Caught Up In You 5: No More Denial (Edgeplay)

by Jenna McCormick

  Caught Up In You

  Edgeplay: Part 5

  Jenna McCormick

  Published by Captiva Heart

  A Sanibel Moon Imprint

  Copyright 2013 Jenna McCormick

  Cover image purchased from romancenovelcovers.com

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at jenna@authorjennamac.com.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  www.sanibelmoon.com

  Caught Up In You

  Jenna McCormick

  Edgeplay: Part 5

  No More Denial

  Chapter One

  There are times in my life when I wish I am someone else. Someone smarter, thinner, with more connections and fewer obligations. It’s human nature to think the grass is always greener on someone else’s side of the fence.

  But never have I craved a new identity more than in this moment. Staring at my grandfather’s weather-beaten face, a dull roaring in my ears. His features are momentarily free of the confused daze that accompanies the darker periods of Alzheimer’s. He’s scared but the words he just spoke, the damning sentence that hangs between us like a noose, is part of a memory.

  “Pops, say that again.” I heard him perfectly the first time, it’s my utter disbelief that begs for a repeat.

  Tears track down his craggy face, lined from years of working outdoors. No one shaved him this morning and his stubble contains more salt than pepper. Combined with the wild look in his blue eyes, he appears manic, unstable. “They gave us money, Rose. We needed it so badly. They promised they wouldn’t hurt him, that he’d spend the weekend watching television and eating ice cream. But it all went to hell.” His shoulders slump under the weight of his secret.

  Glancing to the door, I check to make sure the security team my fiancé, Connor Edge, hired is out of earshot. The very same man who my grandfather is confessing to kidnapping as a small child. To say it went wrong is putting it mildly. Connor suffers from C-PTSD since his three year imprisonment. He has no idea what happened to him during his abduction but somehow I doubt ice cream played any part in it.

  “How could you?” The words are automatic, teaming with my absolute disgust.

  Pops makes a pained sound, a gasping struggle for breath, and grips his left arm. My training as a medical professional kicks in and I shove my incredulity away. “Pops? Where does it hurt?”

  He doesn’t answer and my fingers search for his carotid artery, checking for a pulse. Panic swamps me when I realize his heart isn’t beating.

  “Help!” I scream, beginning chest compressions. “He’s having a heart attack!”

  I keep up CPR as the flurry of voices whirls around us. He doesn’t wake up, his pallor turning gray.

  Paramedics rush into the room and take over, shoving me aside. I wrap my arms around myself and wait. The defibrillation paddles appear, a no nonsense voice calls “clear” and his whole body arches under the electrical onslaught.

  “I have a steady heartbeat. Let’s get him to the hospital.”

  “I want to ride with him.” I move to follow, but the head of the security team stops me. “Mr. Edge wants you with us at all times.”

  I yank my arm free. “Follow us in the SUV. He might die on the way there.” Breaking into a jog, I chase the paramedics before my bodyguards truss me up for my own good.

  Pops doesn’t regain consciousness on the trip. They have to shock him again and his heartbeat is irregular by the time we get to the hospital. He’s wheeled off to emergency surgery and I’m escorted to a waiting area to slowly go insane.

  The security team is hot on our heels, and relief crosses their faces when they see I’m intact. No doubt they didn’t want to be left explaining to Connor what happened,

  Connor.

  The three carat diamond on my left ring finger catches the hospital overhead lights, seeming to mock my joy from hours ago when I still believed in happily ever after.

  So close, it was so close, but never real. Intangible like smoke, the future I want might have been in my reach, but I never stood a chance of holding on to it.

  I can’t deal with this. It’s the only thought spinning around in my brain.

  You don’t have a choice. This from Snarkarella, my know-it-all inner critic.

  The security team is trying to pretend they aren’t there to bear witness to my meltdown. I don’t think they heard what Pops said before he collapsed, but it doesn’t matter. Connor needs to know the truth.

  As though summoned by my thoughts, I hear the smart sounds of his footsteps striding purposefully down the hall. The telltale tingle that spreads through my system like an Early Connor Alert confirms it before I hear his voice. I don’t look up, still unprepared to face him.

  But it doesn’t matter what I can deal with, what I’m prepared for. Life just happens whether we want it to or not.

  I hear him speak in low tones with the security team. They must have called him. My eyes hurt. The damn lights are too bright, exposing things better left hidden in the shadows. I cover my face with my hands

  His energy washes over me as he draws near, formidable and electric. He sits in the chair next to me but doesn’t speak. My heart pounds. Every muscle in my body is tense, poised for the hit. It’s not a physical blow I fear, but the emotional one when Connor finds out my grandfather took part in his kidnapping—an event so horrific it made him into a paranoid control freak who occasionally suffers blackouts. He’ll hate me when he finds out.

  Self-loathing flays me from every side. My grandfather is in the emergency room fighting for his life and I’m fretting over my relationship. And in my secret heart I don’t want to tell Connor the truth because I’m afraid I’ll lose him. I’ve been alone for so long and we fit so well. Deep down I know I can never be happy without him.

