by Roni Loren
“Try not to think about that stuff,” I said softly. “Remember her as she was.”
He drew me even closer to him, like he was holding on to a ledge. After a deep breath he said, “You know, earlier that same year, I got the flu for the first time. God, it was awful. I didn’t think I’d ever feel good again. That whole week was so miserable.”
I stayed quiet, not sure where he was going, but knowing that talking was moving in the right direction. I’d listen to him all day and night if that could make him feel better.
“My parents had warned her to stay out of my room, told her she’d get sick, too. But Neve didn’t listen. She would sneak into my room each morning before kindergarten and try to cheer me up. ‘I don’t want you to be sad no more, E,’ she’d say in that perky little voice of hers. That’s what she called me—E. She thought Ian was too long.” His voice caught, and it took a moment before he continued. “One day she dressed up in her dance class outfit and sang Debbie Gibson songs, another she cooked me my favorite dinner with her play food since I couldn’t manage to eat any real meals. She was like this joyous tornado of glitter and giggles.”
Tears stung my eyes. “She sounds amazing.”
“She was,” he said, his voice pained. “And that horrible day later that summer, I told my bubbly little sister to go away, that she was annoying me. All she wanted to do was spend time with me and my friends, and I treated her like she was a brat. That was the last thing she heard from me before . . . before she was, God . . .”
“Oh, Foster,” I said, my heart ripping in two for him, for his family, for that bright little girl who the world would never get the privilege of knowing. “Don’t.”
His body began to jerk with hard sobs. “I led her right to him, right into his sick fucking hands . . .”
I tightened my hold on him, my tears dripping and sliding down my cheeks, as Foster broke apart. “No, Foster, not you. Him. That sicko. What happened wasn’t your fault, baby. It was his fault.”
Foster shook his head against the pillow, but he was past words now. Everything that had been locked inside him seemed to rush out in a deluge. He body wracked with the force of his grief. I grabbed hold of him and rolled him over, wrapping him in my arms and holding him against me. He didn’t fight it. Gone was the bravado, the tough man, and all that was left was the little boy who’d made a simple mistake and suffered the worst of consequences, a boy that’d been abandoned by his parents for it.
I cried silently with him, his pain becoming my own, and didn’t let go.
I would never let go again.
Chapter 41
Foster scanned through his email, not feeling very motivated but at least feeling somewhat human again. Cela had refused to leave his side for the last week and had even helped him make it through his sister’s memorial service. At first, he had protested her going, but trying to talk her off that was like trying to talk a brick wall into crumbling. And in the end, he’d been happy to have her there.
His parents had attended and they’d talked with him briefly—like a vaguely polite business relationship—but Cela hadn’t let them get away with the brush-off. She’d cornered his mom and dad, telling them how sorry she was, of course, but also sharing how inspired she was by 4N and Foster’s work for missing children. She’d thrown in a few, “You must be so proud of the man he’s become” type comments.
It’d made his parents visibly uncomfortable, and he’d even caught a flash of regret cross his father’s face. But, to his surprise, his mother had really looked at him for the first time in years, her blue eyes holding remorse for so much time lost, and said, “I am. More than he knows. Foster has probably suffered more than any of us for all of this.”
It hadn’t been an apology, but the acknowledgement had closed some gaps inside him. No matter what he’d done, what mistakes he’d made. He hadn’t deserved to be left behind. No child deserved that.
Cela stepped up behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders and dragging him out of his thoughts. She leaned over to peek at his laptop. “What’cha working on?”
“There are some buyers interested in the company. I’m setting up meetings.”
“Still stuck on that, huh?” she asked, her opinion clear in her tone.
He sighed. He’d come a long way in the last few days, but he still didn’t think he could spend the rest of his life running 4N. He’d started the company for Neve, and now every day he went in, he’d be reminded of how he’d failed her. How he’d never be able to help her or add a gold “found” plaque beneath her photo on the wall. It all seemed so . . . pointless now. “I think it’s for the best.”
