Small-Town Redemption

by Andrews, Beth

  Kane stared down at Estelle, used his forefinger to hook a lock of hair that had fallen over her face and swept it back. In that one simple, incredibly gentle gesture, Char saw his love for her. Though she fought it, her heart softened, threatened to melt in her chest.

  “Dad asked me to go with them,” Kane said. He turned his head, his eyes not cool now, but sad. “To dinner. It was to be his last night in town.”

  “You didn’t want to go?”

  “My dad and I didn’t...don’t...get along. For the past fourteen years, I’ve done my best to avoid him. For the most part, he’s respected my decision—though every once in a while he tries to lure me back into the fold.”

  She knew he wasn’t close to his family, but she couldn’t imagine not wanting to spend time with either of her parents. “I’m sorry.” It was all she could think to say. “For both of you.”

  He grinned, but it lacked any warmth. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Red. The best thing I ever did, besides Estelle, was stay as far away from my family as possible. Especially my old man. He’s an adulterer. An arrogant, manipulative son of a bitch. But he’s still my father.”

  “And you’re worried about him.”

  “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted softly, his words stark, honest and so confused. She gripped his fingers below his cast. Silently letting him know she was there for him.

  After a moment, he curled his fingers around hers the best he could and held on tight.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE OLD MAN wasn’t dead.

  Senior was still alive, though not, at the moment, kicking.

  Kane couldn’t pretend he wasn’t relieved.

  The doctor said it was still touch and go. Which was why, after taking Estelle back to the apartment so she could get some sleep and take a shower, he’d come right back to the hospital. Had spent the whole night here, pacing or nodding off in one of the hard, uncomfortable chairs.

  It seemed every time he turned around, Charlotte was there, offering him coffee or the sandwich she’d packed for her own lunch. Offering him comfort. Giving him so much more, a sense of hope. Of peace.

  She was such a soft touch, he thought, unsure if he pitied or envied her. Even after she’d insisted there was nothing between them, no chance of there ever being anything between them, she was still kind and gracious. Unable to walk away when she thought he needed her.

  His steps echoing, he strode down the hospital hallway, turned the corner, then pushed the button to open the doors to the ICU.

  Charlotte might be right, and it unnerved him.

  He didn’t want to need her. Didn’t want to need anyone.

  He checked his phone. Three missed calls from his mother and an hour-old text from C.J. letting him know he and Oakes had landed in Pittsburgh.

  Tucking the phone back in his pocket, he passed the nurses’ station, nodded at the two women and one man behind the desk. No doubt his mother had heard about Senior’s condition and wanted an update. He’d call her when he ran back to his apartment to shower and change.

  Turning right, he spotted C.J. at the end of the hallway looking out the fourth-story window, his phone to his ear. Though he flew in on a red-eye and had come straight from the airport, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of the country club, his dark dress pants pressed, his white button-down shirt crisp, not a strand of hair out of place. He glanced over, saw Kane approach.

  “I’ll call you back,” he told the person on the other end of the phone and hung up. They sized each other up for a moment, then C.J. nodded. “They won’t let me see Dad.”

  “They’re getting him settled, want him to rest.” They’d been testing Senior, poking and prodding him most of the night.

  “I think we should transfer Dad back to Houston,” C.J. said.

  And so it started, his brother so much like their father, trying to control everything. “He’s on a ventilator,” Kane pointed out. “Do you really think moving him is in his best interest?”

  “What’s his doctor’s name? I want him paged.”

  There was no sense arguing with stubborn. “Her. You want her paged. Dr. Lamberson.”

  C.J. was heading toward the nurses’ station before Kane was even done talking. Kane caught up with him. “Where’s Oakes?”

  “He’s getting coffee.” C.J.’s mouth flattened. “With Carrie. And Mom.”

  Kane skid to a stop. “You brought Mom? You really are an idiot.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” he said tightly. “It’s not like I can ban her from buying an airplane ticket. You think you’ve had it tough being here all night? Try flying halfway across the country, trying to keep Dad’s first wife from ripping his current wife’s hair out.”

  Kane almost felt sorry for his brother. Their mother was a piece of work.

  “At least you had Oakes to keep the situation calm.” Their younger brother had a way of smoothing rugged waters.

  “All he had to do was keep buying Carrie drinks,” C.J. muttered. “I spent the entire flight listening to Mom bitch about her new chauffeur, how she’s positive one of the housekeepers is stealing the silverware and that she simply can’t survive any longer on the pittance Dad gives her each month for alimony.”

  “Sucks to be you,” Kane said. “And I mean that.”

  “You’re just glad it wasn’t you dealing with her.”

  “True.” No sense even pretending otherwise.

  C.J. went up to the nurses’ station and ordered Dr. Lamberson to be paged.

  He really was a younger version of his namesake. Demanding. Controlling. Arrogant.

  Hard to believe he and Kane had once been as close as brothers could be. They’d survived their parents’ tumultuous marriage, watching their mother pretend everything was all right, doing her best to hold on to the life she felt she deserved. Had relied on each other during their parents’ divorce when Gwen had tried to pit them against Senior.

