“Ready to go, kiddo?” I asked.
He jumped off the bed, a huge smile almost cracking his face in half. “Am I ever.”
I slung an arm around his shoulder and ruffled his hair. “Dr. Faussman is really happy with how you’re doing. He’s hoping that after a few more weeks of treatment, you might be able to go home.”
“To Canada?” Aiden asked excitedly, while Grams lifted her head and gave me a questioning look.
“Yep. To Canada. It means we’ll have to stay here for Christmas, but hopefully early in January, we can head home.”
“Awesome.” His grin widened. “Christ, I’ve missed my friends.”
“Wash out your mouth,” Grams said, waggling a finger in warning.
I caught his eye and winked. “Let’s go. I don’t know about you two, but I’m starved.”
We walked down the hallway toward the exit. As I pressed one hand on the door to open it, someone called my name. I turned around to see the administrator, Mrs. Schmid, gesturing to me.
“Miss Landry. I hoped I’d catch you. Do you have a moment?”
“Sure,” I said congenially. I turned back to Grams and Aiden. “You two grab a drink, and I’ll see what she wants.”
I headed back the way we’d come and followed Mrs. Schmid to her office. Taking a seat across from her desk, I smiled. “Dr. Faussman thinks we might be able to return to Canada in a few weeks.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Mrs. Schmid said. “We’ll miss seeing you around here, especially Aiden, but it’s better he’s at home where he has familiar things around him. It can’t have been easy for you these past few months.”
My eyes glazed over. At first, I’d had the best time of my life. With him. And then I heard what couldn’t be unheard, and that was that. Shit city from there on in. At least at home with my own possessions and comforts around me, I wouldn’t see Garen wherever I went.
Lies, lies, lies.
Of course I would. The man had burrowed into my head and my heart. There was no escape. I only had to close my eyes to see him, feel him. Want him desperately.
Conscious Mrs. Schmid was still waiting for an answer, I pasted on a fake smile and hoped she couldn’t tell it lacked sincerity. “We’ve loved living in Switzerland. I’ll miss the place terribly, but I am looking forward to going home, and I know Aiden is. He can’t wait to see all his friends.”
She nodded sagely. “Not an easy thing for a young boy to go through, but he’s handled it with aplomb.”
“He’s tough.”
She knitted her hands together and leaned forward. “I have something a little… delicate to discuss.” A trace of pink stained her cheeks. “I have left it as long as I can, but unfortunately, I have no option other than to raise it with you.”
I mirrored her posture, my gut swirling. She seemed uncomfortable and embarrassed. What the hell was going on? I bounced my legs up and down. “What is it?”
Her teeth nipped at her bottom lip, apprehension coming off her in waves. “Aiden’s last payment… well, it didn’t arrive.”
My pulse raced, and a numbness spread to my fingertips. Garen wouldn’t. Would he? No, he’d promised, promised to keep paying Aiden’s fees. And he had. The last two payments had gone through fine. Why would he suddenly renege on his pledge?
“There must be a mistake,” I said. “Can you check again?”
“There’s no mistake,” Mrs. Schmid replied, her face crimson now. Clearly the woman wasn’t used to conflict situations. This was a hospital where only the rich attended. A missed payment must be a rare thing indeed. “I called the bank in case there was a holdup at their end, but they assured me there wasn’t. The money has simply not been transferred by the other side.”
I almost questioned the bank and then remembered… Swiss banks don’t make mistakes.
“I’ll get right on it.”
A great ball of nausea put down roots in my stomach at the thought of having to call Garen and discuss this issue with him.
“I’d appreciate that,” she said. “I can give you a couple of days but…”
She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish the sentence. This was a private facility, a for-profit organization. Services had to be paid for, or they wouldn’t be delivered.
“I understand, Mrs. Schmid. Please don’t worry. I will get the money to you.”
If Garen had gone back on his pledge to continue to fund Aiden’s treatment here, then I’d have no choice other than to use the money he’d paid me for the studio. The majority of which I’d locked into a long-term savings account to increase the amount of interest earned. If I removed it now, I’d have to pay an exit fee, and that wouldn’t be cheap.
