by Charlie Hart
I drop my face in my hands. “Dammit, Em. I’m trying here, okay? You’re worried about being enough? I’m just worried about being alive.”
I turn from him, angry and disappointed and confused. I retreat to the study, and I’m relieved he doesn’t follow me. I need to collect my thoughts first.
The idea that I don’t think he’s enough hurts. I sit on the couch across from Banks who is fixated on the computer screen, and maybe that’s good. He plugs the USB into his laptop and waits, not realizing I am on the verge of tears.
Taking a deep breath, I try to put myself in Emerson’s shoes. To feel how he feels. But I’m too distracted by Banks and whatever is on the computer screen.
Maybe that just proves Emerson’s point. That I don’t care enough about him, that I care more about the cure.
But wouldn’t I be a horrible mother to focus on anything else?
“You okay?” Banks asks, looking over his monitor, dark eyes intense.
“A little anxious is all.”
“Just give me a few minutes, all right?”
I nod. Even though I want to peer over his shoulder, and scan the files myself, I know Banks well enough to know that I would just distract him.
His frown deepens with every click of his mouse, and after fifteen minutes of waiting, I can practically feel the anger vibrating off of him.
“That bad?” I ask.
His nostrils flare and he pinches the bridge of his nose before leaning back and meeting my gaze. “Your father is one sadistic fucker.”
I breathe in a deep, shaky breath. “Okay? But what does that mean?”
“It means you’re lucky to be alive.” He shakes his head as he pushes back from the desk and stands. “What kind of monster would do this shit to his own daughter? To anyone for that matter.”
“It wasn’t just Tia,” Emerson says from the door. He’s holding a steaming mug. He made me the myosotis parviflora tea. Of course, he did.
He gives me the tea and I take it as a peace offering, whether it is or not. I need that kind of faith right now. I take the mug, desperate for anything to cling to.
“And it’s still going on,” Emerson tells Banks. “The research. I saw...” He winces before continuing. “I think he’s breeding women.”
“What do you mean exactly?” Banks asks slowly, looking at Emerson like he is taking him seriously for the first time.
“When Hux and I were at Saint Augustine's, I saw a woman... she was pregnant, hooked up to life support. She was pregnant. Probably seven or eight months along. And there was another room...”
“What kind of room?” Banks leans with his palms on the desk.
“On our way out, we came across a... nursery.”
“A nursery?” I shake my head. “Saint Augustine's only brings in girls after adolescence.”
I know that place like the back of my hand, I’d know if there was a baby there. Wouldn’t I?
Swallowing the hot tea, I remember how secretive my father was. How men in black vans would come to the back of the laboratory at odd hours. Never any explanation of why. I remember looking for new deliveries of lab equipment after they came. There never was any to find.
“There were a dozen or more infants,” Emerson says. “You can ask Huxley. Toddlers as well. Even a few older children.”
“What the hell?” Banks runs his hands through his hair, and I tense, watching my reserved, confident husband become unhinged over these new revelations.
What exactly was on that file?
“I really think he’s breeding those women,” Emerson says.
“Jesus Christ,” Banks mutters.
My hands shake as I set down the tea and stand. “For what purpose?”
“To sell,” Huxley says, coming into the room. “What other purpose could he have?”
There are so many things I don’t know about my father. But breeding women for the sole purpose of selling their children seems too horrendous even for him. But Huxley’s next sentence sends even more chills down my spine.
“Or maybe to experiment on.”
“They were all girls,” Emerson adds, dragging his fingers back through his mane of hair.
I can tell he’s just as horrified as I am, maybe even more so, because he witnessed it first hand. No wonder Huxley and Emerson could hardly say a word since we left Seattle. They are still reeling in shock.
Huxley leans against the wall of the study, arms crossed, exhausted in a way I’ve never seen on him before. We’re all falling apart. “I knew that fucker was a sadist, but shit, there were things in that building I can never unsee.”
A shiver runs down my spine. The women. The girls. The babies. I press my palms to my belly, fear coursing through my veins.
Thank God, no one saw us at Saint Augustine's.
“We have to tell someone,” I say. “Save them.”
“Tell who?” Huxley asks with disgust. “It’s all fucking fixed. Your father is under the US government's protection. For all we know, they’re probably paying for his research.”
I’m not giving up. Not now. “Salinger’s mom--”
“I’ll talk to her.” Sal comes into the room. “I heard what was said. But without evidence, it makes the situation a little more complicated.” His commanding presence in the room immediately puts me at ease. He would be such a capable politician. And if the government is as corrupt as Hux believes, we need a good, true man in charge now more than ever.
“Huxley and Em saw them.” My fingers twist together.
“Which means admitting we were there,” Hux says, pressing his fingertips to his temples.
“What we need to be focusing on is you.” Banks comes up behind me, and in a rare show of affection, he places a hand on my shoulder, another around my waist.
“I’m safe. I’m not strapped to a gurney,” I say on a shaky breath, feeling so lost and scared. “Those women, they must be terrified.” I begin to cry, I can’t help it.