  Their bond broke when Kane had drifted off into a world of drugs and alcohol.

  C.J. had never forgiven him.

  Then again, Kane had never asked him to.

  C.J. returned a minute later not looking too happy. “The doctor’s with a patient in the E.R. She’ll come when she’s done.” Checking his phone, he glanced up, then did a double take. “What the hell is he doing here? I thought he was still in Iraq.”

  Kane followed his brother’s gaze. Zach Castro, their youngest brother, walked toward them resembling the jarhead he was: dark hair buzzed short, camo pants tucked into boots, plain green T-shirt.

  “I called him.” When C.J. glared at him, Kane shrugged. “He deserves to know.”

  He’d been surprised to discover that Zach wasn’t still overseas, but on base in Parris Island in South Carolina.

  Kane nodded when Zach reached them. “Zach.”

  Zach returned the nod, his dark, flat gaze taking in Kane’s cast. “Fall off your bicycle?”

  “Something like that.”

  Zach turned to C.J., greeted him with a lift of his chin.

  Zach had an even bigger chip on his shoulder about being Clinton Bartasavich’s son than Kane did, and with good reason. Zach’s mother was the only woman Senior had gotten pregnant and hadn’t married.

  Zach usually kept his distance, physically and emotionally, from his family, especially their father. Yet here he was, at the old man’s sickbed.

  “He okay?” Zach asked.

  “He’s going to pull through,” C.J. said as if his will alone could make it true. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Zach didn’t so much as blink at his older brother’s angry tone, nor did he deny he’d been hoping his biological father’s prognosis wasn’t good. “You told me it was bad,” Zach said to Kane, still in that mild tone.

  “It
is,” he said as he spotted Oakes down the hall. “He has a 50 percent chance of pulling through. And even if he does, he could have months of rehabilitation.”

  “Zach,” Oakes said, a grin on his handsome face. He slapped his younger brother on the shoulder with warm affection. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  That was Oakes. Always affable. It was hard not to like him, though Zach had spent his entire life giving it his best shot. Zach shifted to the side. “I only came because I thought the old man was dying.”

  If Oakes was surprised by that, he didn’t let it show. Then again, Oakes was a damn good lawyer. They were excellent at hiding their true feelings. “Dad’s too stubborn to die.” He turned to Kane. Frowned at his cast. “You okay?”

  “Had a minor thing. It’s all good.”

  Oakes lowered his voice as C.J. once again was on his phone, Zach leaning against the far wall. “You on anything for pain?”

  “I’m good,” he repeated. I’m clean.

  Oakes nodded. The spitting image of his mother with brown hair and hazel eyes, he had somehow managed to not turn out completely screwed up despite having Senior as a father.

  He was the only one.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” Kane said, “but where’s my mother?”

  Oakes tugged on his ear. “Last I saw her, she was complaining to the young girl working in the cafeteria about the coffee. Carrie was in the restroom so I sort of slipped out.”

  “Smart man.”

  A middle-aged nurse with cartoon characters on her scrubs came out of their father’s room.

  “Can we see him?” C.J. asked.

  “Two at a time,” she said. “Ten minutes only.”

  The brothers looked at each other.

  “Want to draw straws?” Kane asked drily.

  Zach straightened from the wall. “Since when does any Bartasavich follow the rules?”

  And he walked into the room. C.J. went in next, leaving Kane and Oakes to follow.

  Kane wasn’t sure what to expect, had thought he could handle anything, but seeing his father in the bed, hooked up to machines, tubing down his throat, it was like being punched in the stomach. It was hard to believe this was the same man who’d been in his apartment just a few days ago. Senior had always seemed bigger than life, but now he looked shrunken. Old.

  Senior’s skin was so pale it was practically colorless. His hair seemed thinner, grayer, his cheeks sunken. The right side of his face drooped—eyelid, cheek, mouth. Gone was the huge, robust man who used to rule his business and family with an iron fist, taking no prisoners. In his place was a sick old man who couldn’t even breathe on his own.

  C.J. went to his bedside. “We’re here, Dad.”

  Senior opened his eyes, looked at his sons, couldn’t speak with the tube down his throat. But he blinked once slowly, as if their being there was good, exactly as they should be. As he wanted them to be.

  Kane wasn’t sure what he felt, how he should feel. His father was near death. But he’d won out so far, and Kane had no doubt he’d continue to get better. Senior held his left hand toward Oakes, who came forward and clasped it.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Oakes told him. “You’re strong. You’ll get through this.”

  Senior’s gaze went to Kane, seemed to call him. He stepped closer. But when Senior sought out Zach, his youngest son stayed rooted to his spot by the door.

  Kane stared at his father. He didn’t know if he loved the old man. Definitely didn’t respect him. But there was one thing for certain.

  He was glad the bastard hadn’t died.

  * * *

  CHARLOTTE HEARD THE commotion as soon as she got off the elevator on the fourth floor. Down the hall she saw two women—one a year or two older than her, the other her mother’s age—sniping at each other outside the ICU.

  She hurried over. “Ladies,” she said using her stern RN voice, “is there a problem?”