  His arm comes around me and he pulls me against his side. The cold metal arm of the chair cuts into my waist but I don’t care, needing his closeness. We don’t speak, both of us mired in our own thoughts. Nothing disturbs the stillness but the overly loud ticking of the clock on the wall and the bustle of hospital personnel going about their business just outside the door.

  At some point one of the security men brings us a cup of hospital coffee. I don’t do anything but clutch it in my hands, absorbing the warmth until it turns cold, my head still resting on Connor’s shoulder.

  “Ms. Sinclair?” The ER resident who barked orders to the staff when Pops was brought in lurks in the doorway. Her expression is somber.

  Connor and I rise together. He takes my hand and squeezes it tightly. I’m afraid to breathe, afraid to move as I wait for her to continue.

  She holds my gaze steady for an endless heartbeat. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could, but his heart was too stressed, the deterioration too far along.”

  I don’t cry, too numb to really feel the truth of what she’s telling me. Pops can’t be gone. He’s larger than life, strong and steady. Never mind that I’ve been caring for him since he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Despite what he said he did, he was my one constant, my rock. He can’t be gone. I need him.

  Connor folds me into his arms, squeezing me to him
. I can barely breathe, he has me pressed so hard against his chest. Or maybe the problem is with my lungs. The damn things have seized up until I can no longer inhale, fight, do anything.

  Distantly I hear them talking about me—Connor and the doctor. It’s like I’ve gone through a tunnel and their conversational echoes along the walls and carries to where I eavesdrop, not really a part of their scenario. Words like shock and prescription are bandied about, and someone pushes me down into a chair, gives me a paper cup of water and two tablets. My lids feel heavy. Everything does, like gravity is increased and the earth is sucking me down, swallowing me up.

  “I’d better get her home,” Connor says.

  He doesn’t understand, I don’t have a home anymore. My little stone cottage at the Rosemont, the palatial estate Connor owns, has been tainted. I need to tell him the truth and then remove myself from his presence. It’s the only decent thing to do.

  But I don’t want to be decent when his warmth is the only thing keeping me from flash freezing to the chair. I need him now, whether I deserve him or not. There is no one else who wants me, who’ll help see me through this.

  Connor leads me out of the hospital. Sharp northern wind cuts through my clothes and smacks me in the face. It’s cold, the air holding the promise of snow, though it’s barely November. The Rosemont is beautiful in the winter, like a Currier & Ives Christmas card. I remember sledding on the big hill by the estate, Pops dragging the old-fashioned wooden toboggan up for hours on end. Then we’d go in for hot cocoa with a touch of chili powder, his special recipe. Just the two of us, as always. Bile rises in my throat and I barely choke it down.

  Connor leads me to the vehicle and settles in beside me on the backseat. The SUV roars to life and heads north, through downtown Poughkeepsie. It must be late—the arterial is nearly deserted as we speed through the dark. His hand is entwined with mine, fingers meshed. The engagement ring on my finger is an icy weight.

  “I need to tell you something,” I croak.

  I see him turn, his profile strong in the dimly lit car. “Tomorrow is soon enough.” Those are the first words he’s spoken directly to me.

  The medication is kicking in and I don’t have the will to fight him. I slide down into sleep, hoping it’s all just a terrible dream.

  ****

  There are very few funeral arrangements to make. Pops spent his entire life within a twenty mile radius of the Rosemont. His plot next to Grandma Rose has been waiting for him since her death. There is no reason to delay the burial. We have no other family to invite.

  I have yet to cry. Dry-eyed, I lean against Connor in my black sheath dress and watch his casket slowly lowered into the frost covered ground. The lump in my throat grows bigger as my grandfather is settled in his final resting place beside the woman he loved more than life itself.

  The woman he committed unspeakable evil for.

  The memorial service is held at the Lady Liberty, the bar in town. A sea of faces offers me condolences and I want to scream. The niceties are just another burden on top of the one I already bear. Guilt is my ever-present companion, sticking to me like sap to a pine. Every time I meet Connor’s gaze, my whole body seizes up. I can’t live like this.

  “I’m so sorry, Baily.” This from Greg, the UPS driver whose mother is another resident of Golden Oaks.

  I nod, my default acceptance. “Haven’t seen you for a while.” Not since the night he and Eric got into it in this very bar and Connor hauled me out. It seems like a lifetime ago.

  Greg looks sheepish. “Now’s not the ideal time, but I owe you an apology. I was out of line with that guy.”

  He was, but I don’t feel the need to rub it in any more. “Water under the bridge, right?”

  Greg nods slowly. “Tell your boyfriend I’ll pay him back.”

  I frown, clearly missing something. “Who, Eric?”

  “Not that putz. Mr. Edge.”

  “What would you need to pay Connor for?”

  “He paid for the damages so Steve Henson didn’t press charges.” Greg winces as Steve, the bartender and part owner of the Lady Liberty, glowers in his direction. “I’m really not supposed to be in here.”