“Can you take a break from it?” she asked, stepping around him and sinking onto his lap. “I thought all three of us could bust out of these walls and go out tonight. Pike has tickets to a swanky record release party.”
He frowned. “I don’t think I’m ready for any parties, angel.”
“Come on,” she protested. “There will be alcohol and we can get all dressed up. It will do you good to get out for a while. Plus, I have a dress Bailey lent me that shows a lot of leg.”
The pleading look on her face was more than he could handle. So much for the dom having all the power. One look like that and he was fucking toast. He pushed her hair behind her ears and cupped her face. “Fine. But only because you promised me leg.”
She laughed and kissed him. “Good. Now go put on a suit, so I can drool over you all night, too.”
He smiled, even with all the sadness still sitting on his shoulders, Cela could manage to cheer him up. “You’re getting mighty bossy, slave girl.”
“No worries. You can punish me later.”
“Brat.”
“You know it.”
***
Cela was way too excited about this party. Foster was trying his best to be peppy, but really, he’d been to these record shindigs with Pike before and had never been all that impressed. Hopefully, he and Cela could have a few drinks, stay for an hour, and head back home.
Pike had lined up a limo and had asked Cela’s friend Bailey to come with them. The girl seemed absolutely beside herself sitting next to Pike—her hands constantly smoothing the material of her dress, and her gaze regularly sneaking over to her date. Pike had told Cela he’d made it clear up front that he was only taking Bailey as a friend. Cela didn’t seem bothered either way, but Foster knew Pike wasn’t going to mess with a friend of Cela’s—especially one so young and starstruck. Even he had his limits.
They pulled up to the place where the event was being held, and Foster was surprised to see the grand entrance of Hotel St. Mark through the window. He nodded toward the building. “Hey, look at that. What are the chances?”
Cela just smiled and grabbed his hand. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
They climbed out of the limo and headed toward one of the ballrooms. The hotel, of course, looked the same as it had when he’d taken Cela here that first night, but God, so much had changed. He’d sauntered into that hotel that evening looking for a fun, kinky night with his sexy neighbor. Never would he have guessed he’d end up here again with Cela on his arm as his girlfriend.
Cela guided him through the lobby toward the back of the hotel, where the ballroom was located, but before they stepped through the doors, she turned and gave him a quick kiss. “Just remember, if you want to be mad, take it out on me later. But right now, I need you to smile.”
“What?”
She tugged him through the door and into a room buzzing with people. He was still trying to process what her cryptic comment meant, when he saw the large banner above the stage on the far end of the room. 132 Lives Saved—Thank You, 4N!
He froze, his feet fastening to the floor. “What the hell is this?”
Pike stepped up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to your party, bro. You’re a hero.”
Heaviness landed in the pit of his stomach. Hero. That was the last thing
he was. “Cela . . .”
She bit her lip, her expression anxiously expectant. “Remember, smile. You can make me pay later.”
He ran a hand over the back of his head, fighting the urge to stride right back out. But before he could say anything else, his assistant, Lindy, hurried over to him like a whirlwind of fluttering hands and smiles. She threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad you came!”
On autopilot, he hugged her back. “You knew about this?”
She stepped back, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe? The staff has wanted to put together an event for a while. A lot of the families want to thank you. So when Cela called me to see if we could put something together quickly, I sort of made everyone work overtime to make it happen.”
He peeked over Lindy’s shoulder toward Cela. Everything in her stance belied her nerves. She’d gone through all of this trouble, and now she was afraid he was going to bail. He sighed, frustrated that this was happening but unable to let Cela or his staff down by being an asshole about it.
He forced himself to smile, the motion straining his face. “Thanks, Lindy. Y’all really shouldn’t have gone through the trouble.”
She crossed her arms and eyed him. “Yes, we should’ve. You built this company, and you need to accept the impact it’s had. Now, go sit, eat and drink. The presentation is about to start.”
