Surrender (The Titans of Founder's Ridge Book 3)

by Nichole Greene

  “I’ll just do some extra work with Seth.” I take a tiny step back.

  “Seth is mediocre at best.” He tucks one of my flyaways behind my ear and steps into my space once more. “It’s my choreography, so keep in mind who can really help you nail the movements.” His fingertips trail down my neck and along the strap of my leotard.

  My skin is crawling at his suggestion. I’ve heard that this is something he does, coerces dancers to sleep with him in order to get parts. Even knowing that this is my last chance at being principal in anything, I would never.

  He starts to lean down toward me, and my phone rings causing us both to jump. I run to answer it, mentally hugging the fuck out of whoever is on the other end of the line. When I get to it, I see that it’s Mom.

  Just like that, my day goes from bad to fucking rock bottom. I still haven’t gotten over the shit that she pulled years ago. I can’t even look her in the eyes thinking about how selfish she was to leave Dad and Connor behind, dragging me off to Europe only to drop me at an all girls boarding school in the Irish countryside while she played house with our former maid.

  Now Dad has stupidly taken her back. I don’t understand it, and I never will. How can he forgive her for that? Con can’t. I definitely won’t. But looking down at my phone and seeing her name, I realize talking to her or dealing with Kent are my two options, and right now she’s the lesser of two evils.

  “What?” I ask, skipping niceties completely.

  “Claire,” she sighs with a note of sadness, “thank you for answering.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” I reply icily. “What do you want, another twenty something for Taco Tuesday?”

  “I wanted to see if you’d have lunch with me tomorrow?” Her voice raises at the end, laced with hope.

  “I’d rather dance barefoot on broken shards of glass.”

  “Are you ever going to hear me out? I know I hurt you and your brother, but if your father can forgive me, can’t you at least try?”

  “No.” I hang up as I push open the glass doors of the studio and step out onto the busy Manhattan sidewalk.

  I decide to walk up the street to my favorite coffee shop and grab an iced latte before I call Marco to come pick me up. I get to the front of line, ready to order my usual, and all of a sudden another MS flare happens. It feels like a dense fog settles over my mind while I stare at the menu above the barista’s head. I know the words, but everything is fuzzy and jumbled. I open my mouth to speak, and nothing comes out but a strangled gasp.

  “I-” my voice is wobbly and meek, “I changed my mind.” Then I turn and run out the door pulling my phone out as I go. I bump into a man on my way out, not bothering to apologize. I draw in deep breaths of air and bend over once I get outside. I grab my phone and stare down at it, completely lost as to who I’m supposed to call for this. Spots dance in front of my eyes, and I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  “Miss?” A tentative hand lands on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  At least twenty-five people have walked right past me, but finally someone notices my distress. I look up at the woman with a baby strapped to her chest and nod, unable to find the words to tell her what’s wrong. My eyes sting, filling up with tears because I can talk, but I don’t know what to say, how to explain what’s happening.

  “A panic attack?” she guesses.

  “No, I-” I cry out. “I can’t think. I can’t see.” The black dots are creeping over my vision again.

  “Okay,” she loops her arm through mine, “the hospital is a block away. Can you walk it? Or do I need to call an ambulance?”

  “I can walk.” I nod. “Just don’t let go.”

  “I’ve got you.” She squeezes my forearm comfortingly. While we walk, she chatters about her baby, a little girl with a pink bow in her hair and ballet shoes on her socks. “What’s your name, sweetie?” she asks when we get up to the reception desk.

  “Claire Volkov.” At least I can tell them that much in this fog.

  The receptionist asks me some more questions, but I can’t answer, I just shrug and fight back tears. I don’t cry. I hate crying, I know that much. After another few questions, we take a seat in uncomfortable plastic chairs, the kind that pull your hair when you stand up. The whole time this kind woman sits with me, occasionally patting my knee or rubbing her baby’s bottom.

  “Claire Volkov?” a nurse calls from the double doors.