  I watch him go, more puzzled than ever. Why would Connor pay for the bar fight damages?

  The crowd starts pressing in on me and my head pounds. Connor is at my side, that sixth sense of his tuned in to me perfectly. “Are you ready to go?”

  I nod. “More than ready.” I need a hot bath and another dose of those magic pills to help fight off the migraine.

  The drive back to the Rosemont is only five minutes, but it’s long enough to feed my apprehension. Pops is buried. There’s nothing else to distract me from the stark reality of what I need to do.

  But Connor doesn’t give me a chance. “I have a few calls to make. Why don’t you take a bath and try to relax?”

  He strides off to his office before I can say a word.

  Now you’re just making it drag like a government job, Snarkarella hisses. Go after him.

  Instead of heeding her sage advice, I climb the stairs to the master bathroom. Filling the tub feels like too much effort, so I undress down to my slip and panties and climb into bed. Curling into a ball, I stare out the window at the purpling sky, like a fresh bruise on the world. I need to make plans. My thoughts are still muddy, my commitment lackluster. I’m still holding on to a dream, the promise of forever.

  I hear the door open and Connor comes in. “No bath?”

  Slowly I turn to face him. He’s so glorious, so absolutely perfectly masculine. And he loves me. I have no doubt on that score. He may not have said the words but it’s there in every breath, every sizzle of electricity between us. His consideration is unparalleled, just like his intensity for me. He is my drug of choice and I live for my next fix.

  The truth won’t wait any longer. He may kick me out. Out of his bed, his house, off his property, in nothing but my underwear. I don’t really care. I won’t find a moment’s rest with this awful weight bearing down on me.

  He eases down onto the bed next to me, still fully clothed, concern etched in the tightness around his eyes and mouth.

  The words bubble up from me like lava, too hot and volatile for me to contain. “He was responsible, Connor. Pops told me he helped them take you.”

  The tears come then, spilling down my face in hot, salty trails. The hurt is too great, my sorrow raging through me like a flash flood.

  His arms go around me and he drags me to him, murmuring softly that it’s all right. The words make no sense. Didn’t he understand what I just said?

  I can’t stand his sympathy. His comfort is so wrong. Fighting free of his hold, I struggle to compose myself. “How can you say that? Don’t you hate me?’”

  His navy irises fix on my face. “Of course I don’t hate you, Baily. You weren’t even born when that happened. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

  “How can you be so reasonable about this? Aren’t you angry at all?” I expected a total meltdown, his retribution swift and deadly, focusing on me, for the sins of my mother’s father.

  He looks toward the fireplace. I see a muscle jump in his jaw, and something that looks a great deal like regret passes over his face when he turns back to me, taking my hand in his.

  “Baily, I already knew.”

  Chapter Two

  I go cold at his words. “You knew?” This can’t be right. Connor knew my grandfather was involved with his kidnapping? “Since when?”

  “I’ve known all along.”

  Yanking my hand back, I shake my head, unable to accept what he’s telling me. “And you never said anything to me?”

  “I didn’t know you at first.”

  I think back over the odd interactions between the two men I love, the seething disdain Connor barely veiled the one time I saw them face to face. His palpable disappointment when he saw how riddled with holes my grandfather’s memory had become. Pops’ insistence that I couldn’t marry Connor. Rea
lization breaks through the haze and I climb out of the big four poster bed. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? Why you bought the estate. To find answers.”

  “Honey, it doesn’t matter anymore. Get back into bed. You’ll freeze.”

  I ignore him, well on my way to a level five nuclear meltdown “God, how could I be so stupid? How could I miss it?” Is it my destiny to be played for a fool time and again?

  Connor stands and moves to grip my shoulders. “Baily, now is not the time to get into this. You’re grieving and there’s nothing to be done about it. The past is over. We have to move on.”

  I shake him off. “How can you say that? After what happened to you, what you have to live with? I want to know everything you know. Tell me what happened.”

  His expression darkens, eyebrows meeting over his aquiline nose. “Why? To spoil your memories of your grandfather and make you pity me? What purpose will that serve?”

  I stand my ground. “It’s the difference between truth and fiction, Connor. I don’t want pretty little lies. I know Pops loved me, that he worked hard and loved my grandmother. But he was capable of something awful, and I want to help make it right.”

  He approaches, gripping my shoulders tightly. “Listen to me. You do make it right. Just by drawing breath and being here with me, you help me more than any answers ever could.”

  The tears break free once more and I slump onto the antique chaise. “How can you say that? How can you even stand to look at me, knowing that the same blood that wronged you is in my veins?”

  His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing away my tears. “Red, you’re killing me. Please believe me when I say I harbor no ill will toward you, even if you think I should. Please, come to bed, I need to hold you.”

  He looks so vulnerable and I feel selfish harping on this, demanding answers when he has none to give. Unable to deny him anything, I let him lead me back to the bed. We lie facing each other. I find I can’t look at him though, and close my eyes.