my hand as he glances over his shoulder at me before reaching for the basket of eggs. They look like they came from a farmer. He cracks a few and whips in some cream.
Bryan continues, “They stabilized me and then I was taken to Aunt Connie’s childhood home in the middle of the ocean until I healed.”
“But—?”
He holds up a finger without looking at me. “That’s not the weird part. Hold on a sec.”
“Waking up in a body bag wasn’t the weird part?” That’s shocking.
Bryan shakes his head as he shifts the eggs around in the hot pan. “Not by a long shot. So, when I finally realize I’m not dead, that I’m at Aunt Connie’s childhood home, there’s only one woman there. The caretaker—Gina. She obviously had some crazy story I was never told, but she helped me get better, heal from the shot. As that was going on, a wealthy American based medical company bought this tiny island nearby. Mind you, I had no idea where I was. I’m still not entirely sure.”
For a moment all I can do is blink. I don’t know which question to ask first. So I just take a stab. “Why would they buy an island?”
“Ha. One of the questions I can actually answer for you. They do it to get beyond the reach of U.S. law. To run their medicine the way they wanted. It was a cancer treatment facility that recently came into enough funding to move their entire lab and all its employees to this tiny island outside the United States.”
“Hmm.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “I wonder who paid for that?”
“Constance. No doubt.” Bryan lifts the lid on a box and pulls out a fresh loaf of bread. It looks homemade. He slices off two pieces and places them into a toaster and presses the button. Then stirs the eggs.
“None at all.” I agree. “The walls are gold. Go on. State of the art medicine with no oversight. Did they have any monkey outbreaks?”
“No. They were able to do things that they could not do here. It’s not uncommon for a company to have its main research facility in a country that allows for better research. And I’m not talking animal hosts versus human. I mean treatments that are so off label here that doctors can’t mention them. Long story short, I received a few controversial treatments. Then some of the normal chemo crap, and here I am.”
“And the cancer?”
“Still there, but dormant. Gives me a bitching headache at times, but I’m alive.” He hands me a plate with eggs, toast, and bacon. Then sits across from me and folds his arms over the tabletop. “I just wish I didn’t miss all that time with Hallie.”
I nod slowly as I make my eggs, toast, and bacon into a sandwich. There’s something he either just found out or doesn’t yet know. “Have you spoken to Hallie?”
His lips part and there’s such a sadness there, that I know he hasn’t. “What am I supposed to say?”
I poke around, hoping he’ll say something if he knows he has a son. “I suggest ‘Honey, don’t freak out.’”
“I can’t.” His voice is clipped, like he wants to say more but has no words.
I stand, grab a glass, and open the fridge to grab some juice. As I pour the orange liquid in the tumbler, I offer, “If this scenario happened to Sean, I would want to know.”
When I sit back down, he asks, “But what if she’s moved on?”
“What if she hasn’t? It’s only been a few years.”
His heart is on his face at that moment and it’s broken. Pain is etched in his featured, in the dullness of his eyes and the way his lips sag from hopelessness. “Even if I wanted to tell her, I don’t know where she’s gone.”
“Constance knows.” I eye him, wondering if I should tell him that my babies have a cousin. But then Sean and his mother will have another falling. “Ask your aunt. But don’t say anything about me.”
I take a few bites of my sandwich. It tastes amazing. A moment later, Bryan shakes his head and places his hands down on the table. “Nah. Too much time has passed. I left things very poorly with her. I can’t do that to her again.”
“So, don’t.” There’s food in my mouth, but I don’t care. He needs to hear it. “She was the love of your life. I’m pretty sure you only get one of those.”
He points to his head, to the cancer. “This could come back.”
“And I could get blown up in another mansion this week. So? Life’s a risk. You can’t hide from it. Besides, you should really talk to her.” Super hint. Take the freaking hint. Our gazes are locked in a challenge.
“You know something about her. Tell me.” There’s the Ferro cockiness. The demand. I’ve got him and I know it.
Without looking away, I lie to his face. I shake my head. “I don’t know a thing. Except that love is rare and you shouldn’t waste your chance.”
“I broke her heart. More than once.”
“So mend it.”
“I abandoned her.”
“No, you died. And some chick named Gina—that Constance probably kidnapped—brought you back to life. When did you get back anyway?” A private island home that no one knows about. Secret medical facilities that put his cancer into remission. I want to ask what they did. If they removed the tumor. Shrunk it or what. There’s no scar on his head, but he has very, very short hair.