“Presentation?” But Cela and Pike were already ushering him to a table without answering his question.
He felt like a piece being moved on a chessboard, everything out of his control. The whole experience was unnerving. But what else could he do at this point? Cela had thrown him into the deep end without an escape route. He ordered a stiff drink before his ass even hit the chair.
And he would need that liquid fortification, because a few minutes later, the lights went down and a video screen lowered on the back wall behind the stage. Music filled the cavernous ballroom, and Cela reached out and grabbed his hand. Familiar faces began to light the screen in time with the wordless music. One by one, every person who had ever been found because of one of their products appeared on the screen. Happy, smiling faces of two little boys running through the park, a little girl with a tiara on, the wizened smile of an elderly man who’d been found after wandering off, footage of news stories showing families reuniting when they found their loved ones.
Words appeared on the screen between the photos.
Every day. . . .over two thousand children go missing.
Every day . . . families grieve for loved ones they’ll never see again.
Foster’s throat felt like it was stuffed with fiberfill, his chest going tight.
Every day . . . hope is lost.
But not for Mackenzie Osbourne in Cedar Rapids, IA.
Not for Jayden Kennedale in Biloxi, MS.
Not for MaryLou Wallace in Waco, TX.
Because people like Ian Foster and the staff of 4N refuse to accept that there’s nothing we can do.
A video of the Kennedales came on, Jayden in the middle with a toothless grin. Jayden’s mother began to speak. “The day Jayden wandered off in the mall was the most terrifying day of my life. In a flash of seconds, I saw my whole world collapsing in on itself. I’d taken my eye off of him for one moment, and he was gone. My baby was gone and it was my fault.” She swiped at tears through a wavering smile. “I’m not sure what made me buy that Home Safe wristband a month before. I live in a quiet town, low crime. It seemed kind of silly and paranoid to have such a thing. But Neve Foster’s story affected me, and I bought one. If Jayden hadn’t been wearing his that day, I know we would’ve never seen him again. I will never be able to repay Ian Foster and 4N for what they’ve given me. You saved us all.”
Foster’s lungs constricted as another family came on giving more heartfelt testimony. He looked to Cela, who was swiping at tears. She turned his way and offered him a tentative smile as if to say, See how amazing you are. This matters. You did this.
The meaning behind that look hit him right in the sternum. It was like warm rays of sun shining on his face. For the first time ever, he felt it—truly felt it—by seeing himself though her eyes. He’d made a difference. Maybe not for his own family. He could never make things better for Neve. And nothing would ever bring her back. But he could honor her with this. Every person who came home safe with a 4N product was because of her, a tribute.
As he listened to story after story, and as families came up to him to thank him after the video presentation was over, everything that had been wound so tight for so long seemed to loosen and unknot inside him. This mattered.
And Cela had shown him that. She’d done this for him. Everyone else had let him get by with his bitterness and hardened front, but she hadn’t accepted the bullshit. She’d pushed and pushed and stood up to him, had even taken the brunt of his wrath the night she’d refused to leave him alone to wallow. She’d bled for him.
The woman was more than he could have ever dreamed of or asked for. She was perfect. And she was his.
He exchanged hugs and good-byes with the last of the families who had stopped by to thank him, and then scanned the room for Cela. She’d stepped away when people had started to come over to talk with him, but he didn’t want her anywhere but at his side. He caught sight of her across the room with Bailey, both of them chatting with Lindy. Cela’s dark hair gleamed beneath the soft lighting in the room, and as promised, the short black dress she wore revealed just enough to drive him mad. If he hadn’t known her, his eyes would have been drawn her way regardless. Without letting her see him, he slipped out the door to take care of something.