  I stand up and look back at this amazing human who brought me here, “Thank you so much.”

  “Of course,” she says as tears swim in her eyes, “I’d want someone to do the same thing if it were my daughter on the sidewalk.”

  I nod and turn, following the nurse back to a curtained off room. I’m slowly starting to come out of the fog, enough to explain what happened and that I have MS. She nods as she types notes into the computer. She asks about the lady with the baby, and I tell her she was just a kind soul who stopped to help me.

  The nurse steps out and says a doctor will be by in a few minutes just to give me a quick check before I leave. I grab my phone, thinking of the comfort that Griff gives me, but I realize that I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to worry him. I don’t want to share this with anyone; it’s my burden to carry.

  I swipe at hot tears as they slip down my cheeks, grateful that at least I’m alone in this tiny room, so I can let them fall in peace. My mind wanders back to the woman, and I realize something. Is MS genetic? Will I pass it down to my babies?

  The doctor walks in just then, a balding middle aged man. He’s nice enough as he goes through my chart and asks me questions about what happened before the flare, during, and after. He instructs me to make another appointment with my specialists.

  “Can I ask you a question really quick?” I say as he stands to leave.

  “Of course.” He leans against the counter while he rubs hand sanitizer into his palms.

  “Is MS genetic? Will I give this to my babies?”

  “Possibly, but most women with MS, especially when diagnosed so young, end up being infertile.” He pushes off the counter nonchalantly, like he didn’t just shatter the last remaining hope for anything normal in my life. “Anything else?”

  I shake my head and grab my things. My hand shakes as I text Marco my location. Infertile keeps playing in a never-ending loop in my mind while my chest feels like it’s been split in half with an axe. I walk out of the hospital dazed, leaving pieces of my bloody, broken heart like a trail of breadcrumbs.

  I don’t really remember anything during the drive home except for a few of Marco’s furtive glances in the rearview mirror. I didn’t even say good night to him as I walked, dazed, to the elevator from our private garage to the residential levels of the building. Thankfully I didn’t run into Con or Lilith in the hall. I love them so much, but seeing her gorgeous pregnant belly would kill me right now.

  I drop my bag right by the front door, leave my phone on the island, and walk into my bedroom. I contemplate just crawling into bed and crying for the rest of the night, but I smell like a hospital, and I need to scrub every bit of evidence of today from my body.

  I walk into my bathroom, a sleek white and chrome masterpiece. The combination shower and steam shower has five different shower heads. Each designed for me, hitting my body in targeted zones to provide relief for my aching body. I turn the water on full blast and high heat, I don’t care if I look like a lobster by the end of the shower. I just want these feelings of despair gone.

  I strip, looking at my body in the mirror for a minute. I used to love this body that carried me gracefully across the stage. That could leap high into the air and land light as a feather. I was proud of my dancer physique, even though most of my bones protrude and my muscles are sharply defined, though lean.

  Now I just see the vessel I’m at war with. The body that will eventually break down. The body that will betray me and let me fall. The body that will need a cane, then a wheelchair. The body that won’t bear
children for me. I watch my hand cover my flat belly as the tears start to fall again.

  What’s the point?

  You’re broken.

  Just give up.

  The thoughts circle around and around inside my head until I finally turn away from my reflection. I’m so disgusted by what I see there, I want to pound my fists into the mirror and rage at the unfairness.

  I walk into the shower, welcoming the burn of the hot water as it assaults me from all sides. As the rivulets of water run down my body, I think of Griff. How much I want him to hold me, to fuck me, to make me forget. I want to escape this reality in which I’m desperately searching for a handhold but can’t find one.

  8

  GRIFF

  I’m in the middle of working through a list of possible newspapers to buy in the southwest when my phone vibrates on the desk next to me with an incoming text.

  Levi: IT’S BABY TIME

  Levi: GET YOUR GINGER ASS TO THE HOSPITAL

  Me: On my way

  I stand and slide my phone and wallet into my pockets before texting my driver to be ready downstairs. I consider texting Claire, but I’m sure she knows what’s up. She doesn’t have practice today, so she’s been at home.