“Yesterday. I finished the chemo a couple of weeks ago. Left the island on a staff jet, and headed back here to find Aunt Connie. My mother thinks I’m dead. They all do.”
“Right. Well, everyone except the asshole who sent that letter.”
“Yeah. Him. I’ve been thinking about that. That was a Ferro funded cancer facility, so I doubt they said anything unless there’s a mole. And Gina is still on the island and has an obvious loyalty to the Ferro family—no idea why. I can’t see who knows about me to even suggest it. Years passed, Avery.
The only reason I walked into the hospital was to convince you to leave. Aunt Connie thought you’d refuse.”
“I would have.” I polish my plate before we continue speaking. “So, the letter—the threat to my boy—is either fake or we’re missing someone. Where’s Jos?” His twin disappeared a while back and no one has heard from her.
He shrugs. “Off the grid. Aunt Connie can’t find her.”
I nod slowly, then pick up my plate and walk it over to the sink. As I put down my dishes, my back is to him. I repeat, “You need to talk to Hallie.” But the way the words hang in the air, I know he won’t.
Chapter 9
The next few days pass in a blur. My circadian rhythm has gone insane and sleep comes at weird times and I find myself falling asleep on the soft chaise in the new solarium—which is totally a Turkish bath—with an unnamed baby in my arms. I look down at his face and see a tiny version of Sean. He has the Ferro chin that emanates pride. When he’s awake, those intense blue eyes lock on mine. It feels like he has the answers to millions of questions that I never thought to ask. He’s a little sage, all saddled in blue, and snuggled up against my aching breasts, listening to the sound of water slip over the stone and splash in the pool beneath. Each rock was hand carved so the water sounds more like music than the heavy weight of smashing waterfalls.
“What are we going to name you?” I unwrap him from his blanket as he wakes up, sapphire eyes locked on mine. He’s wearing a cornflower blue onesie that says BIG BROTHER. By less than two minutes. And this is the child that was threatened. The one nowhere near having a name. Sean won’t hear of having a namesake. Constance practically demanded variations of her name for both children, which isn’t happening. I finally said I wanted to get to know them first, before naming them. A name is a big deal. It sticks with you your entire life. It dictates what others think of you and eventually what you become. Avery reeked of stubbornness, intellect, and more stubbornness. My parents could have named me Wise Ass and I’d have grown into the same person.
I hold baby no-name up in my arms and do a baby bench press, lowering his tiny nose to mine. “Alexander?” His nose crinkles. “No, I didn’t like that one either. What about Arthur?”
“Really?” Sean is standing across the room, watching us from behind a Greek column of carved white marble with beautiful corbels anchoring the thing to the ceiling. Or maybe it’s holding up the roof. I’m not an architect but I love this room. It’s blue, teal, turquoise, and white. The effect is a calming force of glass tile, marble, and stone. Add in the little pools scattered across the floor like puddles—some hot, some cold—and it’s heaven.
I lower the baby and cradle him in my arms. “I love the name Sean.”
“It’s not going to happen.” He pushes off the stone column and strides toward me. Those dark jeans hug his narrow hips. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with the front unbuttoned. It flutters as he moves toward me.
“Did the baby spit up on you again?” I smile at him and gesture towards the fresh shirt.
“Maybe.” He stops at the edge of my chaise, even though there are a bunch of empty places to sit around the room.
“You bounced her after she ate, again, didn’t you?”
He grins. “Only a little. I thought she was going to smile. Then she puked on me. My mistake. I never thought I’d confuse the two.”
I pat the spot on the edge of the chaise for Sean. He pulls his shirt off, tosses it on a table, and slips his hips in that spot and then leans back, turning to face me and the baby. After Sean settles, I reposition the baby between us, so that he’s in the middle. His round little face is wide awake. For a moment he fixates on Sean and his chubby fist rises. Sean offers him a finger. The baby wraps his digits around the offering and squeezes. Sean looks elated.
“No one will hurt him. I’m going to make sure it never happens.”
“Like you did with Bryan?” I prod, upset he never confided that piece of information in me. “Did you think I’d tell?”
“No. That wasn’t it. I trust you with my life, but it wasn’t my call. Bryan thought he was a dead man walking. He was. Getting shot was a better death than the one looming. I didn’t know he’d do that and save me that night. I owed him. He made me promise to keep it quiet. Even if he survived the bullet, which would be a miracle, the cancer would still kill him. He wanted to die.” Sean’s face crumples. “There was nothing I could do to help him. And I judged the hell out of him all these years. I knew he was high all the time. I judged him without knowing why. It was cruel. I don’t want to be that man, so I made up for it where I could and when he asked me to keep it quiet, I did. There was no point in putting Hallie through a second death for the man. Besides, it was his dying wish and I was a bastard to him.”