Goddamn you, Garen. You absolute bastard.
If he’d woken up one day pissed at some shitty business deal gone wrong and decided to pay me back for the way I rejected his pitiful apology by using my brother’s illness, I would take a scalpel to his fucking balls.
I said goodbye to Mrs. Schmid and returned to the waiting area where Grams and Aiden were drinking steaming mugs of cocoa. Grams gave me a look in the form of a raised eyebrow, but I shook my head slightly. Not right now. Later.
Aiden filled the silence on the way home, his excited chatter and vows to call all of his friends this evening somehow forcing my lips to smile when inside my anger built, a bubbling inferno ready to spew ash and lava the second I got Garen on the phone.
Hang on, Catriona. Wait and see what he says first.
Yeah, that’s what I’d do. I’d calmly tell him that the payment hadn’t arrived and wait for his response.
And if he’d withheld the payment on purpose, then I’d boil him alive.
Aiden shot straight upstairs the second we got back. As soon as he was out of sight, Grams folded her arms across her chest. “What did the administrator want?”
I blinked slowly and blew out a breath through pursed lips. “Garen didn’t send the last payment.”
Grams widened her eyes, then shook her head. “There has to be some mistake. He wouldn’t. Would he? There has to be a reason.”
I heaved a sigh. “Well, I’m about to find out.”
I trudged upstairs, entered my room, and took a seat by the window, I rummaged in my purse, eventually locating my phone where it had fallen from the slot where I normally kept it.
Five times I went to press the call button that would connect me to Garen. And five times I backed out. Just the thought of speaking to him sent me into a tizzy. Pulling the petals off that enormous bouquet of flowers and tearing up his letter—the one I never read—had been cathartic, but now I worried that if I heard his voice, I’d relent, and some of the anger boiling inside would wither and die.
I opened my mind and allowed the memory to form. The memory of that day weeks earlier when I’d stood outside his office and heard him denounce me to his friends. And then I replayed every single cruel word he’d uttered, from his admission that he’d lied when he’d told me I was his, to the offensive comment about the blow job I’d given him that night, and then how he’d further insulted me by saying he felt sorry for me.
I didn’t want his pity.
But I did need his generosity.
And that killed me. If it were my treatment he’d offered to pay for, I’d tell him where to shove it. But I couldn’t do that to Aiden.
Then again, I did have the money to pay for it now, especially if, as Dr. Faussman had alluded to, we only had another few weeks of hospital treatment. I could just suck up the penalty by withdrawing cash from the locked-in account and pay for it myself. It’d make a hell of a dent in money I’d hoped to retain to pay for any further therapy Aiden might need, now or in the future, but at least I’d keep my pride intact.
Yep, decision made.
But not before I’d called to tell him exactly what I thought of him.
I jabbed a finger at the screen, and a second later, the ringing tone sounded in my ear. I could barely breathe as I waited for him
to answer. I heard a click, and then his voicemail message.
You’ve reached Garen Gauthier. Leave a message.
I almost hung up. Almost. Especially when I realized it was the middle of the night in Vancouver, and the late hour was the probable cause for my call going to voicemail.
Screw it.
The man deserved to feel my rage, my anger, my betrayal. He deserved it to flay his skin and sear his heart—not that he had one. No, where his heart should be lay a black hole.
“It’s me. Catriona. I just wanted to call and say thanks. Thanks for dropping the payments on Aiden’s treatment without having the courtesy to tell me. Then again, why would you? This is you we’re talking about. You probably got bored. A bit like you did with me. Making three payments. Yeah, you managed that, but the fourth? Nope. Impossible. If payments were dates, right?” I snorted a laugh. “Well, don’t worry about it, okay. It’s all in hand. But you should know that I think you’re a vindictive asshole. I hope revenge tastes sweet. I hope it’s so sweet, all your teeth fall out. Have a nice life.”