When he came back, she hadn’t moved from her perch, but had added a glass of champagne to the mix. As if feeling his eyes on her, she glanced his way and sent him a still mad at me? quirk of her eyebrows. Inwardly, he grinned, but he kept his expression stern as he made his way over to her. When he reached the group, he grabbed her elbow and drew her next to him. “Excuse us, ladies, Cela and I have a lot to discuss.”
Lindy put a hand on his arm. “You’re not mad, are you?”
He sent her a quelling look. “Not at you.”
Cela gave Bailey a ruh-roh expression as she handed over her champagne glass to her friend, but he winked at the girl over Cela’s shoulder. Bailey bit back a smile. She gave Cela a little wave. “I’m going grab more of those puff pastry thingies.”
“Good idea,” Foster said, tugging Cela away.
She glanced back at her friend. “Is it just me or did she just throw me to the wolves?”
“Wolf,” he corrected.
Cela eyed him, as if still trying to figure out if he was truly mad or screwing with her. “Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer as he guided her out of the party room and toward the bank of elevators. As if they’d been waiting for Foster and Cela’s arrival, the gold gleaming doors spread wide. Foster dragged her inside.
As soon as the doors slid shut, he crowded her against the wall, banding an arm around her waist. She let out a little squeak of surprise, and he pressed his forehead to hers, holding her eye contact. “Last time we were in this elevator, I was so desperate for you, I went against my better judgment. I could tell you were holding something back, and I took you to that room anyway.”
“Regret it?”
He lifted his head and smiled down at her. “It was the best fuckup I’ve ever made.”
She stared up at him with those big, brown eyes, her lips curving.
He cupped the back of her neck. “And all this time I’ve made you conform to me. What I want, what I thought I needed, what I prefer. I insisted you fit into this one box of ideal I’d made up.”
“Foster.”
“And I know we haven’t talked about it since everything happened, and I know you’ve got a lot on your plate back home. But I’m telling you right now. I will do whatever it fucking takes, Cela. Vanilla. Kinky. Neapolitan. Staying here or moving south. I don’t care anymore. All I want is you. And whatever way I get
to have that, I’m willing to do.”
Her fingers curled around the lapels of his suit jacket, and her eyes went shiny.
“Just tell me what you want, and I will make it happen.”
The elevator doors dinged, opening to the top floor again. But unlike all those months ago, there was no doubt behind her smile, no fear. She pushed up on her toes and kissed him softly. When she pulled away, what he saw there nearly brought him to his knees.
“I want you to take care of me,” she said, her gaze steady on his and her hand pressed over his pounding heart. “As long as I get to take care of you back. Sir.”
Joy streamed through every cell in his body, lighting him from the inside out. Foster lifted her off her feet and carried her toward the hotel room. Last time they were here, she’d given him her virginity.
Tonight, he’d give her his heart.
Epilogue
Christmas Eve
The riding crop hit Cela’s sweat-glazed skin with a satisfying thwack, a nice hard hit at the end of a quick round of lighter blows. Cela’s head tipped back on a moan, the chains holding her arms above her clinking. Beautiful. Foster lowered the crop to his side and stepped back, relishing the sight of that thick dark hair sliding back over her shoulders and dancing along the marks he’d made, his marks.
His angel was flying high. He could see it in the sway of her body, the slack in her muscles. Desire burned hot in his veins, urging him to take her, but he channeled his patience. He wanted to savor her, especially considering the risky Christmas gift he had planned. If tonight didn’t go the way he hoped, he may not have this privilege again—a thought he couldn’t even bear to let fully form in his head right now.
The glow of the fireplace flickered in front of her, sending shafts of orange light dancing along the walls, changing a room that had once held so much coldness for him to one full of warmth and beauty . . . love. He ran his palm along Cela’s back in a gentle caress, feeling the heat of her skin, the raised welts. She shivered beneath his hand and leaned into his touch. Everything in her reactions said she wanted more, but he knew that was her endorphins and need for release talking, her descent into subspace complete. He’d already worked her over for longer than usual, and he could sense she was close to begging.