There is so much wrong in this world, but knowing now what my father had done, what he’s still doing, it’s too much.
Banks’ hand strokes my hair and I fall apart in his arms. He holds me tightly until the tears stop falling.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he says. “We’ve had a long couple of days and you can’t worry about anyone else right now. You need to focus on yourself.”
I nod, feeling loved as I look around, seeing all my husbands are here, making sure I’m okay. I’m not sure when they all entered the room, but they’re here now, worry in their eyes.
I’m about to head upstairs when the doorbell rings.
We look at one another with alarm. Fear crawls up my skin. It’s never been good news when that damn bell rings.
“Goddammit, who’s here now?” Giles asks.
“I’ll go look,” Fallon says, leaving the room.
Thinking about my down comforter, about my flannel sheets, sleep calls me, and all I want is to go upstairs. But when Fallon call for Emerson and I hear his curse when he leaves the study, I have a bad feeling that I won’t be getting sleep anytime soon.
I follow the rest of my husbands out, stopping when I see who Fallon has let into our house.
At the front door is the last person I expect to see. I recognize her from the picture on Emerson’s bedside table. She’s older now, but I know her face.
Helene. The mother of Emerson’s son.
He was right, she’s alive.
Chapter 18
Emerson
I stagger back like I’ve received a physical blow when I see Helene standing at the entrance of the compound.
She’s the last person I expected to see. A ghost from my past.
Dark hair falls in waves over her shoulder, down to her waist, a sharp contrast against her ivory skin and pale blue eyes. She’s still pretty; she always was. But there’s an edge to her features that wasn’t there before, a sharpness to her gaze when it lands on me. The world hasn’t been kind to her.
�
�Emerson,” she purrs, stepping further into the house even though no one invited her. She may have felt the world’s callous hands on her shoulders, but she still knows her natural talent for seduction. I won’t be fooled again. Not now, not when I finally understand love and what it means. Pure and real and raw.
What Helene and I shared was lust, with ragged edges and broken promises. Her eyes lock with mine, and it’s clear we both remember everything. The day she arrived on our island, lost at sea. Windblown, yet resolved.
She has exactly the same look in her steely eyes now.
A man comes in behind her, built like a truck, and I recognize him from the military base. He’s Army. And from the way he scans the room, he’s extremely protective of Helene.
He must be one of her husbands. Why does it make my skin crawl at the thought of this man touching her? Maybe I still have a soft spot for her, after all this time.
For a moment I think it’s a weakness, a character flaw -- but then I stop and get a hold of myself. I’d be a twisted fuck to not care about her in some way, some form.
She’s my son’s mother after all.
Everyone is looking at me as if to explain. But what the fuck am I supposed to say?
I clear my throat. “I... I heard you died.”
Her lips twist slightly, but her gaze remains cold. “That’s only what the Alaskan government wanted everyone to think.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why?”
Tia comes to stand beside me, and her small hand takes mine.
Helene’s gaze drops to where Tia and my skin connect and she frowns, or maybe it’s a snarl. Hard to tell since her face is now a mask, hiding her emotions.
“I’m a free woman now.” She pulls her gaze back up to mine. “I had a daughter last spring. When I chose to use my freedom to leave, they concocted that lie in order to protect their precious lottery.” Helene’s attention goes to Tia. “They wouldn’t want people to think that they forced us to marry men we didn’t want.”
Her words cut at my deepest insecurity.
Tia’s hand tightens around mine. “What are you doing here?” I ask, not wanting to play games with a woman who I have never been able to trust.
“I left something a long time ago. And I want it back.”
Panic squeezes my throat because there’s only one thing she could mean -- our son.
“How is our little boy?” she asks, smiling when the room fills with small gasps and murmurs. I don’t entertain the shock of Tia’s husbands right now, my focus is on Helene and figuring out what hand she's playing.
“You’d only destroy his happiness if you went back for him,” I tell her, remembering Mason at the farm. How proud he was to be tending the sheep. He is growing up and learning responsibility. His character is becoming one that brings my parents so much pride. That brings me pride even though I’ve had no hand in the young man he’s become.
“And what about my happiness?” She moves towards me. “What about yours? You know, all these years I can’t help but think about what could have been. But now, I am free. Now we can finally be a family. Remember how much you wanted me to stay?” She pouts her lips playfully, but I feel the menace in her words. “You practically begged me to stay and marry you, be your little wife.”
“Don’t,” I say sternly. Of course, I remember. Going against my parents’ wishes, I asked her to stay and raise Mason with me, but she refused. She’d lost her interest in me after she got pregnant. For a long time, I thought it meant I wasn’t good enough for her. But I’ve since learned her refusal of me was actually a blessing in disguise.
A life with Helene wouldn’t have been any life at all.
“I have a family. Right here,” I tell her.
“In this cage?” she tsks and shakes her head, her hair tousled, framing her face in a way that makes her appear older than she is. “My dear, sweet Em. I know you. You could never be happy here. You love that island like it’s the air you breathe.” She glares at Tia. “And if your wife knows you at all, she knows I’m speaking the truth.”
Tia tenses.