“It had nothing to do with me.” It’s not a question. It’s a realization. Bryan never thought he’d step foot in New York again. Yet, here he is. “Why now?”
“The family was threatened. He came to sort it out. Help. And then he’s going to Hallie.”
“Sean, what if she hears about him before—”
“Hallie is off the grid.”
“How do you know?” I pause for a second and tip my head at him. “You’ve been tracking her all this time? Some would say that’s creepy.”
“Some would say ‘thank you.’”
I smirk at him as I run the pad of my finger along the baby’s chubby cheek. He’s so fat and cute! “We’ll see what Hallie says. I’ve said my peace. But it seems like he doesn’t know he’s a dad. I would have thought he’d be excited about meeting his daughter.”
“He doesn’t know.”
I make a high pitched noise that’s somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “You’re not telling him.”
“Its not my place. Hallie will tell him.”
“What if she married? What if she’s with someone?”
“She’s not.”
“You’re sure?” Like a thousand million percent?”
Sean gives me a trademark cocky grin. “You doubt me? I’m hurt, Mrs. Ferro.”
“Not yet. I’m still Miss Smith, Mr. Jones.” I lean in close and kiss his lips. “Let’s talk wedding stuff once we name the kids and make sure our son is safe.”
Sean has a sheepish look on his face. “Of course.”
The ease with which he says it makes me ask, “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” He’s hiding a smirk.
“You bought something. What? We already have a castle.”
“I may have reserved a wedding date at a certain locale that would be amazing. But, we don’t need to talk about it.”
“Sean.”
“If we don’t start planning something, my mother will plan everything. I could book The Game Farm and it’ll be enough to hold her off. For a little bit.”
I blink at him. Shocked. “You booked The Game Farm for our wedding?”
“It’s quite pretty at night. With all the lights and animals. You could ride in on the train…” his voice trails off and I can’t tell if he’s serious.
I smile and nod. “Sounds great.” Better than the nightmare with the courthouse and the bloody dress.
“What’s the matter?” His teasing softens, as does his expression. “I booked someplace equally unique, but not there. Not for us. But that’s not what’s been keeping you awake, is it?” Sean takes a curl that’s broken free from my long braid and tucks it behind my ear. The baby wriggles between us.
I stare at the little one, tracing the lines of his face with my finger, as I speak. “I keep having this dream. The same thing happens every time.”
“Tell me about it.” He’s not demanding but offering his confidence.
Maye if I say it out loud, the nightmares will stop. “There’s nothing but panic racing through my veins. When I get to the nursery, there’s only one baby. Then I’m running and I realize I’m in my wedding gown and the lace is stained with scarlet blood that’s quickly drying. I leave the one baby in th
e nursery and frantically search for the other—who I keep calling Abby so we’re not using that name—until I’m hauled up the steps of the courthouse and—” my throat tightens as I confess this reoccurring terrifying dream.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were still having bad dreams?” His hand is on my face, cradling my cheek. He has the other on our son’s tummy to soothe his wriggling. Sean rubs the baby’s belly and then returns his gaze to mine when I don’t respond. “Avery, you’ve been through a lot—”
“So have you and I don’t see you waking up at night in a sweaty panic.”
“It’s because I don’t sleep.”
“Yes, you do. I saw you. You lay down and fall asleep so fast. It almost makes me jealous.”
“I pass out. And I dream about everything from Pete pummeling that asshole, to Bryan getting shot, to finding the pilot dead on the floor and thinking I’d lost you too.”
I look away because there’s so much pain in him. “How do you handle it? I mean, now that I took away your main vent?”
He laughs. “Black’s girls?” I nod. “I was full of shit back then. I didn’t know my ass from my elbow. Do you want to know what stabilized me? What made it possible to get through that time and this one? What makes me certain sleep will eventually be restful again?”
I nod. “No.”
“It’s you.”
“Me?” Shock fills my features. “I’m a train wreck. How is that helpful?”
“Yes. You.” His expression softens and has a smitten quality. “You have this way about you. An internal clock or something like it that dictates when you do what and how you do it. You just seem to know. It was you. I knew I could pull my shit together because of you. I knew I could leave the monster behind because you never became one, no matter how hard you tried.”
My voice is small. “I’ve killed people.”
“So have I. We did what we had to do to live. And look at him. You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t protect him now. Regardless of the cost to you? Nightmares or not.”