  I’ve felt like something was off with her the past few days. She dodges my calls and only texts me back one-word responses. I need to find out what is going on with her. It’s hard for me to focus when I’m worried about her, which is about ninety-nine percent of the time anymore. I don’t know when she crawled into the hole in my chest, but she fucking lives there rent-free now.

  I find Levi and Ivy in the labor and delivery waiting room. Ivy has her laptop on her knees and a file open on the table beside her. She looks every bit the successful bank vice president that she is, with her navy skirt suit and nude pumps. Her hair is pulled back in a bun, and diamond earrings twinkle on her ears.

  “Get your own fiancé,” Levi playfully shoves me, “and stop checking mine out.”

  “I can’t help it, she’s gorgeous. Way out of your league.”

  “Always has been,” he smiles at her when she rolls her eyes at us, “right, Ives?”

  “Will you two stop?” she says without looking up. “I need to finish these reports for Frank before the twins are born.”

  “Are we the only ones here?” I haven’t seen a hint of Claire yet.

  “Yeah,” Levi says as he sits in one of the chairs, “Con texted Claire because she wasn’t at home. I don’t know when she’ll get here. Victor and Ciara are on their way in from Founder’s Ridge.”

  We’re the only ones in the waiting room at all, so Levi picks up the remote and turns it to ESPN to watch highlights. I’m splitting my attention between the stats, half scrolling through news on Twitter, and mostly watching the door for my little raven-haired Tsarina.

  A couple hours go by before Con pokes his head into the waiting room with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his face. “They’re here!”

  We all jump up, and Levi damn near plows us all over in his hurry to get back to the room. Ivy chuckles and shakes her head as we follow the two happy giants down the hall.

  “Levi’s been obsessively texting Lilith and Con this week.” She links her arm through mine as we stroll down the long hallway to Lilith’s private room. “In fact, it was so bad she called me and said if I didn’t steal and hide his phone, she was going to, and I quote, ‘kick his balls so far up inside his body that he’d choke on them.’ I told her I’d hold him down to make it easier on her.”

  “This is probably going to make his baby fever even worse. I didn’t even know men could have it.” I joke.

  “Oh God, he’s been talking about knocking me up since our junior year of high school.”

  I let her walk in the door first, and we both stop at the sight in front of us. Con has one tiny baby swaddled in his arms while Levi has the other. Both girls are quiet and wearing blue and pink striped hats with giant bows on top.

  I look over at Lilith who has tears streaming down her face. Her long blonde hair is braided and wrapped around one shoulder. Her cries intensify when we make eye contact.

  “I can’t stop crying.” She says with a half-laugh and half-sob. “Make it stop, Griff.” She holds her arms up for a hug, and I go to her. I hold her while she sobs and giggles, her tears wetting my suit.

  I disentangle myself when the sobbing slows. “It’s okay. Katie was like this too when she had Bryce.” I was in high school when my oldest nephew was born, and Katie couldn’t stop crying for the entire first day after he was born. “It’s just hormones.”

  “Hormones are bullshit,” she hiccups.

  “Here,” Con holds out the baby he’s holding to me, “take Nora, and I’ll take the basket case.”

  “Nora, huh?” I look down at the tiny pink baby in my arms. Her eyes are blue, and when I pull her cap off, I find a head of dark, wavy hair underneath. “You look like both your parents. Hopefully you have your mother’s disposition.” She’s so serious and quiet, not making a peep.

  “This one is definitely Con’s little psycho. She’s already giving me the finger.” Levi smirks up at us.

  Sure enough, when I look over, the baby he’s holding is scowling a patented Volkov scowl with her middle finger hooked out the top of the blanket.

  “The scowl is all Con, but the middle finger is a classic Lilith move.” I look over at Con and Lilith. “What’s her name?”

  “Levi has Elle,” Con answers.