“I do love my home. But I love my wife more. I don’t know what game you’re playing. But it won’t end well.”
“Is that a threat?” she hisses.
“It’s the truth. You don’t want to mess with my family.”
The man behind her takes a step forward like he has every intention of striking me, but Helene puts a hand up, stopping him.
“Take your husband and leave my house,” I demand.
She chuckles softly, and there’s something bitter and conniving in the sound. “Jared isn’t my husband, he’s my...” She smirks. “Bodyguard. I’ve had almost as much fun teaching him as I did you.”
“The only thing you taught me was how selfish and cold you are. I won’t let you near my son.”
“Does he know?” She tilts her head, still not backing down. “That you’re his father? Or are you still under your parents’ thumb? You always were such a little boy. Remember the things I taught you?” She looks at Tia, grinning wickedly. “Before me, he had never tasted a woman, never lick--”
“Enough!” I cut her off.
She lifts her hands in mock defense, “Oh, God, Emerson, always so sensitive.”
My jaw tenses.
“He doesn’t know about us being his mommy and daddy though, does he?” she asks, then laughs. “You always play the fool, don’t you?”
“I did what was best for him.”
She steps forward, pointing a finger, and a chill sweeps over me. “What’s best for him is me.”
“A mother who would abandon her child.” My lips curl up, finally seeing her for everything she is.
And seeing my own sins as well.
Because in a way I was just as guilty.
“Leave,” I demand. “And don’t come back. Ever.”
Her face distorts in a scowl. “I gave you a choice, Emerson. You’ll never be happy here with your paid for bride. This little thing who knows nothing about the real world. And the truth is, she’ll never love you. Not the way I did. Just wait until she dies in your arms, bleeding out, trying to give you a child. Then you’ll remember what a real woman is capable of. Not just fucking, but giving her men babies too.”
I’m about to scream at her to get the fuck out of my house, but Fallon takes it upon himself to usher her out. And Giles is on her bodyguard.
“It’s time for you to go,” Fallon tells her, not playing with his words. “Now!”
Helene backs away, feigning shock, but Fallon doesn’t cave. He slams the door when the two of them are gone.
Silence fills the space between all of us. So many pairs of eyes are on me.
My secrets. My lies. My son.
Only Banks and Tia knew my secret before now. And I can’t raise my eyes to meet what I know will only be judgment in the other men’s gazes.
“Emerson?” Tia places a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
I swallow hard because I’m not sure what I am. Everything as I know it is about to change. I run a hand over my beard, trying to collect myself, but seeing Helene here has twisted my past and present into a fucked up game of who can get to Mason first.
Helene won’t hesitate to tell our son the truth. Legally, and with a DNA test, she could even get him back.
I can’t let that happen.
“I have to call my parents. Warn them.”
I keep my gaze down as I walk upstairs to make the call. My steps heavy, my heart like a sack of fucking rocks. I was lost at sea once, and this feels exactly the same.
Hopeless.
I’m in the garage, sanding down one of the cradles I’ve been working on when Giles and Fallon come in and sit down on the stools across from me.
“They’re looking good,” Fallon says.
It’s been hours and hours of work, cutting cedar planks, measuring each piece with precision. Only the best for our babies.
Finally, they’ve taken shape. The curved com
ponents were the trickiest, but now they have a smooth rocker attached to the bottom and the headboard and footboards are firmly in place.
Tia is going to love them.
I mutter thanks, and the two men continue to watch me work in silence, apparently, none of us know what to say exactly. I refuse to meet their eyes because I know what’s coming. Some fucking lecture about keeping secrets.
So I keep my back to them and keep working. Maybe they’ll eventually leave. If they have any sense at all they’d go right now.
Because right now, I have enough on my mind.
The phone call to my mom didn’t go well.
She started crying immediately, gasping for details about Helene. And understandably so. In every way that matters, Mason is her son and Helene is nothing but a bad memory.
But it’s time the boy knows the truth. Better to hear it from them, than from Helene. It also gives my parents time to prepare, in case she does go after custody of him. I told Mom it would be best if she wasn’t alone with Mason in case Helene showed up, catching her off guard. I suggested that she needs either my brothers or my father nearby at all times until this blows over.
I throw all my frustration into the sanding, muscles so tight that I feel like they might snap. That I might snap. And for more reasons than just Helene’s sudden appearance.
A bottle of beer appears in front of my vision, and I glance up at Giles who holds it out to me.
“Thought you could use this.” There’s only sympathy in his eyes, not the judgment I expect to see.
“Thanks,” I mutter taking it.
“Thought we could talk.” Fallon is still sitting on the stool and he takes a sip from his own bottle.
“I don’t need a lecture.”
“Wasn’t going to give you one.” Fallon holds my gaze. “But it’s not good to hold everything in.”
I snort, lifting my beer to Fallon. “Good advice coming from you,” I joke, and it breaks the ice at least a little. When we first met Fallon was nothing but an ass who ordered everyone around. Truth was, he was just fucking scared of losing his new wife. Turns out we all have pretty fucked up baggage when it comes to family.