Shaking, I hung up. I had no idea how much time passed as I sat there staring at my phone, half hoping, half dreading a call back.
None came. Not that hour, or later in the day when even the winter sun would have kissed the horizon on the west coast of Canada.
I hadn’t expected anything else. Not really.
Despite that, the pang in my heart wouldn’t go away.
Sometimes, being right sucked.
33
Garen
A shrill ringing jerked me awake from a deep sleep. I tried to open my eyes, but they refused to budge. I rubbed them, blinked rapidly, then squinted at the clock.
Three forty-seven a.m.
What the fuck?
The ringing stopped only to begin again immediately. I felt around for my phone. My chest tightened when, through blurred vision, I spotted the caller ID and the missed calls from my mother.
“Mom,” I rasped, my voice heavy with sleep. I struggled to sit up. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, Garen.” The worry in her tone pushed away the last remnants of drowsiness. “We’re at the Santa Ana hospital. It’s your father. They think he’s had a heart attack.” A sob broke from her throat. “His lips were blue.”
A tightness gripped my chest, my heart pounding painfully against my ribcage. My father was healthy as an ox. For Christ’s sake, he was only fifty-eight. Fit, a regular runner, not overweight.
“Is he alive?” I managed to croak.
Please say yes. Please say yes. I wasn’t ready to lose my old man. I loved the fucking bones of him.
“Yes,” she said, and a wave of relief left me lightheaded. “But they’re saying it was severe, Garen. They told me the next several hours are critical.”
“Hold tight, Mom. I’m on my way.”
I hung up the phone and dived out of bed. Grabbing a leather duffel bag, I began opening drawers and stuffing in the first items to hand. Boxers, socks, shirts, and pants. In the bathroom, I packed a toiletry bag and my electric razor, then threw it in the duffel bag alongside everything else.
I sped down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Within ten minutes I was on my way to the private airfield. I phoned Simon, my pilot, told him where we were headed, and he promised to have my plane fueled and ready to fly by the time I got there.
True to his word, as I slewed the car to a stop, he already had the steps of the plane down. I strode over, my face grim with worry.
“Thanks for this. Sorry about the early hour.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ve filed our flight plan and I have a take-off window for twenty minutes’ time.”
I jogged up the steps, Simon right behind me.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” he said with a sympathetic twist of his lips. “I’ll get you there fast as I can.”
“I know you will.”
My head spun as the plane taxied to our takeoff position, and as we soared into the air, I quickly composed an email to the ROGUES board telling them what had happened. Due to the time difference, everyone except Upton replied almost immediately telling—no, ordering—me to forget work and concentrate on being there for Dad and supporting Mom. They knew me too well, my workaholic reputation earned over many years, and evidenced by a follow-up email to Upton asking him to take care of some elements of the hotel build. We were at a crucial stage and on track to beat my original four-month target for the vast majority of the hotel to be complete. We were already taking bookings, our opening night planned for New Year’s Eve, a little over two weeks’ time. My final message went to James with a list of instructions of which meetings to cancel and which I wanted to go ahead, albeit over the phone or videocall rather than in person.
I dozed, sleeping only fitfully, and when we landed almost five hours later, I felt almost hungover, my legs wobbly, and a tremor in my hands wouldn’t let up. A car waited at the bottom of the steps ready to whisk me straight to the hospital. I called Mom, but it went to voicemail, so I left a brief message assuring her I’d be there soon. I saw I’d had a few other voicemails, but they’d have to wait. My primary concern right now was getting to Dad and being there to support Mom.
By the time I arrived at the main entrance to Santa Ana, more than six and a half hours had passed since Mom’s call. Striding through the reception area, I sent up a silent prayer that Dad was still alive. God, if he’d passed while I was in the air, it’d crush me. Fuck only knew what it’d do to Mom. My parents shared that one-of-a-kind connection that was rarer than a blue steak. I believed my wandering eye and unwillingness to consider a long-term relationship was due to the fact I didn’t believe lightning struck twice in the same family. The chances of finding someone who loved me and I loved in return so completely, like my parents did, was slim to none.