  “They’re so perfect.” Ivy runs her finger down Elle’s cheek. “Look at all that hair.”

  “You ready for me to put a few of these inside you?” Levi wiggles his brows suggestively. “Let’s start trying. Tonight.”

  “No. We have a plan,” she pokes him in the chest, “and it doesn’t involve babies for several years.”

  Levi starts to say something but is interrupted by a light knock on the door. Claire steps through a second later, and I can tell something is off. She’s got bags under her eyes. She looks thinner than the last time I saw her. An aura of sadness hangs around her.

  It takes all my control not to go sweep her into my arms and demand answers as to what is troubling her right now. I watch as she walks over to hug and kiss Con on the cheek and then do the same to Lilith. I’m surprised when she stays on the other side of the room. She was so excited about the girls’ birth and finally getting to hold and love on them.

  But here she is, completely avoiding them all together. She’s also avoiding my eyes. This won’t do, so I decide to force her hand.

  “Want to hold one?” I offer Nora out to her.

  She meets my eyes for the first time since she walked in the door, and I can see the anguish written all over them. I feel her silently begging me not to push, so I back off.

  “I’m not feeling that great. I don’t want to get the babies sick, on the off chance I am,” she says while she backs off toward the opposite side of the room from the us and the babies.

  “What’s wrong?” Con moves toward her.

  “Nothing,” she gives him her fake smile. “Just a little headache.”

  “Headaches generally aren’t contagious, Baby V.” Levi starts moving toward her, but I stop him.

  “If she doesn’t want to risk it, let’s not force the issue.” My tone is sharper than it should be, but the look of relief that Claire gives me makes me know it was worth it.

  Con and Levi share a long look at my interference.

  “Okay-” Levi is once again interrupted by the door opening.

  This time it’s Victor and Ciara coming in with a pink balloon bouquet and flowers. I watch as both Con and Claire shutter their emotions simultaneously. It’s crazy to watch them slip into their cold, cruel shells together like that. Victor gets a warm greeting from both his kids, but Ciara only receives a curt nod of acknowledgement from Con. Claire is even worse, completely ignoring her mother.

  “That’s my cue to leave,” Claire says with a little wave before
darting out into the hall.

  “My phone is ringing,” I hand Nora over to Ivy. “I’m expecting an important call.”

  I don’t wait for a response. As soon as she is in Ivy’s arms, I’m out the door, jogging down to the elevator to catch Claire. The door is just about to close when I shoot my arm into the closing gap. Her eyes widen as soon as I step onto the elevator with her.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask once the doors have closed.

  “Nothing is wrong,” she feigns with innocence.

  “Bullshit.” I hit the emergency stop button.

  “There’s an alarm attached to that button.”

  “Ask me how many fucks I give?” I step toward her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “My mother is what is wrong.” She shoots me a glare that would make any rational man back down, but I’ve lost all rationality when it comes to her. She tries to dodge around me to hit the button to make the elevator start moving again.

  “Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” I push her firmly against the wall with my hand resting on her chest. Her heart is beating wildly beneath my hand, and a little gasp escapes her lips when I press my leg between hers. I bottle that sound up and drink it until I can’t move. “One last chance to tell me what’s wrong, Tsarina.”

  “Or what?” She looks up at me from under her long, wispy eyelashes. “You gonna spank me, Mr. Potter?”

  “It can be arranged.” My dick twitches at the thought of her pale ass covered in my red handprints. “If you think I won’t take you right back to my bedroom and punish you, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  “You don’t scare me, Griff.” She challenges me.

  “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.” I slide my hand down the front of her leggings, biting back a moan when I realize she’s not wearing panties. “You aren’t ready for what I’m capable of.” I slide my finger between her wet folds.

  She stands there, still as a statue while I tease her. A throbbing vein in her neck and the sound of her wet heat are the only things showing me that she’s loving my touch. Right as she’s about to come, I pull my finger out of her and trace her lips with it, smearing her juices all over her lips. She licks the tip of my finger.