  They both turned to glare at her. Char blinked. It was like looking at two real-life Barbie dolls—both had long blond hair, tiny waists and boobs Char wouldn’t be surprised to discover had been bought and paid for.

  The younger woman was quite stunning, her hair a shiny golden blond with paler streaks, her wide eyes a light blue. She wore tight dark jeans, knee-high brown leather boots and a fuzzy pink sweater better suited for a five-year-old. The older one was still beautiful, though more conservatively dressed in tan pants, heels and a silky brown shirt. Her hair was a darker shade than her younger twin, her face unlined.

  It wasn’t natural for a woman of her age not to have any wrinkles. Freaky.

  “This doesn’t concern you,” the older woman snapped, but her expression stayed the same, as if she’d had one too many Botox injections, paralyzing all her facial muscles. “It’s between me and this gold-digging little tramp.”

  Younger Blonde gasped so hard, her breasts swayed. She sneered, not looking so pretty after all. “You’re just jealous.”

  “Jealous?” The older woman sniffed, but the veins in her neck were popping out. She stepped closer to her adversary, towering over the younger woman in her three-inch spike heels. “The day I’m jealous of some cheap, trailer-park-trash whore—”

  “Whore?” the other woman shrieked.

  “Ladies, please keep your voices down.” Char stepped into the fray, praying she didn’t end up in the middle of a hair-pulling brawl. “This is a critical care unit. If you can’t control yourselves, you’re going to have to leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” younger Blondie said with a head toss that should have caused brain damage. “I have every right to be here. Make her leave.”

  “I’m going to call Security,” Char said, having had enough of these two nitwits, “and let them escort you both out.”

  The younger woman’s eyes widened to the point Char worried they’d bulge out of her head.

  The older one drew herself up, looked down her nose at Char. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “Nope,” Char said, heading to the nurses’ station to call for backup. “And frankly, I don’t care.”

  She was tired and just wanted to go home. But had she? No. After her shift ended, she’d come up here, seeking out Kane. Wanting to make sure he was okay.

  She was stupid for doing it, but she knew he wasn’t as cold and heartless as he acted. She’d seen him with Estelle. Saw how upset he was about his father.

  Kane was a good man. Or, at least, he had the potential to be one.

  “What is your name?” the older woman demanded as she followed Char. “I’m going to report you to the hospital administrator.”

  “Charlotte Ellison,” she said as the doors to the ICU swung open. “I’d be more than happy to write it down for you. Just to make sure you get it right.”

  “Charlotte.”

  At the familiar drawl—and yes, those annoying tingles again—she turned to see Kane stepping through the doorway. He looked at her, then at the matching blondes.

  “Kane!” The older woman frowned. “Darling, you look horrible.”

  And she wrapped him in a hug.

  He looked over her head and met Char’s eyes. “I see you’ve met my mother.”

  Mother? This plastic Real Housewife wannabe was his mother?

  “I’m so sorry,” she told him.

  Despite the dark circles under his eyes, the green depths lit with humor. He obviously understood her meaning. “Me, too.”

  It wasn’t until someone cleared their throat that Char noticed the three men behind Kane. It was surprising she hadn’t seen them, as they were all tall, though the darkest one was shy of six feet. All good-looking. The conservatively dressed blonde on the left resembled Kane so much, he had to be one of his brothers.

  Kane’s
mom let go of him. “C.J.,” she said to the man in the white shirt. “I want you to get this wretched hospital’s administrator on the phone immediately. This—” she wrinkled her nose at Char “—nurse is trying to force me to leave.”

  C.J., Kane’s mom and the younger woman all started talking at once. C.J. trying to figure out what was going on, the women snapping at each other.

  Kane sidled up next to Char. “You kicked my mom out?” he murmured.

  “I’m trying,” she whispered back.

  “Appreciate it.”

  They shared a smile and she was glad she’d come here. No matter what sort of busty, overly perfumed crazies she had to deal with.

  “Charlotte is a friend of mine,” Kane said into the fray, silencing them. “Charlotte, this is my family. My mother, Gwen Bartasavich, my older brother, Clinton Junior,” he said, nodding toward C.J. “My younger brothers Zach—” a gesture toward the dark one “—and Oakes.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Oakes said with a charming grin and nod.

  “And this,” Kane continued as if his brother hadn’t spoken, “is Carrie.”

  “Mrs. Carrie Bartasavich,” younger blondie corrected, her eyes narrowed. She grinned sharply at Char. “I’m his stepmother.”

  Poor Kane. She must be five years younger than him.

  “If Char thought you needed to leave,” he told his mother, “she must have had a reason.”

  “They were...arguing,” Char explained quickly. “And when I asked them to stop, they refused. I’m sorry, but that sort of commotion isn’t allowed in the hospital, especially outside the ICU.”

  “This is all her fault,” Gwen Bartasavich said, stabbing a pointy-nailed finger at Carrie. “I came all this way to see Clinton, to make sure he’s all right.” Her voice broke and she dug out a tissue from her bag. Pressed it to her nose, her mouth quivering. She sniffed delicately, her eyes dry despite all the noises she was making. “I wanted to let him know that I...I forgive him for everything he did. But she told me I couldn’t see him.”