And like in the rest of my life, I refused to settle for second best.
My mind went to Catriona, but I slammed the door shut. That ship had sailed. And it wasn’t even a ship. More a dinghy, or a raft built with rotten wood that sank on the first wave that hit.
I gave my name and Dad’s to the nurse sitting behind the desk. She smiled kindly, tapped on a keyboard, then met my gaze.
“Room four twenty-two. On the fourth floor. The elevators are over there, right behind you.”
“Thank you.” I went to ask her if she knew his status, but it was unlikely. This was a large hospital. She wouldn’t know the condition of every patient here.
On Dad’s floor, another nurse sitting behind an identical, although smaller, desk, greeted me. I repeated my name, and she nodded and stood.
“I’ll take you to him. Your mom told us to expect you.”
“How is he?” I asked, then held my breath as I waited for her answer.
“He’s had a restful night. He’s not out of the woods yet, but his doctor is hopeful that, in time, he’ll make a full recovery.”
Air whooshed from my lungs, and I put out a hand to steady myself against the wall. “Oh, thank god.”
She opened the door to Dad’s hospital room. I’d barely gotten one foot inside before Mom leaped to her feet and threw herself into my arms.
“You’re here,” she said, hugging me tighter than her slight frame would indicate.
I kissed the top of her head, my gaze going to Dad. A pile of pillows was propped behind his head, and he had a tube in his arm and wires attached to his chest. His eyes were shut. If it weren’t for the medical paraphernalia, I’d assume he was completely healthy.
“How you holding up, Mom?”
She leaned back, her neck craned to look up at me. I got my height from my father. The top of Mom’s head barely reached my shoulder. “I’m better now that you’re here.”
A fist wrapped around my heart and squeezed, making it difficult to take a proper breath. I tried to see my parents as often as I could, but running a multi-national company with interests all over the globe, and living over five hours away by aircraft, ma
de dropping by for a cup of tea an impossibility. It was a miracle if I got to Montreal three times a year.
No more.
After this, I’d make the effort to visit them far more regularly.
Funny, wasn’t it, how it took the near-death of someone you adored for you to realize what was important.
Family.
Love.
Catriona.
No!
She’d made her feelings clear, and I couldn’t blame her. What I did, the lies I told, the things I said to her were unforgiveable. A bunch of flowers and a letter written from the heart weren’t enough. I’d destroyed the one thing in my life that hadn’t deserved it, and I’d have to live with the consequences.
I pulled up a chair and sat next to Mom. She held Dad’s hand, and I held hers. We discussed mundane things, but it was better than the crisp silence, interrupted on occasion by a gust of wind whistling through the windows. A couple of hours later, his little finger twitched, and then his eyes flickered open. He closed them again almost immediately, but there was no doubt he was coming around.
“Rayan.” Mom rose from her chair and loomed over him. “Rayan, it’s me, darling. Garen’s here. Can you open your eyes for us?”
“I’ll get the doctor,” I said, making for the door.
“No.”
Dad’s first word since I got here might have sounded little more than a croak, but regardless, he’d spoken. I peered over Mom’s shoulder. Dad’s gray eyes, so like my own, stared back at me, a clarity to them that sent a shot of hope ricocheting through me.
“Hey, old man.” I hit him with a grin. “Y’know, you could have just asked me to visit. No need to fake a heart attack to get me here.”
“Less of the old,” he rasped. “And fake my ass.”
And that was when I knew Dad was going to make it. I closed my eyes briefly as Mom pressed a kiss to Dad’s forehead.
“I thought I’d lost you. Oh, Rayan.”
A sob broke from her throat, and a lump crawled into mine. I swallowed it down. If I gave in to the emotions swirling within me, I wouldn’t be able to stop, and Mom needed my strength to bolster hers.
Entrapped: A Billionaire Romance (The ROGUES Series Book 3) Page 19
